Matt paid no attention to this remark.
"You'd better look out, Charley," he called to the Chinaman.
"My gottee, you no gottee," the yellow boy answered. "You no savvy China boy's pidgin; him savvy plenty fine. Hoop-a-la!"
The motor began to pop, and then to settle down into a steady hum. The China boy was fairly palpitating with excitement. Grabbing at a lever, he threw the power into the propeller and the Sprite jumped ahead along the wharf, rubbing her gunwale against the planks. Frantically the Celestial yanked at the steering wheel. The Sprite turned her nose into the wharf and tried to climb out of the water.
"She ain't no bubble wagon, chink!" roared the delighted crowd; "don't bring her ashore!"
"Turn the wheel the other way!" shouted some one else. "If we can head the rat-eater right, he'll go plumb through the Golden Gate to China."
In the confusion of yells, the yellow boy caught the suggestion and whirled the wheel the other way. In answer to this sudden twist of the helm, the boat made a hair-raising turn, going over so far that she almost showed her garboard strake, then she flung away like a race horse.
A group of three piles arose out of the water, half a cable's length from the wharf. The Sprite caught them a glancing blow. There was a terrific jolt, and those on the landing had a glimpse of a Chinaman in the air, his hat and sandals flying in three different directions. He came down headfirst in fifteen feet of water, while the Sprite sheered away from the piles and struck a bee line for Sausalito.
Matt, seeing that disaster was sure to happen, had jumped into a rowboat, and was bending to the oars. There might be fun in baiting a Chinaman in that way, but he could not see it.