it's coming pretty fast too, seems to me," ventured Frank.
"Hey! don't you think we'd better pull in nearer the shore? The idiots might run us down out here! Some reckless Clifford chaps heading for Columbia I reckon, to get something decent to eat," ejaculated Lanky, uneasily.
"It's too late now, for they're right on us, and seem to be heading straight this way. Get out a match and give them a flare. Perhaps they don't see this green boat on the water. Quick! Lanky!" said Frank, seizing the oar from his companion's hand, and thrusting it into the rowlock on his left.
Lanky fumbled for a second or two, muttering at his hard luck in getting an obstinate matchsafe open. Meanwhile Frank had partly turned the boat toward the nearest shore, hoping that they might yet get out of the way of the power craft that was coming bustling along so noisily.
"Hey! there, sheer off you fellers!" shouted Lanky, as he finally scratched one of his matches along the leg of his trousers, and held the flame aloft so that it would illumine the faces of the occupants of the rowboat.
The furious popping of the power-boat's exhaust ceased, but there was little abatement to the speed of the craft. Frank was sure he heard a low laugh
