The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket: or, The Mystery of the Dunstan Heir

CHAPTER I – THE PAIR IN THE SEAT AHEAD

“Is the ‘Meteor’ a fast boat?”

“Very fast, indeed.”

“But can she beat anything along thiscoast? That’s what I want to know.”

“Judge for yourself. On her trial trip shemade within a small fraction of twenty-eightmiles an hour.”

“Whew! That’s tremendous speed, even fora fast and costly boat such as the rich build to-day.But how long has she been in the water?”

“Since last March.”

“She may have fouled a good deal since then,or her machinery may be a good deal below themark by this time.”

“Humph! For that matter, something couldbe made to happen to the boat, I suppose.”

Of the two men carrying on this conversationin a day-coach seat on a railway train, one wasfive-foot-seven, florid and somewhat stout, witha bull neck and keen, twinkling eyes. His wholeappearance hinted that he had spent most of hisforty years of life on the open sea. The otherman, who was short, slim and swarthy, with narrow, piercing black eyes, might have been a fewyears older. His every motion betokened greatactivity. One might have guessed him to be aSpaniard. His general attire, though it wassomewhat careless, would place him in the business-manclass.

At the first mention of the name “Meteor”two American boys, seated immediately behindthe men, started slightly and immediately wereall attention. Each boy was about sixteen yearsof age. Tom Halstead was fair, brown-hairedand blue-eyed with a naturally merry look. JoeDawson was darker, somewhat more reserved inmanner and was Tom’s fast chum and greatadmirer.

Yes; readers of the preceding volume in thisseries will recognize Tom and Joe at once asthe young Americans who became the originalmembers of the Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec.It was they who put Broker Prescott’sfast motor boat, the “Sunbeam,” once more incommission; they who went through some mostlively adventures along the coast near the mouthof the Kennebec and who rendered tremendouslyimportant services to Revenue Officer Evans, acousin of the broker, in penetrating the secretof Smugglers’ Island.

Now these same two members of the MotorBoat Club were traveling on business that theybelieved to be wholly commonplace. They wereheaded for the island of Nantucket, south ofCape Cod. The experiences ahead of them, theyimagined, were to be of the most ordinary kind.They had no glimpse, as yet, of the new excitementsthat Fate had in store for them. Theyhad no hint of the startling adventures intowhich they were soon to be plunged.

But that mention of the name “Meteor” hadaroused their instant attention. That was thename of the motor boat that they were to joinand take charge of at Wood’s Hole. The craftwas the property of Mr. Horace Dunstan, oneof the wealthy residents of the island of Nantucket.

An ordinary boy might not have heard thelow-toned conversation of the pair in the seatahead. But Tom and Joe, attuned to the life ofthe sea and with ears trained to note the slightestirregularity of the sound of machinery, possessedacute hearing indeed.

At the first words of that conversation betweenthe unknown pair Tom gave Joe a slightnudge in the side. Dawson’s eyes promptlyclosed, his lips parting, his head sinking slightlyforward. He appeared to be sound asleep. Halsteadseemed to be wholly interested in the newspaperat which he was glancing. Not even whenthe possibility of foul play to the “Meteor”was mentioned did either youngster betray anyfurther sign. Indeed, the men in the seat aheadwere evidently confident that the boys could nothear their low-pitched talk. None of the otherseats near by was occupied.

The accommodation train from Boston, rollingslowly along late in this July afternoon, had just left Falmouth for its run of a fewmiles to Wood’s Hole, the last stop, as thiswould be the end of the mainland route. Acrossthe meadows the hot breath of July camethrough the open car windows. The brightnessof the sunshine inclined one to close hiseyes, so that Joe Dawson’s slumber seemed themost natural thing in the world. Indeed, TomHalstead’s eyes were narrowing; he seemed thenext candidate for a doze. Yet, depend upon it, neither boy had been more awake in his life.The slightest hint of possible mischief to theboat that was soon to be intrusted to their carewas enough to set their nerves a-tingle.

