For some miles the two speedy motor boats kept along, neither appearing to gain half a length on the other. If one seemed to be going ahead, the skipper immediately busied himself stopping the advantage. It was as if both were holding themselves in for the home stretch.
Josh was on needles and pins all this while. He paid little attention to what lay in the rear. Part of his time was taken up in scanning the watery waste ahead, through the powerful marine glasses. And when not thus employed he sat there, quivering with suspense, wondering whether there would come a sudden stoppage of the engine, which might spring from one of its eccentric tantrums.
But, strange to say, the motor seemed to be doing its best today, as if bent on meriting all the good things its builders had said in their catalogue.
“I see it!” suddenly hoarsely whispered Josh, in a mysterious way, as though he did not wish those in the other craft to overhear him.
“You mean the little bay at the mouth of the river?” queried George, setting his teeth hard together; for he knew that the crisis so long awaited was at hand.
“Sure, look for yourself, George,” handing him the glasses.
“Yes, I believe you’re right,” returned the skipper of the Wireless, as he once more turned his attention to his engine. “Now, get in the middle of the boat, Josh, and don’t move any more than you can help.”
“You’re going to open up, then?” asked the tall, ungainly lad, feverishly.