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One of the two was evidently a lady, and was possessed of no common share of beauty. Her dark hair contrasted powerfully with the fairness of her skin and the whiteness of her teeth. Her dazzling black eyes almost, and her red lips altogether, laughed as she observed Redding's gaze of astonishment. Her companion, a very pretty Canadian girl, was evidently her maid.
As they neared the turning point, Rob saw, to his dismay, that the hydroplane was creeping up faster and faster. It was the last lap, and if Sam Redding's boat passed them at the stake the race was as good as over. "Come on, Flying Fish! Come on!" shouted Rob, as the hydroplane crept ever nearer and nearer to his boat's stern.
"Well, so long as it isn't a really bad blow, it won't trouble the Flying Fish," Rob assured him. "Hullo!" exclaimed the old man suddenly. "What queer kind uv craft is that?" He pointed back to the mouth of the now distant inlet, from which a curious-looking black craft was emerging at what seemed to be great speed. "It's that hydroplane of Sam Redding's, for a bet!" cried Rob.
A half-hour visit to Mrs. Redding was excitement for a week, and only to think of going away with her, and riding on a steam-car, and seeing a lake, and taking Tommy, and being ever so small a part of that gorgeous Redding household! She could not speak; she just looked up and smiled, but the smile seemed to mean more than words, for it brought the sudden tears to Mrs. Redding's eyes.
There were several other entries in the race, but Rob and his crew, consisting of Merritt and Tubby Hopkins, confidently expected the Flying Fish to easily lead them all. "I wonder if the Sam Redding can show her stern to the Flying Fish?" mused Rob. "I'd like to lake a good look at her." "Let's go down to Redding's boat yard," suggested Merritt; "she's lying there on the ways.
He likes to drink and gamble, so he does it, and you keep him in countenance by your friendship. Are you hesitating between us?" she demanded angrily. Redding's face was clouded, and he spoke slowly: "You wouldn't ask this of me, Lucy, if you understood. Dick and I have been chums since we were boys. He came to Kentucky three months ago, sick and miserable.
Towards the afternoon this exercise, coupled with reflection, cooled Reginald Redding's spirit while it warmed his body, and at last he deemed it right to pause for the purpose of letting the men have a pipe and a mouthful of food. While they were busy refreshing themselves he leant over the stern, gazed down into the water, and brooded over his supposed wrongs.
"I ain't!" came in shrill, indignant tones, as Mrs. Wiggs dragged forth the culprit, and restored the muff. "May I drive you over to the avenue? I am going that way." It was Redding's voice, but it sounded queer and unnatural. "Oh, no! No, thank you," gasped Lucy, hardly knowing what she said. Her one idea was to get away before she broke down completely.
From the mouth of the inlet there had stolen a long, low, black craft, gliding through the water at tremendous speed. In the strange craft the boy scouts had little difficulty in recognizing Sam Redding's hydroplane. "So he's got her back," exclaimed Merritt, recovering from his first astonishment. "Yes, and she seems little the worse for her experience," remarked Tubby.
Thus conversing they reached the boat-building yard of Sam Redding's father and were greeted by Tom Jennings, a big good-natured ship carpenter. "Hullo, Tom! Can we see that new boat of Sam's?" inquired Rob. "Sure, I guess there's no objection," grinned Tom, "come right this way. There she is, over there by that big winch."
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