“Ripley has won another victory,” remarked Bill Stiles, “and is satisfied. We are the ultra-personification of grandiloquent magnanimity.”
A faint “oh” came from Pierre; then silence fell upon the scene, only to be broken a moment later by the sound of the “Dart’s” engine.
“Look alive, Bill on the house-boat,” went on Stiles, addressing Jack Lyons. “Catch this line.”
He threw it; then stopped his motor, and, with considerable skill, navigated the “Dart” so that she swung easily up to the “Gray Gull.”
Jack Lyons and Joe Preston uttered exclamations as Bob Somers, who had been seated far back, rose to his feet.
“Where in the dickens did all you fellows come from, old boy?” began Jack.
Bob gave a warning gesture.
“I’ll tell you in a few minutes. Much obliged, you Ripley chaps. We’ve had a lively race.”
“Why, where in the world is George? And where’s Aleck?” burst out Joe.
“Sh-h-h! Wait a minute,” whispered Bob, who had now jumped aboard the house-boat. “Can’t talk for a minute—here comes his guardian.”