The Motor Boat Club off Long Island: or, A Daring Marine Game at Racing Speed

Mr. Delavan laughed heartily.

“Eben,” he demanded, “what on earth ails you?”

“Oh, I am so nervous!” moaned the other. “I see dangers, horrors, ahead of us!”

Francis Delavan grinned. Then, noting the ashen-gray look on his friend’s face, he stepped over, walking with the nervous one and laying a kindly hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Eben, you always let yourself get unduly excited. What you need, just now, is a good, sound night’s sleep.”

“Sleep?” shuddered the nervous one. “I couldn’t think of it. My nerves – ”

“You’ve let them cut loose again, Eben, and make life a burden to you. There’s no need of it.”

“But you know, Frank, the big money deals we’re engaged in. You know well that some men would give their souls to possess our information, both that which we have and expect to get.”

“True, perhaps,” admitted Mr. Delavan, nodding. “But the only way they have tried to reach us is through the bribing of our young captain. Halstead and his friends can’t be bribed, so the rascals can’t hope to do anything. I have full faith in our crew.”

“Something terrible is almost certain to happen, just the same,” insisted Mr. Moddridge, his voice quaking.

“Oh, nonsense, man! Go to sleep. Your nerves need rest.”

“Laugh at me,” muttered Moddridge, his face now showing a sickly smile. “But the day will come soon, Frank, when you will wish you had listened to me.”

“But haven’t I listened to you?” inquired Mr. Delavan, with a mock-injured air. “Eben, are you going to be disappointed because I won’t let my nerves rule me, too?”

“I wish your nerves did get the upper hand once in a while,” groaned the smaller man. “Then you’d know what I feel. I tell you, Frank, the immediate future looks dark – dark!”

Mr. Delavan laughed jovially.

“Something fearfully unfortunate is going to happen,” insisted the man of nerves.

“Something very unfortunate,” assented Delavan. “We’re going to add something in the way of millions to our fortunes, and those millions will have to be looked after. Eben, a rich man’s lot isn’t a happy one, is it?”

“Happy?” groaned Moddridge. “I should say not.”

“Then I’ll tell you what to do,” proposed Mr. Delavan. “Turn your miserable fortune over to Halstead, and then sit by to watch him going to pieces with worry.”

Mr. Moddridge, however, refused to be comforted, or to take a humorous view of anything.

“Halstead,” said Mr. Delavan, going over and resting a hand on the young captain’s shoulder, “I don’t expect to need the ‘Rocket’ for any purpose to-morrow, but I can’t tell definitely yet. Go back on board. To-morrow keep all hands on board or close by, so that you can take the boat out if needed. Enjoy yourselves all you can. Eat the best that you can find aboard. Don’t bother about to-night’s happenings – my friend, Moddridge, will attend to all of that. If it happens that you, or Dawson, are approached again by strangers, let them think that you might be induced to fall in with their plans, after all, and then you can let me know what follows. Moddridge and I are playing a peculiar and big game with the money market, and I’ve no doubt that others would like to steal or bribe their way into it. But I trust you. Good night, my boy.”

So Captain Tom strolled back to the pier, thinking over a good many things. As he came in sight of the “Rocket” at her berth he noted that the only lights showing were one deck light, aft, and the gleam that came through the port-holes of the crew’s quarters forward. It looked as though Joe Dawson and Jed Prentiss had turned in for the night, or were about to do so.

One of the small Shinnecock Bay freight boats lay in at the other side of the same pier. A good many cases and barrels were piled up, as though awaiting shipment. Captain Tom stepped over to his own side of the pier, still thinking intently.

Just as the young skipper turned toward the “Rocket’s” gang-plank a heavy object came up over one of the freight piles, flying through the air. Some instinct of danger made young Halstead leap aside. Bump! An iron hitching weight struck the gang-plank with a bang.

For just an instant Captain Tom stood gazing at that heavy missile almost in a daze.

“That was aimed at my legs. The intention must have been to cripple me!” leaped to his lips.

Then, in a lustier voice, he roared:

“Joe! Jed! Tumble out on deck! lively, now!”

CHAPTER VI

THE SIGN OF MISCHIEF

THE next instant after that rousing hail there was a sound of scrambling below. Halstead did not wait. Turning, he raced around the end of that pile of freight. He was in time to hear a loud splash in the water astern of the little freight steamer, though not in time to see who or what jumped. Then he heard Joe and Jed on the “Rocket’s” deck.

“Over here, fellows!” he called. “And come quickly!” Then as his two friends, partly disrobed, rushed to his side, Captain Tom pointed to the water.

“Someone threw a weight at me,” he explained. “He jumped in. Watch to see him rise. Jed, you watch from the other side of the pier. Joe, take the end – and hustle!”

Thus distributed, the crew of the “Rocket” watched and listened for the rising of Tom Halstead’s recent assailant. Time went by, however, until it was certain that no human being could any longer remain under water. Yet no head showed, nor was any being heard making the shore. Then the two other boys came back to their young leader, who was looking extremely thoughtful.

“I wonder,” mused Tom, aloud, “whether I’ve had a good one played on me? You see that weight resting yonder on our gang-plank. That was thrown at me from behind this pile of freight. After yelling for you fellows, I rushed over here just in time to hear a splash. And now it has struck me that some mighty smooth chap may have pitched another weight into the water, then doubled around the freight and so got ashore and away.”