“I want one that can overhaul the one that just left the float.”

“I ain’t got it,” said Uncle Jimmy.  “The Curlew is about even with her, but they ain’t one o’ them that can outsail her.”

“Then give me the Curlew, and do it in a hurry,” cried Patsy.

“By whose orders, I’d like to know?”

Patsy was in no mood for trifling.  He showed Uncle Jimmy in less than two seconds that obedience would pay well.

The Curlew also was hauled in to the float, and Patsy was aboard of her and clear of his moorings before anybody could stop him, or even get in with him.

A brisk southerly wind was blowing in from the sea.

By the course which the Clio was taking Patsy guessed that it was the intention of her occupants to “beat” down the river against the wind.

Meanwhile, in the Clio, the man with the bandaged head was in a fever of excitement.  He crowded the boat for all she could stand, but he seemed, on the whole, to be a clever boatman.

The old salt watched him critically for a few minutes, and then seemed to be satisfied.

Presently he began to notice the anxious glances which the man at the helm cast over his shoulder at the pursuing boat.

“You seem to be anxious to outrun that feller,” he said at last.

Patrick Deever, for it was he, nodded his head and set his teeth.  The old sailor looked long and earnestly at their pursuer.

“Wall, ye ain’t doin’ of it,” he said, at last.

“Is she gaining?” asked Deever, nervously.

“She be,” said the tar, calmly.

“I thought this was the fastest of Redwood’s boats.”

“So she be,” was the answer; “but the Curlew’s overhauling her this time.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The other feller’s the best sailor, that’s what’s the matter.  I don’t know who he is, but he’s a skipper from away back.”

For some minutes Deever kept silent.  From time to time he glanced astern.

There was no doubt about it; the Curlew was gaining.

“Can you get any more speed out of her?” he said at last, in desperation.

“Reckon I kin,” said the tar.  “Shall I take her?”

“Yes, and if you outrun them I’ll give you a hundred dollars.”

“All right.”

The grizzled seaman took the helm.  In ten minutes it began to look blue for Patsy and his chief.  The Clio had reasserted her superiority.  She was slowly dropping the Curlew astern.

When they tacked on the other side of the river the Clio had doubled her lead.  In an hour the Curlew was half a mile behind.

“Where are ye bound?” asked the old tar.

“There’s a vessel anchored in the harbor.  I’ll show you where.  You’re to put me aboard and keep still about it.  The hundred is yours, and as much more to go with it.”

They were nearly abreast the Battery, when suddenly the police-boat was seen heading toward them.