“That was a queer rumpus on Boston Commonthe other day,” began the florid-faced man.The subject had been changed. No furthermention was made of the “Meteor.” Tom Halsteadfelt tremendously disappointed. He hadhoped to hear more that would be of interest tohimself. But the pair in the seat ahead did notagain refer to the “Meteor.” So Tom, afterstealthily making a few pin pricks in his newspaper, settled far down in his seat, holding thepaper before his face as though reading. Inreality he was studying what he could see ofthe faces of the men who had so suddenlyaroused his interest. With the paper closeenough to his face the pin holes were almost asgood as windows.

Over those last few miles droned the train.Tom felt cheated in not hearing more, but toall appearances the strangers had forgotten theexistence of the “Meteor.” When the train wasyet a mile out from Wood’s Hole the twomen arose, going to the forward end of the car.The train slackened in speed, the two mendropping off on the further side of the carfrom where the boys sat. By the time thatHalstead deemed it prudent to slip across toa window opposite, the two men were out ofsight.

“Now what on earth can be the reason forthose two fellows desiring any injury to a gentleman’sprivate yacht?” muttered Tom, rejoininghis chum.

“At all events, it’s handy to be well warnedin advance,” returned Joe with a quiet grin.

“Yes, if we run across that pair within twentycable lengths of the boat we’ll know ’em and beon our watch,” answered Halstead with a meaningflash in his eyes.

They had little more time for puzzling theirheads, for the train was now rolling in at thelittle station at Wood’s Hole. There were lessthan a dozen people to disembark. Out of sucha small crowd anyone looking for two youngmotor boat experts would have little difficulty inselecting the two boys with weather-tinted faces, who wore suits of strong, serviceable navy blue, soft brown canvas shoes and straw hats. So atall, slender man of forty-five, dressed in outinggray and wearing an expensive fine-straw hat, came at once toward them.

“Captain Tom Halstead?” he inquired, lookingfrom one boy to the other.

“That’s my name, sir,” Tom answered. “Youare Mr. Horace Dunstan?”

“Yes. And heartily glad that you did notdisappoint me.”

“There was no good reason why we should, sir,” Halstead rejoined, then presented hischum. Mr. Dunstan shook hands with both verycordially, although he was not able to concealentirely his astonishment at their youthfulness.

“I – er – really expected to find you a littleolder,” Mr. Dunstan admitted with an easylaugh. “However, it’s all right. My friend,Prescott, told me he had found, among the seacoastboys of Maine, some of the best materialfor motor boat handlers in the world. I askedhim to send me the best pair he knew, so, ofcourse, it’s all right, for Prescott never goesback on a friend.”

“We’ve handled Mr. Prescott’s boat in somerather tight places,” said Tom quietly.

“You have your suit cases, I see. There’s noneed to carry them down to the waterfront. Come over here and hand them to thedriver.”

Mr. Dunstan led the way to the solitary hackat the station, though neither sturdy boy wouldhave thought anything of walking and carryinghis baggage.

“Now we’ll drive down at once and you’ll seethe ‘Meteor’” proposed their host. “Perhapsyou will be able to tell, very soon, what ails thecraft. I have had one or two local machinistslook her over and the owner of one small motorboat who thought he knew all about such craft.Yet the engine doesn’t work well enough for meto be satisfied to try to use the boat.”

In a few minutes the three alighted near apier that jutted some hundred feet out over thewater. At the further end lay as jaunty a fifty-footcraft as either boy had ever laid eyes on.

“So that’s the ‘Meteor’? Oh, she’s a dandy!”cried Tom in a burst of enthusiasm.

“Say, look at the beauty of her lines! Whatspeed she ought to be good for, with a strong, well-behaving engine!” came from quiet Joe.

Horace Dunstan smiled with pardonable prideas he led the way down the pier. As far as firstimpressions went the boat was worthy of extendedpraise. Though only five feet longerthan the “Sunbeam,” she had the look of beinga much larger craft. There was more forecastle.The space of the bridge deck seemedbetter arranged. There was an awning overthe bridge deck and another over the cockpitaft. The cabin looked roomier. From davitsat the starboard side swung a natty-lookingsmall boat.

