“Why, I declare—I hadn’t!” exclaimed the man, taking a survey of the point in the distance indicated by Frank. “What can have happened?”
“An explosion, sir,” explained Frank. “You see, they must have help.”
“Where is that laggard man of mine?” cried the owner of the launch, growing excited. “If he would come we might do something.”
“Let me take your launch,” pressed Frank, eagerly.
“Do you know how to run it?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“I don’t. Do your best, lad. You must hurry. The boat is burning fiercely.”
It only needed the word of assent to start Frank on his mission of rescue. There had never been a better engineer on the lake near Fairlands than our hero. He was so perfectly at home with a launch that the owner of the one he had immediately sprung into could not repress a “Bravo!” as Frank seemed to slip the painter, spring to the wheel and send the craft plowing the water like a fish, all with one and the same deft movement.
Frank estimated time and distance and set the launch on a swift, diagonal course. He made out a rowboat headed in the same direction as himself, and Randy was in it. Frank saw a flying form leave the end of the long pier in a bold dive. It was Pep. Frank could not deviate or linger, for the nearer he got to the blazing craft the more vital seemed the peril of those now nearly crowded overboard by the heat and smoke. Besides that, he knew perfectly well that the crack swimmer of Fairlands, his friend Pep, could take care of himself in the water.
It was because the three chums were always together and always on the alert that nothing missed them. Some pretty creditable things had been done by them and that training came to their help in the present crisis.