Part 43 (2/2)
Breakfast--a rather scant meal--had just been disposed of, when Martin Harris uttered a shout.
”They want to do some talking,” he announced.
”Why, what do you mean?” asked d.i.c.k.
”They are hoisting a white rag.”
”Sure enough!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom, as he pointed to a flag of truce which Dan Baxter was holding aloft, fastened to an oar. ”What do you make of that?”
”They want to make terms,” laughed Sergeant Brown. ”I reckon things are coming our way at last.”
”Do we want to talk to them?” asked Tom.
”Let us make them surrender, and do the talking afterward,” came from Sam.
”It won't hurt to let them talk,” said the police sergeant. ”We can do as we please, anyway, after they are done.”
The matter was discussed for a moment, and then Tom tied his handkerchief to a stick and held it up.
”Ahoy there!” came from Arnold Baxter. ”Will you honor the flag of truce?”
”Yes,” yelled Sergeant Brown.
”And let us have our distance after our talk is over, if we can't come to terms?”
”Yes.”
”All right, then; we'll come close enough to talk to you.”
Slowly and cautiously the _Flyaway_ drew nearer, until all on board of Harris' yacht could see their enemies quite plainly.
Arnold Baxter was armed with a shotgun, while Buddy Girk and Dan Baxter carried pistols. Mumps kept out of sight as much as possible, while Bill Goss attended to the steering of the boat.
Dora and Mrs. Goss were below.
”Well, what have you got to say?” demanded d.i.c.k, as soon as the others were within easy talking distance.
”How many on board of that yacht?” demanded Arnold Baxter, as he looked at the police officers glumly.
”Enough,” replied d.i.c.k. ”Is that all you've got to say?”
”Don't grow impudent, boy. It won't set well.”
”A person couldn't be impudent to such a rascal as you, Arnold Baxter.”
”Have a care, d.i.c.k Rover. What do you propose to do?”
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