“Gr-r-r-r!” came a warning sound from theclosed forecastle as the trio stepped aboard.

“In the absence of crew I’ve kept my bull pupdown in the engine room,” explained Mr. Dunstan.

“A mighty good idea,” muttered Tom with aswift recollection of the fragments of conversationhe and Joe had overheard on the train.

“Stand back a moment, until I let him outand present you to him,” requested the owner.“Don’t be afraid of him. Bouncer is a veryintelligent dog. Hell understand an introductionas quickly as a human being would.”

One of the forecastle windows was open, togive air to the dog, though it was not largeenough to let him out.

“It’s all right, Bouncer,” called Mr. Dunstanreassuringly, as he fitted a key at the forecastledoor. “Now come out like a four-footed gentlemanand meet some friends of ours.”

Bouncer came nimbly out, a low-built, thicksetbulldog of the finest fighting type. He had asquare-set pair of jaws that looked capable oftaking a tremendous grip. His look, however, under the prompt petting of his owner, waskindly and curious.

“These young gentlemen are all right,Bouncer,” spoke Mr. Dunstan. “Go over andget acquainted with them. Let them pet you.”

Bouncer contented himself with a brief sniffingat each boy in turn. Then he submitted tocaresses, wagging his short stump of a tail.

“He understands. You’ll never need to beafraid of this dog, unless you do some such extremething as to attack me or a member ofmy family,” Mr. Dunstan assured them. “Nowcome down into the engine room.”

“Say, this is something like!” uttered Joeenthusiastically, as he stepped below and stoodlooking about him. Here there was an abundanceof room, for much of the engine was housed backunder the bridge deck. The engineer had plentyof space in which to move about. Forward ofthe engine room, shut off by a curtain, was thegalley. Here were stove, sink, ice box, dishrackand room for a goodly supply of foods.

Through a passageway Mr. Dunstan led themunder the bridge deck. Curtained off from thepassage was a wide berth.

“We generally call this the captain’s berth,”explained the owner.

“I guess my berth will be on one of the engineroom lockers with Joe,” smiled Halstead.

The cabin proved to be spacious and handsome.The four locker seats could be fitted intoberths when cruising. The cockpit aft was largeand contained, besides side seats, half a dozencomfortable armchairs.

“Now suppose we go back to the engine,” desiredMr. Dunstan, turning about. “I’m anxious, indeed, to know whether you can locatethe trouble that has tied this craft up here.”

Returning to the engine room, the boys openedtheir suit cases, taking out overalls and jumpers.Clad in these they were soon armed withwrenches and other tools, exploring the mysteriesof that engine.

“This machine hasn’t had very good care,”spoke Joe after a while. “She’s fouled withdirt and thick oil at a good many points.”

“Has the motor been overheated?” asked theowner.

“I don’t believe so, sir; at least, not to anyserious extent,” Joe stated as his opinion.

“Any repairs to parts going to be necessary?”

“A few, but simple ones, I guess. We oughtto be able to make ’em from the materials athand.”

“You – er – couldn’t run out to-night, I suppose?”

“We shall be very fortunate, sir,” Joe answered,“if we can take this boat out to-morrow forenoon.”

“We’ll stay aboard to-night and work as lateas we can,” Tom explained. “Joe can’t reallytell, until we get started, just how much willhave to be done. But the motor is not hurt pastordinary repair.”

“I was going to ask you over to the hotel fordinner to-night,” hinted the owner.

“There seems to be plenty of everything toeat in the galley,” Tom answered seriously.“So, if you don’t mind, sir, we’ll stay rightby our work and help ourselves to food aswe can.”

“Make yourselves at home, then. Do youmean to sleep aboard to-night?” inquired Mr.Dunstan, as he started up the steps to the bridgedeck.

“I think we’d better, for more reasons thanone, perhaps,” Halstead made answer as he, too, stepped to the bridge deck. “Mr. Dunstan,”he went on in a lower voice, “do youknow of anyone who could have a good reasonfor wanting to injure your boat?”

