"Hold on there!" cried Tom gaily. "No trespassing, you know."
"Oh, I'll just say I'm your agent," promised Ned with a grin. "You can't object to that."
"No, I s'pose not. Well, do the best you can. She is certainly a nice girl."
"Yes, but you do seem to turn up at most opportune times. Luck is certainly with you where she is concerned. First you save her in a runaway—"
"After I start the runaway," interrupted Tom.
"Then you take her for a ride in your motor-boat, and, lastly, you come to her relief when she is stalled in the middle of the lake. Oh you certainly are a lucky dog!"
"Never mind, I'm giving you a show. Now let's get to bed early, as I want to get a good start."
Tom awoke to find a nasty, drizzling rainstorm in progress, and the lake was almost hidden from view by a swirling fog. Still he was not to be daunted from his trip to Shopton by the weather, and, after a substantial breakfast, he bade his father and Ned good-by and started off in the ARROW.
The canopy he had provided was an efficient protection against the rain, a celluloid window in the forward hanging curtains affording him a view so that he could steer.
Through the mist puffed the boat, the motor being throttled down to medium speed, for Tom was not as familiar with the lake as he would like to have been, and he did not want to run aground or into another craft.