“I believe we shall manage it yet,” he said delightedly. “Another twenty minutes or so will take us round the end of the breakwater, and the tug hasn’t spotted us yet.”
But, as he spoke, the rain ceased, and presently the ocean was visible for miles.
“Here she comes!” Jack cried as his eyes fell on the distant shape of the fussy little Simon P. Barker. “Tearing along like a snail! And I guess her skipper’s roaring mad now that he can see what happened.”
“Keep going! Keep going!” urged Rod, almost dancing with delight.
“You bet I’m going to keep going!” replied Jack, with the light of battle in his eyes. “He’d bust his boilers in catching up with us now, before we’re round the breakwater. Did you ever hear Steve Burke talk when he’s real mad, Rod?”
“I don’t remember ever even seeing him.”
“Well, you will in a while, and it’s no Quaker meeting he’s coming to, either! He knows what to expect from Mr. Barker as soon as he lands ashore, for missing the schooner. Rod, I’m not going to let go now. Burke wouldn’t dare to run us down. Of course if Captain Jordan cuts us adrift, that settles it; but my guess is that he won’t.”
“It’s a pretty race, isn’t it!” said Jack, a moment later. “Two tortoises, and one of them hobbled! Thank goodness Burke daren’t drive his old tug any faster, or her rotten engines would shake themselves to pieces.”
Meanwhile the irate skipper of the tug was protesting loudly with his squeaky siren. The Simon P. Barker wallowed and rolled nearer and nearer, but the Sea-Lark was fast approaching the safe refuge of the harbor. Soon the tug was only about a thousand yards astern, but by then Jack was negotiating the end of the breakwater, and there only remained the straight run up the harbor to the wharf. The tug, however, evidently had no intention of relinquishing her claim, for she fussed up to the heels of the sloop and hailed.
“Let go that hawser!” Burke shouted angrily to Jack.