Uh-huh! All this panicky talk by Meyers and the
yacht captain only warmed up her sportin' blood. What right, she
wanted to know, had a snippy little gunboat to hold up a private party
of perfectly good New Yorkers and ask 'em where they was goin'? Humph!
What was the government, anyway? Just a lot of cheap officeholders who
spent their time bothering our best people about customs duties and
income taxes. For her part, she didn't care a snap about the navy. If
the _Agnes_ could get away, why not breeze ahead?
I expect that proposition must have appealed to Old Hickory, for he
swung to her side at the last, and that's the way it was settled. They
decided to make no bones about what was up. Mr. Ellins calls us
together and makes a little speech, sayin' if anybody don't like the
prospect he's sorry, but it can't be helped.
Then the crew gets busy. Black smoke begins pourin' out of the stack
and the engines are tuned up to top speed. All the awnin's are taken
in and every flag pulled down. The _Agnes_ proceeds to hump herself,
too.
"Twelve knots," reports Old Hickory, inspectin' the patent log. "The
Captain thinks he can get fourteen out of her. The _Petrel's_ best is
sixteen."
"At least, we have a good start," says Auntie, gazin' off where a thin
smudge shows on the sky line.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204