Dan and Billy pushed out from the shore and started the engine. Dan could easily manipulate the power as well as steer the _Follow Me_. Billy was passenger only on this trial trip.
There was a stiff breeze blowing and they headed directly into it. The moment the wheel under the boat gripped the ice she began to drive ahead. As Dan gradually increased its revolutions they moved faster and faster, while the whine of the engine and the sharp strokes of the wheel-points joined in an ever-increasing roar.
Behind them the ice showed a plain trail of punctures from the wheel-points. The _Follow Me_ left a trail that might easily be followed anywhere on the ice.
But its speed was not great at first. Dan increased it slowly and, when she rounded to and headed back toward the landing, Billy was flatly disappointed.
“Crickey! this isn’t going to do much, Dan. Why, the old boat can beat her.”
“What did you expect?” asked his brother, smiling.
“But, old man! we’re going to race with this thing!”
“And the _Fly-up-the-Creek_ can beat her out—easy.”
“What you got up your sleeve, Dannie?” the other demanded. “Did you get all the speed out of her you could?”
“You saw that she was wide open,” chuckled Dan. “But you forget that we had no sail set. Let’s get the mast up and the sail bent on. _Then_ we’ll give her a fair trial.”
Billy shook his head, however. He had believed that his brother’s invention was going to prove as fast as a power-launch, without any canvas.
The mast and sail were both ready. They had the new boat rigged in an hour. There was still a full hour before sunset and again Dan took his place in the stern while Billy raised the sail.
The canvas of the _Follow Me_ was not as heavy as that of the Speedwells’ first iceboat. They had made some short runs in the _Fly-up-the-Creek_ that had equalled fifty miles an hour—and more. Billy’s heart had fallen pretty nearly to his boots. He did not believe the _Follow Me_ could do anything like that.
But Dan only grinned at him. The wind filled the sail almost immediately and the motor-iceboat staggered away from Bromley’s dock. The old boatman stood there and watched them with a grim face, for the new craft started very slowly. She seemed really to hobble at first.