“Dave,” she said, “there’s a light out there. It blinks as if someone were in trouble. We—We’ll have to put about and go to his aid, won’t we?”
“Yes, I—I suppose so.”
“I’m going to make a big pot of coffee.” Dave twisted the ship’s wheel, turning the Wanderer toward the signaling light.
CHAPTER VII
RESCUED
As the Wanderer came nearer to the blinking signal of distress, it seemed more and more certain that it was approaching some light-buoy and not a boat at all. When at last, however, the beams of the ship’s lights reached the spot, Florence smiled in spite of herself, for the vessel in distress was none other than the speedboat, that, having robbed them of their passengers, had so joyously left the harbor hours before.
“Well, look at that!” Dave exploded, as he signaled for slow speed ahead.
“Oh, it’s you! It’s the Wanderer!” a shrill voice screamed.
“That’s the little lady who was going to be so thrilled,” Florence remarked.
“She doesn’t seem thrilled now,” said Dave.
“Probably chilled instead,” the girl shuddered.