With the black paint left from the time the Water Witch had been painted at Cedar Island, Stan began painting in the new name neatly while the tide dropped and left him standing up to his knees in the water now. In the meantime John had washed down the rest of the hull and was repainting it white. It had to be a heavy, well spread coat to cover the old black, but John was equal to the task, and by the time the tide was coming back, towards noon, both boys had put finishing touches on the white and were giving the top sides—cabin trunk and top—a coat of tan. At dinner time they were amused by the townspeople who came down to witness the changes in the Water Witch. After a good meal, they went back to work, sawing off the bowsprit, after taking down the outer stay to the mainmast head and unhooking the jib. A plane from the tool box now came in handy to smooth down the stump of the bowsprit, and putty and white paint with a tan topping soon disguised the bow of the Staghound!
“Might as well work away and finish the job as fast as we can to-day, eh, John?” Stan said, as they dumped the remains of the forward spar into an old pile of lumber at the end of the wharf. “Let’s rig a tripod and take out the mast!”
It was a good afternoon’s work to rig a tripod of oak “sills” from that lumber pile and with a heavy tackle and the help of a couple of wharf “idlers” to swing out the mast and lay it upon the wharf. By that time an interesting thing had taken place. One of the onlookers offered to buy the mast and sails when he found out they were no longer wanted.
“Don’t know why you want to ruin a good boat, young fella,” said the man, “but I’ll take that mast fer a price and the sail, effen you say the word!”
They dickered over the price a few minutes and when they were through Stan had some twenty-five dollars toward the new mainsail and Marconi mast!
“Just a drop in the bucket compared to what that new mast will cost, John, but it’ll help!” laughed Stan. “And Nevens will never know the mast on another boat!”
All day they had kept a weather eye open for gray speedboats running in from Point Zenith, but none came till about supper time. By that time, as they were about to go below for a meal, having got the Staghound away from the wharf on a high tide, and anchored some distance out in the harbor after the judicious use of a pair of oars for forced sculling, they were not surprised to see what they had expected!
Round the point roared a speedboat, humming softly into the harbor. The boys ducked below and peered out the cabin ports watching the boat circle around. Would the men in that boat recognize the Staghound? But they need not have had any fear for, without her short mast, and her bowsprit and without her black sides and the name on her stern, the old Water Witch was a strange object, just another white yacht!
“Don’t see them!” came a familiar voice and the gray boat hummed right past the Staghound!
It was Dago, sitting in the bow seat of that runabout, a worried frown on his far from handsome face! Stan could not suppress a gleeful chuckle.