Renshaw, and go aft to start the engine. Nicolas,
you take this boat astern and make fast. Don't wake the sleepers---poor,
tired shirkers!"
Tom, in utter disgust, leaped aboard the boat at the bow. There, behind
the wheel, Evarts lay on the floor of the boat, his rolled-up coat serving
as a pillow.
Almost noiselessly Tom hauled up the light anchor. Then he stood by the
wheel.
"All ready at the engine, Mr. Reade!" called the superintendent, softly.
"Let her go," Tom returned, "as soon as Nicolas boards."
The Mexican was quickly aboard, after having made the rowboat's painter
fast.
"Headway!" announced Renshaw, throwing over the drive-wheel of the engine.
"Put-put-put!" sputtered the motor. Then the "Morton" began really to
move. With the first real throb of the engine the electric running lights
gleamed out.
Aft Conlon began to stir. Then he opened his eyes.
"What---" he began.
"Silence!" commanded Mr. Renshaw.
"Tell me who's at the wheel?" Conlon begged.
"Mr. Reade," replied the superintendent, dryly. "Now, keep still!"
"Whew---ew---ew!" whistled Conlon, in dire dismay. Then he sank back,
watching the engine with moody eyes. The other three men aft still slept.
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