gardener winked his eye, "Master Andy isn't particular what kind of trouble he gets into."
"That's right," agreed our hero, and as he went down again to where he had left his boat he thought: "Nor what kind of trouble he gets other people into. I wish I had hold of him for about five minutes!"
The sailboat swung slowly from the dock and heeled over to the gentle breeze. Hardly knowing what to do, Tom headed for the middle of the lake. He was discouraged and tired of making plans only to have them fail.
As he looked across the stretch of water he saw a boat coming toward him. He shaded his eyes with his hand to see better, and then, with a pair of marine glasses, took an observation. He uttered an exclamation.
"That's the Red Streak as sure as I'm alive!" he cried. "But what's the matter with her? They're rowing!"
The lad headed his boat toward the approaching one. There was no doubt about it. It was Andy Foger's craft, but it was not speeding forward under the power of the motor. Slowly and laboriously the occupants were pulling it along, and as it was not meant to be rowed, progress was very slow.
"They've had a breakdown," thought Tom.
