Though Captain Tom Halstead’s eyes had momentarily glistened at the tempting sight of so much money, he now asked, composedly:
“You’re skipper of Francis Delavan’s ‘Rocket,’ aren’t you?”
“You expect to continue to hold the position?”
“Then see here, Captain Halstead, all you have to do is to follow certain orders. One of them, for instance, is, whenever you see another craft near that hoists a red pennant, crossed diagonally by a single white stripe, you’re to have something happen to your boat so that you can’t proceed for some time. You can _make believe_ something happens to the boat, you know.”
“You’ve got hold of the wrong party, my friend,” answered the young skipper, as quietly as ever. “The fellow you want is my chum, Joe Dawson, the ‘Rocket’s’ engineer.”
Rexford looked Tom Halstead over as keenly as was possible in the darkness.
“Do you mean, captain,” he demanded, finally, “that we’ll have to let your friend in on this?”
“Of course,” Tom nodded, “if there’s really anything to be done along the lines you’re describing.”
“What kind of a fellow is this Joe Dawson?”
“Well,” replied Tom, reflectively, “Joe’s hot tempered once in a while. If you proposed anything to him that he considered crooked, he’d most likely hit you over the head with a wrench.”
“So you call my offer a crooked one, do you?” insisted Rexford, a curious note in his voice.
“You’re proposing to buy us out—to pay us to sell out our employer, aren’t you?” asked Halstead, directly.
“Why, I am trying to show you how you can make a very handsome sum of money by being accommodating,” said the young man, slowly.
“You’re asking us to sell out our employer and our own sense of honor, aren’t you?” persisted the young motor boat captain.
“Look here, Halstead, you don’t want to be foolish,” remonstrated the red-haired one. “I’m willing enough to let your friend into this matter, and I’ll make it highly profitable for you both. But don’t get too stiff about it. I’m only making a very handsome offer to buy some of your interest and time.”
“Oh,” smiled Halstead, quizzically. “Pardon me. I thought you were trying to buy my soul.”
The irony, however, was wasted on the other. “Well, now you understand that I’m not,” laughed Rexford, easily. “So we can begin to talk real business. Let us begin by dropping this money into your pocket.”