“Look out!” shouted Sprague; “look out!  You’re going—­”

A gust of wind caught their sail, the boom jibed, nearly knocking Mr. Snider overboard, the little mast snapped like a match, and the sail went into the water, leaving their boat helpless.

The same gust so nearly brought our boat into collision with the “White Rabbit” that we were getting out oars, to try to fend off, while those on board the yacht hastily took in their last sail.  A few drops of rain fell at the same moment, but we hardly noticed them.  In the midst of the confusion another voice arose on the other side of the yacht.

“Yer’re all under arrest,—­all on ye!”

It was Eb and his merry men, who had come up in the second small boat.  He still had the pitchfork, which had made such an impression on Spook.

But his voice merely aroused Captain Bannister the more.  He was as full of rage as a turkey-cock,—­his face purple, and his short figure shaking with anger.  He stood on a seat in the yacht, and dominated the whole fleet.  He turned on the constable of Bailey’s Harbor as if he had expected his arrival.

“You go plumb to blazes, Eb Flanders!  Go on!  Git outer here!  You a kunsterble!  You aint fit to ketch muck-worms!  Arrestin’ boys for burglary, when the worst land-shark in the country is runnin’ a bunco-game right under yer face an’ eyes!  Go over an’ arrest them fellers,—­arrest that there Snider!”

The voice of Snider was now heard, imploring aid.

“Is that Constable Flanders?  Mr. Flanders, come to our assistance!  Our mast is broken.  Professor Von Bieberstein and I are here.”

“Jus’ the same,” said Eb, “I’ve got to arrest that feller!” He pointed at Daddles.  “I ketched him burglarisin’ Littlefield’s house.  You’ll lay yourself open to a charge of resistin’ a officer, if yer interfere, Lem!”

“You’ll lay yourself open to a charge of buckshot!” roared the Captain, “if you try to come on this boat!  That’s my boat over there—­the ‘Hoppergrass’—­an’ I come into Bailey’s with her last Toosday afternoon, an’ this feller was with me, an’ the three boys you arrested.  An’ what they told you was true,—­they thought they was in his uncle’s house,—­an’ anybody would have knowed it, but a puddin’-headed son of a sea-cook, like you!”

“Mr. Flanders!  Mr. Flanders!” called Snider, again, “you must come and help us.  There is water in this boat,—­we are in danger of sinking!”

“Yes, go an’ help him,” shouted the Captain, “an’ take that crowd of numbskulls with you.”

Eb’s boat—­the only one of the four under sail—­had drawn well ahead of us.  His “crowd of numbskulls” consisted of three men, among whom was Justin of the fan-like ears.  They crossed our bows, and came back to the assistance of Mr. Snider.  The two gold makers were transferred to the constable’s boat, where they seemed to be treated with great awe and respect.  A light rain was falling now, and the wind had moderated.  Sprague ran up his jib, and maneuvered his boat alongside the “Hoppergrass” again,—­this time with a view to letting the Captain, Ed, and Jimmy come aboard.  Out of regard for the paint, however, they finally came in the tender.  About the same time we saw Eb’s boat, towing the disabled dory, set out in the direction of Rogers’s Island.