"We can tie up at the yacht club on the west shore," said Lorry.
"All right," answered Matt. "Look at that boat over there, George," he added, nodding his head in the direction of Governor's Island. "She's the only other boat on the lake, so far as I can see, and she's acting as though something is wrong with her."
Lorry stood up, braced himself, and peered ahead.
"She's a bigger boat than ours," he remarked, "and looked to me like the Stella. The Stella is a thirty-footer, and belongs to Barkley Cameron, a neighbor of ours up on the Hill. By Jupiter," he added, a few moments later, "it is the Stella, and she's in trouble, as sure as you're a foot high."
"The wind is driving her toward the Bluff," said Matt excitedly. "Her engine's dead—she hasn't any power to fight the wind and waves."
"And there are four men aboard her," went on Lorry. "Great Scott! If they ever go on those rocks at the point, the boat will be smashed to kindling and every one aboard of her drowned. Let's stand by the Stella, Matt, and try and do something for her."
"I'm rushing the Sprite in the Stella's direction," answered Matt, "and have been for some time. But we may not be able to do anything. She's half a mile nearer the rocks than we are, and she may go onto them before we can overhaul her."
Far off, just beyond the drifting and helpless launch, Matt and Lorry could see the white waves flinging themselves against the jutting crags of McBride's Point. The Sprite was coming up with the Stella hand over fist, but the Stella's drift was carrying her toward the cliffs with tremendous speed.
"I can see the people on board," cried George, "and two of them are tinkering with the engine. If they can get the motor in shape they're all right, but if they can't——"
George broke off abruptly, and stood clinging to Matt and staring at the other boat with frenzied eyes. Two of the Stella's passengers, as Matt could see, were looking toward the Sprite and waving their hands frantically.