"'I ain't laffin' at you,' says the tramp, 'but at the joke them other mugs is playin' on you an' your push.'
"'Where does the joke come in?' I inquires.
"'Why,' he comes back, 'that other club is foolin' you with a boat here on Fourth Lake when the real boat is over on Third. If what I'm a-sayin' is worth a dollar to you, just remember and cough up.'
"Well, say, that hobo wasn't a holy minute grabbin' my attention. I fell off the chug wheel right there and proceeded to palaver. It turned out that Merton's gard'ner was sick for a few days, and that the tramp mowed the lawn and did a few other things around the place. There was an open window, Ollie and some of his pards were on the other side of it, and the noise of the lawnmower didn't prevent the tramp from hearing what was said. You can bet your last dollar it was hot news he got hold of.
"Merton and the Winnequas were plannin' to fool us with the Wyandotte on Fourth Lake while they were warming up the real boat on Third. The hobo said I could wait there at the Point till the Wyandotte came closer, and that I'd see Merton wasn't aboard; then he allowed that if I'd sizzle over to the gun club on Third Lake I'd see the real prize winner doing stunts that would curl my hair.
"The tramp was off for Waunakee, and had just dropped down on a stone to rest. My coming along was a happenchance, as he hadn't intended to peddle the news he'd got hold of, but he recognized me as being a pard of Motor Matt's, and a dollar looked pretty big to him.
"I waited till the Wyandotte was close, and then I saw that Merton wasn't aboard. Would I swallow the hobo's yarn or not? I decided that I would, so I threw him a dollar and burned the air in the direction of the gun club and Third Lake.
"Well, t'other boat was there, sliding around like a streak of greased lightning. Half the time I couldn't see her for the foam she kicked up. I managed to pick up the label on her bow as she was making a turn, and it's the Dart. But go—speak to me about that! Say, she gets to a place pretty near before she starts. Merton was aboard, and so was that red-headed pard of his, Halloran. Halloran was working the machinery. I watched my chance and kept abreast of the Dart for a mile. Twenty-one miles is what the speedometer registered, although the count may be shy a little one way or the other. I was too excited to be entirely accurate. Our hands are in the air, pards, and no mistake. The Sprite'll look like a turtle wallowin' along in the wake of a swordfish."
Matt and Lorry had listened to this recital with varying feelings. Matt was deeply interested, but Lorry was visibly cast down.
"How big is the Dart, Joe?" inquired Matt.