“Right to the left of Yonkers. Jiminy, the moon had to go back of a cloud just at the wrong time.”
“Help!”
The cry again caused their nerves to tingle, and all strained their eyes in the direction which Bob pointed out.
As a flood of pale moonlight once more streamed between the clouds, a dark object could be seen not more than a quarter of a mile away.
“That’s it, sure enough!” cried Aleck excitedly. “Looks like a rowboat. Somebody may be in a pretty bad pickle, and no boats near enough to help him. If our engine was only all right, we might get there in time ourselves. There, he hollered again.”
“What’s to be done?” asked Joe, blankly.
The boys looked at each other and shook their heads. Then Bob Somers’ lips suddenly tightened and an expression came over his face which the Ramblers knew from experience meant a determined resolve.
“Fellows,” he said, quickly, “I’m going out in the dory. We can’t stand around and not try to help him.”
“Good boy,” said Joe. “That’s the idea exactly. Let me go along, eh?”
But Bob shook his head.