Suddenly Dray’s boat slowed down, and the Chelton shot so far ahead that it was plain something had happened to the Dixie.
Jack stood up and looked back. “Something is wrong,” he said. “We had better not get too far ahead. Dray is fussing with the carbureter.”
The race was over. The girls stood up from their hiding place and Jack turned the boat about. By this time Dray had turned off the gasoline and the Dixie merely heaved up and down on the swells.
“What’s the matter, Dray?” called Walter. “Something given way?”
“I don’t know,” answered Dray, “she simply won’t ‘mote.’”
“Let me take a look at her,” suggested Denny, ever eager for a new adventure.
“Oh, there are Cora and Lottie!” exclaimed Belle. “Can’t we go in for them, and look after Dray’s boat afterward?”
“That would be a nice way to treat a ship in distress,” said Denny, “but excuse me,” and he showed regret at his remark. “I shouldn’t be thinkin’ of a lad when the young girls are needin’ help.”
“Oh, the girls are all right,” Jack assured the old seaman; “but say, Dray,” he called, “what’s the matter, anyhow?”
“Just give me a line and tow me in, then we will hold a post mortem,” replied Dray, good humoredly. “I don’t fancy taking her apart out here.”