and take the wheel. I want to get out of here before the constable comes.”
The farmer stood a little way off observing them sourly. The propeller began to churn and the Slow Poke waddled off into deep water. Chub threw the wheel hard over and the boat swung its nose around until it pointed down-stream. Then he called for full speed and the Slow Poke made off in a hurry.
“My love to Carlo!” cried Chub from the wheel-house.
“Tell him I hope he chokes!” added Roy vindictively.
At that moment a man in a faded blue coat with brass buttons came out of the woods and hurried toward the farmer. Hasty explanations followed on the part of the latter.
Chub put his lips to the speaking-tube.
“Got her full speed, Dick?” he called.
“Yes,” was the answer.
“All right. Our friend, the constable, has arrived. Keep her going.” The Slow Poke was now far out of the cove and making good time down the river. Roy waved a polite farewell to the two figures on shore; the whistle croaked, and
