Out of one boat and into the other Matt scrambled, deftly avoiding the swamping of either craft. A minute later he was at the steering wheel and the levers, and had slowed down and turned the Sprite back.
Yells and cheers greeted his successful manœuvre; and when he regained the wharf, towing the rowboat, a dozen willing hands reached down to catch and secure the painters.
"A dandy piece of work, you hear me!" bellowed one of the crowd.
"You didn't expect Motor Matt to play lame duck while pullin' off a trick like that, did you?" came the voice of McGlory. "Shucks! that was as easy for him as sitting in at grub pile."
"Say," cried the blear-eyed person, "is he the young thunderbolt as brought that submarine around from the Atlantic?"
"He's the chap."
This piece of information caused the crowd to develop a tremendous amount of interest in the king of the motor boys—more interest than he cared to claim.
"Where's the Chinaman, Joe?" he asked, with difficulty extricating himself from the crowd, and making his way to McGlory's side.
"Right here, Matt," answered the cowboy, leading the way to a pile of old timber on which the dejected Celestial was sitting. "He ain't feelin' quite as chipper as he was a spell ago. 'Melican man's boatee didn't set well, and he's got a bad attack of the blues."
"Hello, Charley!" exclaimed Matt, leaning forward and slapping the yellow boy on his wet shoulder. "Where do you want that boat? I'll take it across the bay for you if that's where you want it to go."