Mr. Dunstan had long known Mr. Prescott in Boston, where both had offices. So, when trouble happened in the "Meteor's" engine room, Mr.

Dunstan had sent the broker a long telegram asking that gentleman to send by the next train the two most capable experts of the Club. He had added that he wanted the boys princ.i.p.ally for running the boat on fast time between Nantucket and Wood's Hole, for the owner had a handsome residence on the island, but came over to the mainland nearly every day in order to run in by train to his offices in Boston. The "Meteor,"

therefore, was generally required to justify her name in the way of speed, for Mr. Dunstan's landing place at Nantucket was some thirty-five miles from Wood's Hole.

Further, Mr. Dunstan's telegram had intimated that he was likely to want the young men for the balance of the season, though his message had not committed him absolutely on that point. The pay he had offered was more than satisfactory.

Wood's Hole is a quaint, sleepy little seaport village. The main life, in summer, comes from the pa.s.sing through of steamboat pa.s.sengers for Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. The night air is so quiet and the sea scent so strong that even the city visitors at the little hotel find it difficult to stay up as late as eleven o'clock.

On this night, or rather morning, at one o'clock, there were but two honest people in the whole place awake. Over at the Marine Biological Laboratory, Curator Gray and an a.s.sistant were still up, bending drowsily over a microscope in one of the laboratory rooms. But that building was too far from the "Meteor's" pier for the scientists to have any hint of what might be happening near the motor boat.

It was the night before the new moon. The stars twinkled, but it was rather dark when the figures of two men appeared at the land end of the pier. On their feet these men wore rubber-soled canvas shoes. Not a sound did they make as they started to glide out on the pier.

But Bouncer woke up.

"Gr-r-r-r!" the bull pup observed, thrusting his head up, his hair bristling. All this required but a few seconds. In another instant Bouncer was at the rail, his nostrils swelling as he took a keen look down the length of the pier. Then an angrier growl left his throat. It ended in a bound and Bouncer landed on the pier. His short legs moving rapidly under him Bouncer rushed to meet the soft-shoed gentlemen.

That last, angrier note from the bull pup roused Tom Halstead as a bugle call might have done. He leaped to his feet, s.n.a.t.c.hing at his trousers.

Joe stirred, half alertly. When he heard his chum's feet strike the engine-room floor Dawson, too, sprang up.

"Mischief, just as we thought!" breathed Tom.

Down at the land end of the pier there was a sudden mingling of startled human voices.

"_Por la gracia de Dios!_" sounded an excited, appealing wail.

"Get away, you beast, or I'll kill you!" roared another voice in English.

Bang! That was the noise from the throat of a big-calibered pistol. It was followed, just as Tom bounded to the deck, pursued by Joe, by the rapid pounding of a horse's hoofs and the rattle of wheels.

"There they go!" cried Tom, leaping to the pier in his bare feet and racing sh.o.r.eward over the boards. But it was too late for the boys to overtake the prowlers, who were now behind a fast horse.

"Did they shoot that fine dog?" growled Joe, his voice rumbling with indignation. Bouncer answered the question for himself by running to meet them, his tail a-wag, guttural grunts of satisfaction coming from his throat, while a signal flag of information fluttered from his mouth.

"He took hold of one of 'em," chuckled Tom. "Good old fellow, you've brought us a sample of their cloth. Good boy! May I have it?"

Tom bent down to stroke the dog, who submitted very willingly. When Halstead took hold of the large, irregular fragment of cloth the bull pup grunted once or twice, then let go.

Back all three went to the boat. Tom lighted a lantern, then held the cloth forward.

"Brown, striped trouser goods," he chuckled. "Joe, whom have we seen with trousers of this pattern?"

"That Spanish-looking chap in the seat ahead on the train," muttered Dawson grimly.

"_Now_ if Mr. Dunstan doubts that some one wants to put his boat out of commission we'll have something definite to call to his attention,"

uttered Tom excitedly. "Bouncer, you stocky little darling!"

Joe looked the dog over carefully to make sure that a bullet had not even grazed that reliable, business-like animal.

"If they had touched you, old splendid," growled Joe, "we'd have had a good clew or two for avenging you. But those rascals didn't even hurt your grit. You're ready for 'em again-if they come!"

For some time the boys were too excited to lie down again. When at last they did, they kept their trousers on, ready for any further surprise.

Bouncer took up his old post on the deck above, seemingly free from any trace of excitement.

It was nearly half-past six in the morning when Joe next opened his eyes. In a hurry he roused his chum. Donning bathing trunks and shirts both dropped over the side for a refreshing swim. Then after drying and dressing, Halstead went forward into the galley, while Joe s.n.a.t.c.hed a few minutes at the work left over from the night.

Breakfast was a hurried affair, for there was still much to do about the motor. It was after nine o'clock when Tom stood back, looking on inquiringly while Joe put on the finishing touches.

"Now I'll turn on the gasoline and see if we can get any news," proposed Joe. A few moments later he started the ignition apparatus and gave the drive wheel a few turns.

Chug! chug! the engine began slowly. Joe, oil can in hand, looked on with the attention of a scientist making an experiment. Bit by bit he increased the speed of the engine, smoothing the work with oil.

"Give us a little time and the old motor'll mote," observed Dawson quietly.

"Yes," nodded Tom equally observant.

Had they been more of amateurs at the work they would have felt elated, for the engine responded to all increased speeds that were tried. But these two had worked enough about motors to know that such an engine may come to a creaking stop when everything appears to be running at the best.

Chug! chug! It was a cheery sound as the minutes went by and the motor did better and better.

"I'm almost hopeful that everything is in shape," declared Dawson at last.

"Good morning, boys!" came a pleasant hail from the pier. "I see everything is in fine trim."

"It looks that way, Mr. Dunstan," answered Tom, stepping up above and, by way of salute, bringing his hand to the visor of the Club's uniform cap that he had donned this morning. "But motors are sometimes cranky.

We don't dare begin to brag just yet."

"This morning's mail brought me a letter from Mr. Prescott," went on the owner, holding up an envelope. "He has written me seven pages about you.

It seems that you are great pets of my friend's. He tells me that I can place every confidence in you."

"Why, that's mighty nice of Mr. Prescott," replied Tom quietly. He was greatly pleased, nevertheless, for he could now see that Mr. Dunstan's opinion of them had gone up several notches.

"Well, well," continued the owner, as he glanced smilingly down into the engine room; "are you going to cast off now and take me over to Nantucket? It's four days since I've seen my home and that lucky little rascal, Ted."

Tom didn't know or inquire who Ted was or why that "rascal" was so very fortunate. Instead he replied:

"We were thinking of a little trial trip first, sir, just to see how the craft will behave under way."

"Good enough," nodded the owner. "But I'm aboard, so why can't I go with you?"

"Of course you can, sir."

Tom ran ash.o.r.e to cast off while Joe did some last fussing over the motor. Having cast the stern-line aboard and coiled it, Tom now came forward, throwing off the bowline, boarding with it.

"Start her up at very slow speed ahead, Joe," called down the young captain, taking his place at the wheel and throwing it over a little.

With the first throbs of the propeller the "Meteor" began to glide away from the pier. Mr. Dunstan had taken his post at Halstead's right. The water being deep enough, the young captain moved out confidently.

"Just a little more speed, Joe," Tom called, when the pier end was some two hundred yards astern.