“Tough luck,” sympathized Frank. “We may see you this afternoon. But no more racing until the engine is worked in a bit better. It was foolish to let her out while she is so stiff.”
“Where are you going now?”
“Oh, we’ll just cruise around,” said Frank. “I was thinking we might go up to Barmet village and back.”
“That’s a nice run. It’ll take you about half an hour if you go easy. About five minutes if you let that speed demon out for all she’s worth.”
“We’ll go easy,” laughed Joe. “We don’t want to ruin the engine on our first trip.”
“Runs pretty smooth,” approved Tony. “It’ll stand quite a lot. Well, I must be going. Goodbye.”
He turned the nose of his craft toward the boathouse and drew swiftly away. The Hardy boys set out in the opposite direction, surging through the water toward Barmet village.
XI
A Man in a Hurry
Barmet village lay several miles from Bayport on the shore of Barmet Bay, from which it got its name. It was a small place, inhabited by fishermen chiefly, and it was a distributing center for the farmers who lived in the surrounding area. The Hardy boys had no particular object in going to Barmet, beyond the fact that the village served as a destination and gave their boating trip more of a purpose than there would have been had they merely cruised aimlessly around.
Although the sky had been clear and the sun had been shining when they set out, Frank noticed that already clouds were coming in from the sea and the wind was stiffening. Storms sprang up suddenly along the coast but he was not alarmed for he knew that they would have the wind with them on the return trip.
The Sleuth sped smoothly along, the engine purring without a miss. The craft neither rocked nor rolled, but cut the waves cleanly. Both Frank and Joe were delighted beyond measure with their boat, and at that moment would not have traded places with a king.
By the time they reached Barmet, the sky was cloudier than ever and there was a hint of rain, so the boys determined that they would not stay long in the village. They made a landing at the wharf and got out to stretch their legs, being greatly pleased in the meantime by the complimentary remarks passed by such villagers as were about at the time, on the appearance of their boat.
These were not empty compliments, for the Barmet people prided themselves on knowing a good boat when they saw one and there was nothing grudging in their approval of the Sleuth. Two old fishermen sat on the wharf with their feet dangling over the water and discussed the motorboat in every detail from bow to stern, agreeing that she combined strength and appearance in a remarkable degree. When they had finally affixed their seal of approval to the Sleuth they refilled their pipes and settled down to an endless series of reminiscences concerning boats that they had once sailed.
“The sky’s beginning to look black,” pointed out Frank to his brother after they had listened to a number of these tales. “I guess we’d better be starting.”
Joe moved away reluctantly, for he was fascinated by the highly colored yarns of the two old salts. But when he glanced at the lowering horizon he realized that Frank’s apprehensions were justified and that it would be better for them to start back to Bayport without delay.
They got into the boat and were just about to cast off when there came a sudden interruption.
A man came running down the road leading to the dock. He was waving his arms and shouting.
“Hi! Hey there! Wait for me!”
Somewhat puzzled, the Hardy boys waited. They did not recognize the man; he was a complete stranger to them. He was stout and thickset, florid of face and red of hair, and as he ran out on the wharf he panted from his exertions.
“Whew!” he exclaimed, mopping his brow with a bright silk handkerchief. “I nearly missed you.”
“What do you want?” Frank asked.
“I wanted to go to Bayport—right away. I want to catch that train, and if you can get me there in twenty minutes I’ll give you ten dollars. Will you take me?”
The Hardy boys looked at one another doubtfully. Both were conversant with the Bayport train schedules and neither was aware of any train that left Bayport at that hour in the morning. Still, the stranger seemed very much in earnest and he drew a ten dollar bill from his pocket as proof of his good faith.
“Come!” he said impatiently. “How about it? Will you take me or will you not? I want to be there in twenty minutes. There’s ten dollars in it for you.”
Ten dollars, as Frank said later, “is not to be sneezed at.” When they bought the motorboat their father made the stipulation that they should not draw on their bank accounts to pay for the gasoline, and every cent was precious for that reason.
“Jump in,” Frank said. “I guess we can get you there in twenty minutes, all right.”
“Thanks,” said the florid-faced man, getting into the boat. “Make it as quick as you can.”
Frank slipped into his seat and in a few moments the engine was roaring as the Sleuth glided away from the shadow of the wharf and headed out into the bay. She rapidly picked up speed and soon the salt spray was flying as the motorboat tore through the waves, her nose pointing toward Bayport.
The stranger settled back with a sigh of relief.
“Mighty good thing I met you,” he said. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be able to get out at all. There was only a rickety looking flivver in the village and I was afraid to take a chance on
