“Them boys air going to be disappointed—by jings!” muttered Bromley. “And that’s too bad. But these yere new-fangled notions——”
Suddenly the “put, put, put!” of the engine reached his ears. And at the same time the sail filled and bellied full. The motor-iceboat leaped ahead, the exhaust became a rumble, and the _Follow Me_ shot up the river faster—it seemed to Bromley—than he had ever seen any craft move before.
She crossed the frozen stream diagonally and in two minutes was out of sight behind the humpback of Island Number One! Her disappearance left the old man breathless.
“Some boat—that,” said a voice behind him.
“Heh?” exclaimed John Bromley, turning to see a strange man standing coolly on his private wharf.
“That’s a fine sailer,” said the stranger.
“Mebbe ’tis,” returned John, eyeing the man fixedly.
The latter was a keen-looking chap, lean and wiry, and dressed in a long, loose, gray ulster, buckled about his waist with a belt. He returned the old boatman’s look, after a moment, with interest.
“You know those chaps who are running that boat?” asked the stranger.
“I reckon I know the Speedwells pretty well,” grunted John.
“What business have they got over on that island?”
“What business have you got asking me?” returned the old man, freezingly.
“Keep wanting. Everything comes ter them that waits, they tell me.”
“You are of a sour temper, I see,” observed the stranger, eyeing Bromley quite calmly.
“Mebbe. But my temper is none of your business. Something else is.”
“What’s that, old timer?” asked the thin man, grinning slightly.
“You’re on a piece of the earth I own. Get off it,” said John Bromley, advancing truculently. “This dock is mine—and I own to the road. You git back to the road and stay there.”
The man eyed him for a few seconds, as though to see whether he really meant the command, or not. It was quite plain that Bromley meant it. He was beginning to roll up his sleeves, and old as he was he looked to be a bad man to tackle.
“Oh! very well,” said the stranger, backing off. “No offense meant.”
“And that’s lucky, too,” growled John. “For if you was meanin’ offense I might come out into the road to you, at that!”
The stranger said no more, but gradually “oozed off the scenery,” as Bromley told the boys afterward. “But that feller’s got some reason for nosin’ around here,” the old boatman added, as he helped fasten the motor iceboat to the spiles of the dock. “I didn’t like his looks—not a little bit.”