“Why, no,” replied the owner, though neverthelesshe gave a slight start. “Why?”

Tom described the men and the conversationaboard the train. Mr. Dunstan listened withinterest, though he shook his head when the twomen were described.

“There might be a shadow of reason for theirtalk in one direction,” he admitted, slowly andreluctantly. “But, pshaw, no; I’m dreaming.No, there can’t be any reason for wanting toruin my boat. Very likely you didn’t hear quiteright.”

“At any rate,” Halstead went on, “Joe andI will be aboard to-night, and probably everynight as long as we’re in your employ.”

“You seem to take this thing seriously, Halstead.”

“I don’t believe, sir, in throwing away whatseems like a very valuable hint. It won’t doany harm for us to be watchful, anyway. Bythe way, sir, do you mind letting the dog stayaboard, too?”

“Certainly you may have him,” nodded theowner. “He won’t interfere with you and he’llsleep with one eye and both ears open. Well, make yourselves at home here, boys. Do whateveryou please in the galley and feed and waterBouncer. I’ll be at the hotel this evening incase you should want me for anything.”

After impressing upon Bouncer that he wasstill to remain aboard, Mr. Dunstan strolledleisurely down the pier. Both boys went hardat work.

“What do you make of our new employer?”asked Joe after a while.

“He seems like an ordinary, easy-going man,”Tom replied. “I don’t believe he ever startledanyone by doing anything very original, buthe’s a gentleman, and we’re going to find himconsiderate and just. That’s all we can ask inany man.”

After that there wasn’t much talk, except thefew words now and then that related to takingthe motor to pieces, and repairing and replacingits parts. At the close of day they helpedthemselves to a bountiful meal and made a fastfriend of Bouncer by catering to his healthy appetite.Then, by the light of lanterns, theywent to work again. It was after eleven o’clockwhen they found themselves too drowsy to dofurther justice to their work.

“Let’s go up on deck and get some air. Afterthat we’ll turn in,” proposed Halstead.

“I wonder if we’re going to have visitors orany trouble?” mused Joe. “Somehow I can’tempty my head of that talk in the car this afternoon.”

“If we do have any trouble,” laughed Tomnodding down at the dog dozing on the deck attheir feet, “I’ve a private notion that we’regoing to be able to pass some back – to someone.”

Twenty minutes later the motor boat chumshad made up berths on the engine-room lockersand had undressed and gone to bed. Both weresoon sound asleep. They relied on Bouncer, wholay on the deck just outside the open hatchway,to let them know if anything threatening happened.

CHAPTER II – BOUNCER WAKES UP

While our two young motor boat enthusiastslie wrapped in the first soundslumber of the summer night, lulledinto unconsciousness by the soft lapping of thesalt water against the sides of the “Meteor,”let us take a brief glimpse at the events whichhad brought them here.

Readers of the preceding volume in this seriesare aware of how the Motor Boat Club came tobe organized. It now numbered fourteen members, any one of whom was fully qualified tohandle a motor boat expertly under any ordinarycircumstances.

Every member was a boy born and broughtup along the seacoast. Such boys, both by inheritanceand experience, are usually well qualifiedfor salt-water work. They are aboard ofboats almost from the first days of life that theycan recollect. Seamanship and the work requiredabout marine machinery are in the airthat surrounds their daily lives. It is fromamong such boys that our merchant marine andour Navy find their best recruit material. Itwas among such boys that broker George Prescotthad conceived the idea of finding materialfor making young experts to serve the ownersof motor cruisers and racers along the NewEngland coast.

Tom and Joe were undoubtedly the pick ofthe club for skill and experience. More thanthat, they were such fast friends that theycould work together without the least danger offriction. Though Halstead was looked upon asthe captain, he never attempted to lord it overhis chum; they worked together as equals ineverything.

