"Give Fenton ten feet start, an' he wouldn't lose by more'n a hundred!"
"Dive off the cliff! Don't go in Havens' boat—it has a hole in it!"
These words, floating over the air, grew fainter, as the "Dauntless" drew away from the island, her sail, a shining patch of white in the sunlight, and her hull scarcely seen against the rippling water.
"Well, this is a pretty how-de-do, isn't it?" growled Dick. "Talk about cheek, eh? Looks as if they're going to take their time in coming back, too."
"Oh, never mind," said Fenton, resignedly. "As long as the boat isn't hurt, I don't care. Anyway, we can't help ourselves."
Jim Havens looked disturbed.
"Honest, fellows, I didn't know a thing about it," he exclaimed, earnestly. "Didn't think that Sanders would play such a mean trick."
"Fenton ought to punch him good and plenty," said hot-headed Dick Travers.
"Rather out of my line," laughed the New York boy. "It's only a bit of fun on their part. Let's be philosophical, like our friend," and he pointed toward Dave Brandon asleep on the mossy bank.
"Guess you're right," assented Bob. "Perhaps they won't be long. Awful nerve, though."