Then, as the craft surged up to the stalled Dixie, and came to a stop, the engine still running with the clutch thrown out, a voice asked:
“Do you fellows want a tow?”
“Do we?” came in a chorus. “We don’t want anything any more.”
“Fling us your rope,” was the curt order.
Unexpected help had arrived. But it was too late.
CHAPTER XXIV
DENNY’S SOLILOQUY
“What shall we do?” asked Cora, in a whisper.