Mr. Dunstan had long known Mr. Prescott inBoston, where both had offices. So, whentrouble happened in the “Meteor’s” engineroom, Mr. Dunstan had sent the broker a longtelegram asking that gentleman to send by thenext train the two most capable experts of theClub. He had added that he wanted the boysprincipally for running the boat on fast time betweenNantucket and Wood’s Hole, for theowner had a handsome residence on the island, but came over to the mainland nearly every dayin order to run in by train to his offices in Boston.The “Meteor,” therefore, was generallyrequired to justify her name in the way ofspeed, for Mr. Dunstan’s landing place at Nantucketwas some thirty-five miles from Wood’sHole.

Further, Mr. Dunstan’s telegram had intimatedthat he was likely to want the young menfor the balance of the season, though his messagehad not committed him absolutely on thatpoint. The pay he had offered was more thansatisfactory.

Wood’s Hole is a quaint, sleepy little seaportvillage. The main life, in summer, comes fromthe passing through of steamboat passengersfor Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. Thenight air is so quiet and the sea scent so strongthat even the city visitors at the little hotel findit difficult to stay up as late as eleven o’clock.

On this night, or rather morning, at oneo’clock, there were but two honest people in thewhole place awake. Over at the Marine BiologicalLaboratory, Curator Gray and an assistantwere still up, bending drowsily overa microscope in one of the laboratory rooms.But that building was too far from the “Meteor’s”pier for the scientists to have anyhint of what might be happening near themotor boat.

It was the night before the new moon. Thestars twinkled, but it was rather dark when thefigures of two men appeared at the land end ofthe pier. On their feet these men wore rubber-soledcanvas shoes. Not a sound did they makeas they started to glide out on the pier.

But Bouncer woke up.

“Gr-r-r-r!” the bull pup observed, thrustinghis head up, his hair bristling. All this requiredbut a few seconds. In another instant Bouncerwas at the rail, his nostrils swelling as he tooka keen look down the length of the pier. Thenan angrier growl left his throat. It ended ina bound and Bouncer landed on the pier. Hisshort legs moving rapidly under him Bouncerrushed to meet the soft-shoed gentlemen.

That last, angrier note from the bull puproused Tom Halstead as a bugle call might havedone. He leaped to his feet, snatching at histrousers. Joe stirred, half alertly. When heheard his chum’s feet strike the engine-roomfloor Dawson, too, sprang up.

“Mischief, just as we thought!” breathedTom.

Down at the land end of the pier there was asudden mingling of startled human voices.

“Por la gracia de Dios!” sounded an excited, appealing wail.

“Get away, you beast, or I’ll kill you!”roared another voice in English.

Bang! That was the noise from the throatof a big-calibered pistol. It was followed, justas Tom bounded to the deck, pursued by Joe, bythe rapid pounding of a horse’s hoofs and therattle of wheels.

“There they go!” cried Tom, leaping to thepier in his bare feet and racing shoreward overthe boards. But it was too late for the boys toovertake the prowlers, who were now behind afast horse.

“Did they shoot that fine dog?” growled Joe, his voice rumbling with indignation. Bounceranswered the question for himself by running tomeet them, his tail a-wag, guttural grunts ofsatisfaction coming from his throat, while asignal flag of information fluttered from hismouth.

“He took hold of one of ’em,” chuckled Tom.“Good old fellow, you’ve brought us a sampleof their cloth. Good boy! May I have it?”

Tom bent down to stroke the dog, who submittedvery willingly. When Halstead tookhold of the large, irregular fragment of cloththe bull pup grunted once or twice, then let go.

Back all three went to the boat. Tom lighteda lantern, then held the cloth forward.

“Brown, striped trouser goods,” he chuckled.“Joe, whom have we seen with trousers of thispattern?”

“That Spanish-looking chap in the seat aheadon the train,” muttered Dawson grimly.

“Now if Mr. Dunstan doubts that some onewants to put his boat out of commission we’llhave something definite to call to his attention,”uttered Tom excitedly. “Bouncer, you stockylittle darling!”

Joe looked the dog over carefully to makesure that a bullet had not even grazed that reliable, business-like animal.

