“Oh! look, fellows!” exclaimed Nick, as from around the point a dazzling glow suddenly shone, bearing down rapidly straight toward them.
[CHAPTER XII—YANKEE STUBBORNNESS]
The most tremendous excitement reigned aboard every one of the three anchored motor boats, when it was seen that the bright white light was headed straight for them.
“He’s going to smash us!” whooped Josh.
“Hey, hold off there, Clarence! Don’t be a fool!” shouted George.
Herb and Nick could not find their voices at all, to make the least sign; and there was a cause for their feeling more alarmed than any of the rest. It happened that in arranging their anchorage the Comfort came further out than either of the other boats. Hence, she was more in direct line with the swiftly advancing speed boat than either the Wireless or the Tramp.
But if Nick could not use his tongue he certainly could use his limbs; and the way he threw himself over to the port side of the roomy Comfort was worth seeing. There he crouched, hugging the railing, and ready for a plunge overboard should the expected collision take place.
But just when it seemed as though the sharp prow, which they fully believed must belong to the Flash, was about to cut through the stern of the helpless Comfort, the hand at the wheel must have diverted her course just a trifle, for she shot past like an arrow, almost grazing the varnished side of the broad-beamed launch.
While that dazzling glow from the acetylene searchlight shone in their faces, none of the boys could make out anything with certainty. On comparing notes afterwards they were unable to declare whether the dim figure at the wheel was Clarence or some other; though Nick did say he heard a low chuckling laugh as the phantom boat passed, which he knew was a favorite way of expressing pleasure on the part of the Macklin boy.
“That was a close shave, sure!” remarked Jack, as coolly as he could.