“Gosh!” exclaimed Bob.
They had a fleeting view of the placid countenance of the youth in shirt sleeves, a momentary impression of a brilliant crimson streak along the water and then they were gazing bewilderedly at each other. The So Long was lengths and lengths away and getting smaller every instant.
Nelson put his head out of the door, glanced toward where the other boat had been a minute before, looked puzzled, came out on deck and searched the neighborhood.
“Where is she?” he asked. “Sunk?”
For answer three hands pointed ahead. Nelson gazed a moment. Then he went silently below and slowed down the engine.
“How fu-fu-fast do you su-su-su-suppose she wu-wu-went?” asked Tom.
“About a mile a minute,” answered Bob gravely.
“I don’t believe she’s a launch at all,” said Dan. “I’ll bet she’s a blamed old automobile.”
“What was that remark you addressed to him just before she walked away, Tommy?” asked Bob.
“Shut up,” answered Tom sheepishly. “How did I know he had a streak of red lu-lu-lu-lightning? Where is she now?”