When Mr. Lorry and Ethel had expressed their admiration for the Sprite, and their confidence in her ability to "lift" the cup, chairs were carried out on the pier. McGlory went across the lake for ice cream, and the party visited gayly until sunset. When the launch departed, George remained behind, having expressed his intention of staying with his friends at the boathouse that night.
Ping was engaged in clearing up the dishes—part of the camp equipment—on which the ice cream had been served, and McGlory was making the doors at the other end of the boathouse secure. Dusk was falling gently, and overhead the stars were beginning to glimmer in a cloudless sky, soft as velvet. It was a time for optimism, and a lulling sense of security had taken possession of all the boys.
"The clouds don't seem to be gathering very much, after all, George," remarked Matt.
"I must have been mistaken about Merton," returned George. "That roll of drawings, I suppose, has convinced him that the changes we were making in the Sprite were not of enough account to worry him."
McGlory came from the boathouse in time to hear the words.
"We've got Merton fooled," he chuckled, dropping down in a chair, "and I ain't sure but that it's the best thing that ever happened to us, the theft of those drawings."
"That's the way it may turn out, Joe," agreed Matt. "Still, even if Merton knew exactly what we had done to the Sprite I don't see how he could help matters any. The Dart, from what I can hear, is supposed to be by long odds the fastest boat on the lakes. How could he improve on her, even if Merton knew the Sprite was a dangerous rival?"
"Merton wouldn't try to improve on the Dart," returned Lorry. "What he'd do would be to make an attempt to make the Sprite less speedy than she is."
"I'd like to catch him at that!" exclaimed McGlory. "That tinhorn would have to hip lock with me some if he ever tried to tamper with the Sprite while Joe McGlory was around."
"He'd make sure there wasn't anybody around, George," said Lorry, "before he tried any of his underhand games. I've been thinking over the loss of those drawings, Matt," he went on, after a pause, "and it strikes me that they weren't stolen by Merton, after all, but by Pickerel Pete."