"That's it!" exploded McGlory, breathlessly, leaning the motor cycle against the bench. "Speak to me about that! Sufferin' thunderbolts! but I've made a whale of a discovery."
"What is it?" demanded George, wildly impatient.
"Why," cried McGlory, "Merton's got another boat, and she's certainly a blue streak, if I know the brand. The fat's in the fire, pards. If the poor old Sprite gets into a race with this new boat of Merton's, she'll be in the 'also ran' column."
Lorry collapsed.
"A dark horse!" exclaimed Matt. "I'd have bet a farm Merton was planning to spring something like that. Buck up, Lorry! Perhaps this isn't so bad, after all. Tell us about it, Joe."
[CHAPTER IV.]
PLANS.
"When I got over the point, pards," said Joe, dropping into a chair and fanning himself with his hat, "the Wyandotte was just comin' down the lake to pull off her usual race with herself. I hauled up in the road, with the bushes between me and the water, ready to jump into the saddle the minute the boat came opposite. I was keeping shady, you can bet your moccasins on that, and it was some sort of a jolt when I saw a galoot perched on a stone. He looked like a hobo, and the way he grinned got on my nerves.
"'I'm funny, all right,' I says to him, 'but where I come from a feller gets shot if he looks that way at some one else.'