"Ven id does dot," quavered Carl, "id iss retty to bite. Oof you make a miss, Matt, id iss all ofer mit Tick."
"I'll not make a miss. Get a clamp on your nerves and be ready to throw the rope as soon as Dick comes near enough."
"My teet' chatter a leedle," whimpered Carl, "aber my nerfs iss all righdt. Don'd you be afraidt pecause I am, Tick," he cried. "Schvim like der Olt Poy vas afder you!"
Dick had need of all his breath and could not waste any in useless words. He was coming through the water at a fierce clip, his arms working like piston rods in a fine, steady, overhand stroke. He could see Matt on the deck with the rifle ready, and he knew that whatever the king of the motor boys could do would be done.
"Ach, shood, shood!" implored Carl, watching the black fin zigzagging nearer and nearer. "Don'd vait, Matt!"
But Matt paid no attention to Carl. He knew what kind of a target he wanted, and that the shark would give it to him if he waited.
When Dick was about a dozen feet from the boat, the right moment came. With a flip of its tail the shark leaped partly out of the water and turned on its back, its great jaws opening.
Matt had braced himself firmly and lifted the Marlin repeater to his shoulder.
"Fire avay, kevick!" clamored Carl, and just then Matt pulled the trigger.
It was a bull's-eye hit. Straight to its mark leaped the murderous bit of lead, and the shark, stunned by the impact of the bullet, snapped its jaws harmlessly together and sank downward in the reddening water.