“If they had touched you, old splendid,”growled Joe, “we’d have had a good clew ortwo for avenging you. But those rascals didn’teven hurt your grit. You’re ready for ’emagain – if they come!”

For some time the boys were too excited tolie down again. When at last they did, theykept their trousers on, ready for any furthersurprise. Bouncer took up his old post on thedeck above, seemingly free from any trace ofexcitement.

It was nearly half-past six in the morningwhen Joe next opened his eyes. In a hurry heroused his chum. Donning bathing trunks andshirts both dropped over the side for a refreshingswim. Then after drying and dressing, Halsteadwent forward into the galley, while Joesnatched a few minutes at the work left overfrom the night.

Breakfast was a hurried affair, for there wasstill much to do about the motor. It was afternine o’clock when Tom stood back, looking oninquiringly while Joe put on the finishingtouches.

“Now I’ll turn on the gasoline and see ifwe can get any news,” proposed Joe. Afew moments later he started the ignitionapparatus and gave the drive wheel a fewturns.

Chug! chug! the engine began slowly. Joe, oil can in hand, looked on with the attention ofa scientist making an experiment. Bit by bit heincreased the speed of the engine, smoothing thework with oil.

“Give us a little time and the old motor’llmote,” observed Dawson quietly.

“Yes,” nodded Tom equally observant.

Had they been more of amateurs at the workthey would have felt elated, for the engine respondedto all increased speeds that were tried.But these two had worked enough about motorsto know that such an engine may come to acreaking stop when everything appears to berunning at the best.

Chug! chug! It was a cheery sound as theminutes went by and the motor did better andbetter.

“I’m almost hopeful that everything is inshape,” declared Dawson at last.

“Good morning, boys!” came a pleasant hailfrom the pier. “I see everything is in fine trim.”

“It looks that way, Mr. Dunstan,” answeredTom, stepping up above and, by way of salute, bringing his hand to the visor of the Club’s uniformcap that he had donned this morning.“But motors are sometimes cranky. We don’tdare begin to brag just yet.”

“This morning’s mail brought me a letterfrom Mr. Prescott,” went on the owner, holdingup an envelope. “He has written me sevenpages about you. It seems that you are greatpets of my friend’s. He tells me that I canplace every confidence in you.”

“Why, that’s mighty nice of Mr. Prescott,”replied Tom quietly. He was greatly pleased, nevertheless, for he could now see that Mr. Dunstan’sopinion of them had gone up severalnotches.

“Well, well,” continued the owner, as heglanced smilingly down into the engine room;“are you going to cast off now and take me overto Nantucket? It’s four days since I’ve seen myhome and that lucky little rascal, Ted.”

Tom didn’t know or inquire who Ted was orwhy that “rascal” was so very fortunate. Insteadhe replied:

“We were thinking of a little trial trip first, sir, just to see how the craft will behave underway.”

“Good enough,” nodded the owner. “ButI’m aboard, so why can’t I go with you?”

“Of course you can, sir.”

Tom ran ashore to cast off while Joe did somelast fussing over the motor. Having cast thestern-line aboard and coiled it, Tom now cameforward, throwing off the bowline, boardingwith it.

“Start her up at very slow speed ahead, Joe,”called down the young captain, taking his placeat the wheel and throwing it over a little.

With the first throbs of the propeller the“Meteor” began to glide away from the pier.Mr. Dunstan had taken his post at Halstead’sright. The water being deep enough, the youngcaptain moved out confidently.

“Just a little more speed, Joe,” Tom called, when the pier end was some two hundred yardsastern.

A little faster and still a little faster the propellershaft turned, until it settled down to goodwork. The “Meteor” was moving at abouttwelve miles an hour.

“Fine!” cried Mr. Dunstan joyously.“We’re all right now.”

“We’re not yet quite out of the – well, I won’tsay woods, but sea woods,” smiled Tom quietly.

“I’m forgetting my duty,” cried Mr.Dunstan in sudden self-reproach. “I mustact a bit as pilot until you know these watersbetter.”

“Why, I studied the chart, sir, nearly all theway from Portland,” replied Tom. “I thinkI am picking up the marks of the course allright.”

