"She isn't one-eighth their size," replied Jack, "but she has got
more power, for her size, than any of them. She has three smokestacks
like the Fulton. Just see her come!"

The Dart, a long, low, white yacht, was coming up the river at full
speed, the water curling away from her bow in a miniature cascade,
the powerful engines driving her through the water with the speed
of an express train.

"Gee!" cried Pepper, "look at her come. Say, she'd make Fulton
with the Clermont think he was traveling backward if he was here.
She is sure some boat."

"Who owns her?" asked Donald.

"She belongs to Mr. Whilden," replied Jack. "He is president of
the Dart Motor-cycle Company, you know."

"Gee!" cried Pepper, "I wish he was my uncle, or something."

"What for, Pepper?" queried Rand. "Want him to invite you to go
yachting?"

"That wouldn't be bad," affirmed Pepper, "and maybe if he liked my
looks he might take a fancy to me and give me a cycle. Say, fellows,
wouldn't it be great if we all had motor-cycles!"

"In my opinion," interjected Donald, "'tis just a waste of time
wishing for what ye'll no get."