“W-Well, what’s the matter with our d-d-doing that, too?”

“We can’t row this boat, you chump!”

“N-No, b-but one of us c-c-can t-take a line in the t-t-tender, and t-tow her.”

“They’ll go three feet to our one.”

“That’s all right,” I said, “it’s worth trying.  We can keep away from them for a while.  There’s a breeze coming out of those clouds in a few minutes, and then we can sail around them in circles.”

I was anxious to get away.  I had had a glimpse through the spy-glass, and thought I recognized Mr. Snider.  We hauled the tender alongside, and Spook got in it to begin the towing.  Just as he did so, and as I was standing outside the cock-pit, there came a sound above my head as if the air had been split open.

“Wh-wh-whi-i-i-i-ing—­whip!”

The sail of the “Hoppergrass” shivered and the halliards rattled.  Almost at the same instant there was a sharp “Crack!” from the dory behind us.

“The blooming sons-of-guns!” exclaimed Spike; “they’re firing at us!”

“Firing?”

“Yes; a rifle.  Look there!”

There was a puff of smoke floating away from the dory.

“And see that little hole in the sail.  That’s where the bullet went through.”

Spike and I dropped into the cock-pit, and crouched below the seats.  Spike hurriedly told his brother to do the same.

“N-N-No, I g-g-guess I’m better off right here.  He’ll have to d-d-drill through b-both s-sides of the ’G-G-Grasshopper’,—­I m-mean the ‘H-Hoppergrass’ before he can hit m-me.  I’m afraid B-B-Brother S-S-Snider is f-f-forgetting to be g-g-good!”

And then we could hear him quoting Mr. Snider.

“’It’s the w-way to b-b-be h-happy, F-F-Frederick, and s-s-successful, and R-rich.  D-D-Did you ever hear of Abraham P. F-F-F-Fillmore, F-F-Frederick?’”

There was an interval—­not a very pleasant one—­while we waited for Mr. Snider to try another shot at us.

“Here’s the wind!” said Spike, suddenly; “climb aboard!”

Spook crawled into the “Hoppergrass” just as we felt the first cool gust against our faces.  A cloud blew across the sun for an instant.  The boom swung out with a rattle and a bump, the sail filled, and the “Hoppergrass” heeled over to the breeze.  It was only a light puff, and it did not last long, but it was enough to get us under way once more.  Spike and I took a peek toward Mr. Snider’s boat.  They were getting up their sail, so Spike jumped up on the seat again.  He was in danger there, if they should fire again, but as he said, he could not sail the boat while he was crouched on deck.

The dory’s sail went up in a jiffy, and again the wind seemed to favor them, for they pulled up on us rapidly.  We were sailing, but by no means as well as at first.  The Professor was steering their boat, I thought, but it was impossible to be sure.  Both men kept almost entirely out of sight.