“You can’t see Nantucket from here, but canyou point straight to it?” inquired Mr. Dunstan.

“I’m heading straight along the usual coursenow,” Tom replied.

“Right! You are. I guess you know yourway from the chart, though you’ve never seenthese waters before. Keep on. I won’t interfereunless I see you going wrong.”

“Shall I head straight on for the island?”asked Halstead. “Or would you rather keepclose to the mainland until we see how theengine behaves?”

“Keep right on, captain, unless your judgmentforbids.”

Tom, therefore, after a brief talk with hischum through the open hatchway, held to hiscourse, to the south of which lay the big islandof Martha’s Vineyard, now well populated bysummer pleasure seekers.

Notch by notch Joe let out the speed, thoughhe was too careful to be in a hurry about that.He wanted to study his machine until he knewit as he did the alphabet. Every fresh spurtpleased the owner greatly.

“Your Club has some great fellows in it ifyou two are specimens,” said Mr. Dunstan delightedly.“Prescott knew what he was writingwhen he told me to stand by anything youwanted to do.”

By the time when they had the Vineyard fairlysouth of them and the craft was going at morethan a twenty-mile gait, Tom judged that heshould inform the owner of the happening of thenight before. He therefore called Joe up fromthe motor to take the wheel. Then Halstead toldMr. Dunstan what had taken place, exhibitingthe fragment of cloth secured by Bouncer andconnecting this, in theory, with the swarthy manthey had seen aboard the train.

Bouncer, looking up in his master’s face andwhining, seemed anxious to confirm Tom Halstead’snarration.

“Why, there’s something about all this thatwill make it well for us all to keep our eyesopen,” said Mr. Dunstan.

Tom, watching the owner’s face, felt that thatgentleman had first looked somewhat alarmed, then much more annoyed.

“There’s something that doesn’t please himand I shouldn’t think it would,” the young captainreflected. “Yet, whatever it is he doesn’tintend to tell me, just yet, at all events. I hopeit’s nothing in the way of big mischief thatthreatens.”

“Of course I’d suggest, sir,” Tom observedfinally, “that Dawson and myself sleep aboardnights.”

“You may as well,” nodded the owner, andagain Tom thought he saw a shadow of worrimentin the other’s eyes.

“Are you going to let Bouncer stay aboard, too, sir?” Tom asked.

“Ordinarily I think I’ll let the dog sleep atthe house nights,” replied Mr. Dunstan, immediately after looking as though he were tryingto dismiss some matter from his mind.

Joe, too, had been keen enough to scent thefact that, though Mr. Dunstan tried to appearwholly at his ease, yet something was giving thatgentleman a good deal of cause for thought.Mr. Dunstan even went aft, presently, seatinghimself in one of the armchairs and smokingtwo cigars in succession rather rapidly.

“We’ve put something into his mind thatdoesn’t lie there easily,” hinted Joe.

“But, of course, it’s none of our business unlesshe chooses to tell us,” replied Halstead.

A little later Joe Dawson went down into theengine room to get the best reasonable work outof the motor. Even at racing speed the “Meteor’s”bow wave was not a big one. Therewas almost an absence of spray dashing overthe helmsman. Tom did not need to put on oilskins,as he had often done on the “Sunbeam.”The “Meteor’s” bow lines were so beautiful andgraceful, so well adapted to an ideal racingcraft, that the bridge deck in ordinary weatherwas not a wet place.

As they neared cool, wind-swept Nantucket,Mr. Dunstan came forward once more, to pointout the direction of his own place. This lay onthe west side of the island. As they ran incloser the owner pointed out the mouth of a cove.

“We’ve come over in two hours,” announcedMr. Dunstan, consulting his watch as theyneared the cove.

“Now that we understand the boat and theengine,” answered Tom, “we ought to go overthe course in less than an hour and a half.”

“Fine!” pronounced the owner. “That’swhat the boat was built for. Do that and I canmake the trip to my Boston offices every weekday – if I decide that it’s best to do so.”