"Yes," put in George, a little maliciously; "we've just got to be moving right along, fellows. Satan always finds mischief for idle hands to do. Buster is supposed to be the deck hand aboard this boat, and when he hasn't anything else to do his mind keeps wandering in the line of eating. Suppose we did get really cleaned out some fine day, am I bound to begin on him for chops?"
All this while they were busy dressing, and Nick made the narrow speed boat wabble fearfully with his movements as he drew on his oilskins.
"Oh! I tell you I'm just going to be a complete nervous wreck before we get done with this fool race," he complained when he had finally succeeded in donning the wide trousers, the legs of which persisted in sticking together.
"Get out and walk then," said George, promptly.
"I would if the walking was good," replied Nick; "but it's wet both above and below; and besides I want to give another look around for my precious white wings."
At eight o'clock another start was made. As before, the fleet boat shot ahead, with the Tramp a good second, and the wallowing Comfort in the rear, Herb and Josh in no way disconcerted because of the poor beginning. History had a way of repeating itself; and they believed that the accident to George's cranky engine was only a specimen of many other troubles and tribulations that would be apt to befall the ambitious pilot during the progress of the race.
But hardly had the Wireless gone two hundred yards before there was a tremendous splash heard.
"Arrah now!" burst out Jimmie, who had happened to be looking at the time, "it's happened just as I knowed it would!"
"What is it?" asked Jack, bobbing up from the engine, which had been taking all of his attention.
"He falled overboard, so he did, just like a sack of corn!" continued Jimmie.