"My motor-boat. That's why I'm after them, but I had to borrow a craft to chase them with."
"Bless my soul! You don't tell me! How did it happen?"
Thereupon the lad related as much of the story as was necessary to put Mr. Damon in possession of the facts and he ended up with:
"I don't suppose you have seen anything of the men in my boat, have you?"
Mr. Damon seemed strangely excited. He had entered his auto, but as the lad's story progressed the odd gentleman had descended. When Tom finished he exclaimed:
"Don't say a word now—not a word. I want to think, and that is a process, which, for me, requires a little time. Don't speak a word now. Bless my left hand, but I think I can help you!"
He frowned, stamped first one foot, then the other, looked up at the sky, as if seeking inspiration there, and then down at the ground, as if that would help him to think. Then he clapped his hands smartly together and cried out:
"Bless my shoe buttons!"
"Have you seen them?" asked Tom eagerly.
"Was your boat one with a red arrow painted on the bow?" asked Mr. Damon in turn.