“It doesn’t seem so to me, Dan. It’s possible that someone else borrowed his boat. However, since we failed to get the license number, it’s useless to speculate.”
“Odd that the boat was showing no lights,” Dan said thoughtfully. “Also, I wonder if it carried a license?”
By this time even the faint roar of the motorboat’s engine had died away far up the river. Mr. Holloway and the Cubs knew by following the sound that the craft had not returned to the Webster City Yacht Club. Where it would dock they could not guess.
“You’ll try to make those men pay for the damage, won’t you, Dad?” Midge demanded. The shore now was so close he could see the twinkling lights which marked the outline of the yacht club slip.
“I certainly will if I can, Midge. Unfortunately, we have no proof it was Manheim’s boat.”
“He may have a few scratches to show, Dad.”
“Yes, if we notice tomorrow that his speedboat is banged up, we can be quite certain he’s the guilty party. Even so, we’ll have to be rather careful in taking the matter up with him. Manheim has many friends in the club.”
“He won’t have ’em long if he makes a practice of running down sailboats,” said Midge. “We’re lucky our boat didn’t sink.”
Five minutes later, the dinghy, heavily logged with water, limped to its berth at the yacht club dock.
“Hurry on to your Cub Scout meeting, boys,” Mr. Holloway urged. “I’ll look after the boat and make a few inquiries around the club.”