“Cut it out!” said Nelson kindly. “I dare say you won’t have to go back, but I’ve got to tell the other fellows and see what they think. Don’t you worry, though; I guess it’ll be all right.”
Nelson hurried back to the cockpit. The Vagabond was floating gently away from the wharf on the outgoing tide. Forty or fifty feet away a small tug was snuggling up to the Henry Nellis, preparatory to towing her outside the harbor. Bob was at the wheel, but he and Dan and Tom were looking intently toward the stern rail of the schooner, where the captain and one of the sailors, the latter a small, swarthy man with rings in his ears, were talking excitedly and looking toward the Vagabond. The next moment the captain hurriedly disappeared, the watchers heard an order given, and three sailors sprang to the stern davits and began to lower the small boat which hung there.
“Now, what’s he up to?” asked Dan resentfully. But before anyone could answer him, Nelson had called to them.
“Here a minute, fellows,” he said softly. “Keep on looking, but move over this way so you can hear me. That boy that the captain spoke of——”
“He’s getting into the boat,” interrupted Bob.
“I’ll bet he’s coming over here, too,” said Dan. “If he tries to come aboard, I’ll plaguey well dump him into the water!”
Nelson paused and watched proceedings. If the captain came aboard, he was certain to find the boy. Perhaps he had every right to, but Nelson didn’t like the idea of giving the youngster up to him.
“Here he comes!” muttered Dan.
“Stand by the wheel, Bob,” said Nelson. “I’m going to start her.” He darted below, turned the gasoline valve, threw on the switch, and bent over the wheel. Once, twice, thrice he turned it over, but the engine refused to start. Perplexedly Nelson stood up and ran his eye over the motor. Then he remembered that the gasoline had not been turned on at the tank since the latter had been filled. It was too late now to run away before the captain of the Henry Nellis reached them. But he hurried forward, opened the outlet valve at the tank, threw a warning glance at the boy, who still sat huddled in the dim corner of the bunk, and returned to the engine. One more lift of the wheel and the engine was running. But he didn’t throw the clutch in and start the boat. Voices outside told him that the captain was already alongside. He hurried up the steps, striving to look unconcerned. The boat from the schooner was bobbing about a couple of yards away. It was manned by two sailors, one of them the man with the earrings, and in the stern sat the captain.
“Say, Nel,” said Bob, as the former appeared, “this gentleman wants to know if he can’t see the launch. Says he’s very much interested in launches.” Bob was very sober, but his left eye, out of the captain’s range of vision, winked meaningly.