The storm ended as suddenly as it began. Before the rain had entirely ceased, a patch of blue was seen in the west. Half an hour later, the sun was shining on a far-off bank of clouds, while the two boats were gently rising and falling on the rounded swells.
The Ramblers suffered no ill effects from their wetting, thanks to the oilskin coats, but the others presented a sadly bedraggled spectacle.
"Did you ever hear of such mean luck?" growled Nat. "I wish I could interview the man who got up this steering gear."
"Little fishes, but I am wet!" exclaimed Kirk Talbot, with a doleful smile.
"We ought not to kick about that," protested Ted Pollock. "If Bob Somers hadn't come along you might be at the bottom of the lake and wetter than you are now. The way we got thrown around was about the worst that ever happened."
The two boats lay to. Bob and his companions set about putting things to rights. Swabs were brought out and before long the "Rambler" resumed its former spick and span appearance.
The members of the Nimrod Club were fully aware of the fact that a great service had been rendered them, and they all expressed their appreciation of it, Nat, however, sandwiching his remarks between numerous growls and complaints, while tinkering at his wheel with an enormous wrench.
From odd scraps of conversation, the Ramblers managed to learn that their rivals had bought a box of canned goods in town, and that Nat, carrying it from one place to another, just as the storm broke, had slipped and let it drop. Nat tried to get his companions to stop talking, but they did not seem to realize the necessity for keeping the facts secret.
"Bump-bang!" exclaimed John Hackett, at length. "Maybe if it hadn't been for the wheel, Nat, that box would have gone clean through the bottom of the boat."
Nat Wingate, with a very red face, arose, holding a spoke, which the wrench, instead of straightening, had broken off. Without a word, he started the motor, and it was presently seen that the "Nimrod" had been restored to a serviceable condition.