The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol | Page 6

and 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?"
The lads looked up to see the weather-beaten countenance of Captain
Job Hudgins, one of the characters of the vicinity. He was a former
whaler, and lived on a small island some distance from Hampton. On
his little territory he fished and grew a few vegetables, "trading in" his
produce at the Hampton grocery stores for his simple wants. He,
however, had a pension, and was supposed to have a "snug little
fortune" laid by. His only companion in his island solitude was it big
Newfoundland dog named "Skipper."
The animal stood beside its master on the dock and wagged its tail at

the sight of the boys, whom it knew quite well from their frequent visits
to the captain's little island.
"Hullo, captain!" shouted Rob, as the veteran saluted his three young
friends. "Where's your boat?"
"Oh, her engine went--busted, and I had to leave her at the yard below
fer repairs," explained the captain. "I wonder if yer boys can give me a
lift back if yer goin' near Topsail Island?"
"Surest thing you know," rejoined Rob hastily. "Come right aboard.
But how are you going to get off your island again if your motor is laid
up here to be fixed?"
"Oh, I'll use my rowboat," responded the old mariner, clambering down
into the Flying Fish. "Say, this is quite a right smart contraption, ain't
she?"
"We think she is a pretty good little boat," modestly replied Rob, taking
his place at the wheel. "Now, then, Merritt, start up that engine."
"Hold on a minute!" shouted Tubby. "We forgot the dog."
Sure enough, Skipper was dashing up and down the wharf in great
distress at the prospect of being deserted.
"Put yer boat alongside that landin' stage at the end of the wharf,"
suggested his master. "Skipper can get aboard from there, I reckon."
Rob steered the Flying Fish round to the floating landing, to which an
inclined runway led from the wharf. Skipper dashed down it as soon as
he saw what was happening, and was waiting, ready to embark, when
the Flying Fish came alongside.
"Poor old Skipper, I reckon yer thought we was goin' ter maroon yer,"
said Captain Job, as the animal jumped on board with a bark of
"thanks" for his rescue. "I tell yer, boys, I wouldn't lose that dog fer all
the money in Rob's father's bank. He keeps good watch out an the

Island, I'll tell yer."
"I didn't think any one much came there, except us," said Rob, as the
Flying Fish headed away from the wharf and began to cut through the
waters of the inlet.
"Oh, yes; there's others," responded the old man. "That Jack Curtiss lad
and his two chums are out there quite often."
"Bill Bender and Sam Redding, I suppose you mean," said Tubby.
"Those their names?" asked the captain. "Well, I don't know any good
uv any uv 'em. Old Skipper here chased 'em away from my melon patch
the other day. I reckon they thought Old Scratch was after them, the
way they run; but they got away with some melons, just the same."
The old man laughed aloud at the recollection of the marauders'
precipitous flight.
That Jack Curtiss and his two cronies had made a rendezvous of the
island was news to the boys, and not agreeable news, either. They had
been planning a patrol camp