“I’ll know it in a minute if it’s mine,” whispered Hal. “It was brand new and—”
“Here ye be, mate.” Bill Glass came back with the article in his hands. “Pretty nigh as good as new it be, too.”
Jack and Bee grinned at the expression of surprise and disappointment that overspread Hal’s countenance as he looked at the boat-hook. It was weather-stained to the hue of an old fence-post and the brass hook on the end was covered deep with verdigris. Jack thought that Bill Glass had a mocking twinkle in his good eye as he offered the implement for inspection. Hal, however, took one disgusted look at it and waved it away.
“I don’t want it,” he said ungraciously. “It isn’t the one—I mean it’s too old. Come on fellows!”
“Fifty cents takes it,” urged Bill. “It’s a bargain, mate.”
But Hal was marching straight for the wharf and Bee and Jack followed perforce. Bill Glass ambled along behind, boat-hook in hand. He watched silently while Jack unfastened the painter and Hal kicked the switch on angrily and twirled the fly-wheel over. Then, with the engine running, he remarked:
“Cute things, they be, them motor-boats. Times I think I’ll have to get me one, mates.”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Bee involuntarily. Luckily the humming of the engine partially drowned his voice. Hal threw the lever forward and the Corsair made a rush across the little basin as though determined to climb the further bank.
“Hey!” bawled Jack at the wheel. “Whoa, for the love of mud!”