"That's the talk!" burst out Tom. "But how?"
"What do you want to follow the Flyaway for?" asked Martin Harris curiously.
"Those two boys are running away with that girl."
"Impossible!"
"No, it isn't. One of the fellows—the fellow in dark clothing—is the chap who ran into us that day."
"Well, now, do you know I thought it looked like him," was Harris' comment. "And, come to think of it, that boat got as far away from me as she could."
"Do you think you would know her again—I mean the Flyaway—if we got anywhere near her?" asked Dick.
"I think I would, lad. She had a rather dirty mainsail and jib, and each had a new patch of white near the top. Then, too, her rig is a little different from what we have around here. Looked like a Southern boat."
"Have you your boat handy?"
"Yes, she's right at the end of this street. Do you want me to follow up that crowd?"
"Could your boat catch the Flyaway, do you think?"
"My boat, the Searchlight, is as good a yacht
