But of even more importance to Dean was the discharge of the errand intrusted to him by Mr. Montague. In this case a human life was at stake. If he should fail to reach Springfield in season to deliver the papers in his care as they should be, it was possible that an innocent person would suffer for his neglect. The successful man is he who can act quickly in an emergency. That is the one great secret of success. Fortunately Dean Mercer was prompt in his decisions. While his companion stormed like a September gale over their disappointment as he watched the old steamer fast disappearing from his sight, Dean recollected that the stage for the lower towns started about the same time as the boat. “There is another chance for us, Jack!” he cried enthusiastically. “I think we shall be in season to take the stage to Landlock, where we can take the packet to Springfield, providing we can get there before the boat.” “Avast there, younker--I mean high admiral!” and Jack, instead of completing his sentence, executed a salute in token of his blunder. Hurried, impatient, excited, Dean Mercer, knowing he had no time to waste if he would accomplish his purpose, darted swiftly along the street, Jack following as best he could. But the latter soon found himself unequal to the gait set him by his young companion, and, stopping short in his laborious advance, he bellowed at the top of his lungs: “Ship ahoy! reef yer topsails or this ol’ craft’ll ground!” Dean Mercer, awakened to what he was doing, quickly came to a standstill, turning an inquiring gaze upon his companion, who was puffing and blowing like a porpoise. “Shiver (puff) my (puff) toplights (puff), admiral (puff-uff-ff). Ye’ve left (puff) crew, coxswain and man at the wheel (puff) in the weather eye.” “Pardon me, Jack,” said Dean. “I was so anxious I forgot you could not keep pace with me in this race. The fact is, we have got to hurry or we shall miss the stage.” “Then let her kite in the wind’s eye, and leave this ol’ craft ahind. Blast my picter, lad--I mean, admiral, axin’ yeh pardin, didn’t I tell ye to h’ist yer jib and kiter? Ol’ Jack’ll foller as soon as he gits his bearings and his ballast in this land-lubbered v’yage.” “Hello, Dean!” called out a familiar voice at Dean’s elbow, before he could reply. “We’re in luck. But what’s up?” It was Mr. Montague speaking, and as soon as he could recover his self-composure, Dean saw the boy he had saved from the vengeance of Tim Downey beside the latter. “Excuse me, Mr. Montague. We have missed the _Warrior_, and we are on our way to catch the stage for Landlock.” “Missed the _Warrior_?” asked the lawyer incredulously. “That’s a pretty go.” “It is, Mr. Montague. You see, she started before we expected. But I think we can intercept her at Landlock by cutting across the country by the stage. That is, if the stage has not got started.”