“I wonder, now,” remarked George, “if that bally little boat that’s a ringer for the Tramp has gone further south?”
“What makes you ask that?” Jack inquired.
“Well, ever since she passed us that evening across from Rockledge I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the mystery. So somehow I reckon she must either be further down the lake, or else gone to Miami by the outside route, like we intend to do.”
“That don’t necessarily follow,” Jack laughed, for he saw that George actually had the subject on his mind, and was deeply interested. “The boat might have been in any one of twenty little coves we passed on the way down. Or, again, she could have been prowling in some of the many passages about the Narrows.”
“All right,” George declared, stubbornly, as though his mind were set, and nothing could move him; “you mark my word, Jack, we’ll set eyes on that sneaker again, before we’re done with this trip.”
“Oh, perhaps!” said Jack, turning away, as though the subject did not interest him to any great extent; for he did not happen to be built on the same lines as his chum, who had a little more than his share both of suspicion and also curiosity.
The next day they anxiously waited for Jack’s decision; but the wind was much too strong, and from a quarter that caused whitecaps to appear out on the ocean.
So the start had to be postponed, much to the regret of the entire six, all of whom wished to get the dangerous run over with as speedily as possible.
“Better luck tomorrow, fellows,” said Jack, who had made it a point to look at things in the light that it was foolish to worry over what could not be altered.