“Remember what I said,” warned Tubby, in a strange, strained voice.  “Dive deep and stay tinder as long as you can.”

And now the great vessel seemed scarcely more than two or three boat lengths from the tiny cockleshell on which she was bearing down.  As a matter of fact, though, her towering bulk made her appear much nearer than she actually was.

“Can’t we do anything, Merritt?” gasped Hiram, with chattering teeth.  “We might try shouting once more,” suggested Tubby in a voice that quivered in spite of his efforts to keep it steady.

“All together now—­come on!”

“Ship ahoy!  You’ll run us down!  St-eam-er a-hoy!”

Suddenly there were signs of confusion on the bow of the big vessel.  Men could be seen running about and waving their arms.

“By hookey, they’ve seen us!” breathed Merritt, hardly daring to believe it, however.

The others were speechless with suspense.

Suddenly from the bow of the oncoming steamer a great fan-shaped ray of dazzling light shot out and enveloped the boys and their boat in its bewildering radiance.

“Hard over, hard over!” the boys could hear the lookout roaring, and the command rang hoarsely back along the decks to the wheelhouse.

Slowly, very slowly, as if reluctant to give up her prey, the bow of the mighty liner swung off, and the boys were safe.

“Look out for the wash,” warned Merritt, as the great black bulk, pierced with hundreds of glowing portholes, ploughed regally by them, her deck crowded with curious passengers.  A voice shouted down from the bridge: 

“What in blazing sea serpents are you doing out here in that marine oil stove?”

The boys made no attempt to reply.  They had all they could do to hang on, as the Flying Fish danced about like a drifting cork in the wash of the great vessel.  They could see, however, that several of her passengers were clustered at her stern rail, gazing wonderingly down at them in great perplexity, no doubt, as to what manner of craft it was that they had so narrowly escaped sending to the bottom.  For had the vessel even grazed the Flying Fish, the small boat would have been annihilated without those on board the liner even feeling a tremor.  It would have been just such a tragedy as happens frequently to the fishing dories on the foggy Newfoundland banks.

“Wh-ew!” gasped Merritt, sinking down on a locker.  “That was a narrow escape if you like it!”

“I don’t like it,” remarked Tubby sententiously, mopping his forehead, on which beads of cold perspiration had stood out while their destruction had seemed inevitable.  So thoroughly unnerved were the lads, in fact, by their experience that it was some time before they could do anything more than sit limply on the lockers while the Flying Fish rolled aimlessly with an uncontrolled helm.

“Come on,” said Tubby at length; “we’ve got to rouse ourselves.  In the first place, I’ve got an idea,” he went on briskly.  “I’ve been thinking over that gasoline stoppage, and the more I think of it the more I am inclined to believe that there’s something queer about it.  It’s worth looking into, anyhow.”