walked on down the water-front to the wharf at which lay the
Flying Fish, the fastest craft in the Hampton Motor Boat Club.
Rob's boat was, to tell the truth, rather broad of beam for a
racer and drew quite a little water. She had a powerful motor
and clean lines, however, and while not primarily designed solely
for "mug-hunting," had beaten everything she had raced with
during the few months since the boys had completed her. The
money for her motor had been given to Rob by his father, who was
quite indulgent to Rob in money matters, having noticed that the
lad always expended the sums given him wisely.

"Let's take a spin," suddenly suggested Tubby.

"Nothing to prevent us," answered Rob; "we've got plenty of time
before dinner. Come on, boys."

The lads were soon on board and examining the gasoline tank, to
see how much fuel they had on hand, and oiling up the engine.
The fuel receptacle proved to be almost full, so after filling
the lubricant cups and attending to the batteries, they started
up the engine--a powerful, three cylindered, twelve-horse affair
capable of driving the twenty-two foot Flying Fish through the
water at twelve miles an hour or better.

Just as Rob was casting off the head-line there came a hail from
the wharf above them.

"Ahoy, there, shipmates! Where are yer bound fer this fine,
sunny day?"