Evidently Willie's scrutiny of the frank countenance opposite satisfied him, for dropping his voice he continued in an impressive whisper:
"About a motor-boat, this idee was."
Glancing around as if to assure himself that no one was within hearing, he hitched the barrel on which he was seated nearer his visitor.
"There's a sight of plague with motor-boats among these shoals," he went on eagerly. "What with the eel-grass that grows along the inlets an' the kelp that's washed in by the tide after a storm, the propeller of a motor-boat is snarled up a good bit of the time. Now my scheme," he announced, his last trace of reserve vanishing, "is to box that propeller somehow—if so be as it can be done—an'—," the voice trailed off into meditation.
Robert Morton, too, was silent.
"You would have to see that the wheel was kept free," he mused aloud after an interval.
"I know it."
"And not check the speed of the boat."
"Right you are, mate!" exclaimed Willie with delight.
"And not hamper the swing of the rudder."