“Don’t tell me that any tragedy has happened to ’em, Jack?” pleaded George, who was known to have a great affection for his Wireless, even though the cranky speed boat did seem to delight in playing many cruel tricks upon its skipper.
“No, not yet, I believe,” came the answer.
“Good! You make me feel better already, Jack!” exclaimed George.
“But hold on!” cried Herb; “you noticed that he said ‘not yet,’ didn’t you, boys? Don’t you see what that means? The boats are in danger; ain’t that so, Jack?”
“I’ve pretty good reason to believe so,” replied the owner of the den; and then he whipped out the crumpled telegraph blank. “Here, read that, fellows, and tell me what you think. It fell from the pocket of Clarence Macklin not half an hour ago. And I understand that he sent off a message along these lines, after he had changed the wording a little.”
Eagerly four heads were clustered above the yellow paper which he had smoothed out on the chess table. Clarence wrote a plain hand, so that there was no trouble in making out every word.
“Well, wouldn’t that knock you?” gasped Nick, who had as yet failed to entirely recover his wind after his quick passage on his wheel to Jack’s home, followed by the climb up two lights of stairs to the attic den.
“Jack, you’re right; he means our boats!” ejaculated Herb, with a trace of indignation and horror in his voice.
“Oh! the miserable skunk, what wouldn’t I give for the fun of punching his head for him. Just wait, the chance will come some fine day. Let them dare do anything to my bully little Wireless! Why, Jack, they could be sent to prison for a long term if they destroyed the boats.”
Of course that was Skipper George, whose father being a lawyer, visions of the stern hand of justice were always cropping up in the boy’s mind.