It was, perhaps, ten minutes later when a shadow fell across the sand in front of the waiting Tim. The latter looked up; a boy about his own age stood before him. He was better dressed than Tim; in fact, his garments were of the latest style; but fine clothes did not conceal a face that bore fully as much of craftiness and evil as that of his companion. It was Rodney Darringford, the son of the wealthy colonel, and clerk of the steamer _Warrior_. Rodney Darringford had of late been given employment by his father as clerk of the _Warrior_, and Dean, knowing this, was not at all in love with the idea of a sail down the lake in his company. He was a vicious and ill-tempered boy, a dandy in dress, prided himself as being a full-fledged “dasher” in matters of juvenile dissipation, and had sneered at Dean whenever he met him. An actual fisticuff row had resulted about a week previously, in which Rodney was worsted, and several Millville boys had informed Dean that Rodney “had it in for him!” Rodney’s brow was drawn in a deep furrow, and he looked angry enough to fight Tim then and there. “Well!” he ejaculated coarsely, “Tim Downey?” “Yes, Tim Downey!” chuckled Tim, a little aggressively and defiantly, at Rodney’s contemptuous words and manner. “You haven’t got any check, have you!” “Oh! enough to carry me through, I guess!” replied Tim carelessly. “What did you send for me for?” “Business!” “I have none with you!” “Oh! yes, you have. See here, Mr. Rodney Darrington! no airs with me, because I won’t stand it. I sent for you because I wanted to see you, and I want to see you because I want money.” “Well, get it.” “I intend to, and because I wanted to go to Springfield.” “Well, go!” “I intend to--on the _Warrior_. I want ten dollars and a free ride to Springfield, and I want ’em from you, and no back talk about it!” Tim Downey’s face grew sullen as he noticed the deepening scowl on Rodney’s face. “See here!” cried the latter angrily. “No, see here!” interrupted Tim savagely. “You just do as I say, and no jaw about it, or I’ll peach on you. You’ve been stealing! you have, and I know all about it. You and Jem Vance, that drunken engineer of yours, robbed a passenger, and stole two hundred dollars of your father’s money.” “Shut up, you idiot,” gasped Rodney, with an alarmed glance about them. “No, I won’t shut up. I know all about it. I’ll shout it out to all Millville, if you don’t do as I say.” Rodney Darringford stood pale and trembling with fear and rage, silent for some moments. He knew that Tim Downey spoke the truth. Tim shared the secret of the crimes he had committed to secure money to play billiards and “cut a dash” generally in Millville. Secretly he chafed like a caged lion. He could scarcely speak for anger, but he said finally: