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 laborious 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.  “Serves ’em right!  Now wait till I tackle ’em and find out where my boat is.  I’ve a good notion to have Andy Foger arrested!”

The sailing craft swiftly approached the motor-boat.  Tom could see the three occupants looking at him, apprehensively as well as curiously, he thought.

“Guess they didn’t think I’d keep after ’em,” mused the young inventor, and a little later he was beside the red streak.

“Well,” cried Tom angrily, “it’s about time you came back!”

“We’ve had a breakdown,” remarked Andy, and he seemed quite humiliated.  He was beginning to find out that he didn’t know as much about a motor-boat as he thought he did.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” went on Tom.

“Waiting for us?  What for?” asked Sam Snedecker.

“What for?  As if you didn’t know!” blurted out the owner of the arrow.  “I want my boat, Andy Foger, the one you stole from me and hid!  Tell me where it is at once or I’ll have you arrested!”

“Your boat!” repeated the bully, and there was no mistaking the surprise in his tones.

“Yes, my boat!  Don’t try to bluff me like that.”

“I’m not trying to bluff you.  We’ve been away, three days and just got back.”

“Yes, I know you have.  You took my boat with you, too.”

“Are you crazy?” demanded Pete Bailey.

“No, but you fellows must have been to think you could take my boat and me not know it,” and Tom, filled with wrath, grasped the gunwale of the red streak as if he feared it would suddenly shoot away.

“Look here!” burst out Andy, and he spoke sincerely, “we didn’t touch your boat.  Did we, fellows?”

“No!” exclaimed Sam and Pete at once, and they were very much in earnest.

“We didn’t even know it was stolen, did we?” went on Andy.

“No,” agreed his chums.  Tom looked unconvinced.

“We haven’t taken your boat and we can prove it,” continued the bully.  “I know you and I have had quarrels, but I’m telling you the truth, Tom Swift.  I never touched your boat.”