Nelson, on the floor beside the engine, was toiling desperately, the perspiration trickling down his nose. About him lay sections of the brass vaporizer, wrenches, screwdrivers, and nippers. He looked up inquiringly as Dan went by toward the stateroom. “Oh, she’s about a couple of hundred yards away,” said Dan lightly. “I’m almost through,” said Nelson. “Keep them off two minutes more, Dan, and I’ll try the engine again.” “Oh, we’ll keep them off! That’s right, Spencer, my lad, you lie down there and be comfortable. And don’t you worry; old Bluebeard hasn’t got you yet!” As he went up the steps he turned and called down softly to Nelson: “Here they are, Nel, coming alongside. But I’ll see that you get your two minutes, so keep agoing.” The tug’s engine had stopped and she was sliding slowly forward through the water with her bow set for the _Vagabond’s_ port rail. On the forward deck stood the captain of the _Henry Nellis_, the tugboat captain, and another man, possibly a mate. The cook, a long and much-soiled apron enveloping his portly form, looked on interestedly from the door of the galley. In the wheelhouse was a third hand. On the face of Captain Sauder was a smile of triumph which struck those on the launch as being far more disagreeable than his scowl. “Pretty smart, weren’t yer?” greeted the captain as the tug floated up. There was no reply, and the captain concluded to attempt sarcasm. “Real nice of you to stop and wait for us,” he said with a chuckle; “real friendly, I call it.” “Captain,” answered Dan sweetly and earnestly, “we’ve been simply devastated with grief since we left you. Your gentle words and kindly deeds won our hearts, and we just couldn’t go on without one more sight of your dear face.” (“Keep her off with the boat hook,” he muttered aside to Bob.) “And—yes, you have,” cried Dan joyfully, “you’ve brought your dear face with you, haven’t you? I was afraid you’d change it!” The captain and the crew of the tug were smiling broadly, but the object of Dan’s raillery went purple in his “dear face,” and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. (“For all the world,” as Tom said afterward, “as though he was going to bu-bu-bust up!”) “You young whelp!” he roared. A bell rang in the engine room and the tug—the _Scout_, as the gilt letters over the wheelhouse announced—trembled as the propeller was reversed. Up came the bow with its big rope fender, and Bob, boat hook in hand, stood ready. As the tug slid alongside Bob reached out with the hook, and the tug, instead of nestling up to the launch, sheered off. “Here! What are you doing that for?” yelled Captain Sauder. “Saving our paint,” answered Bob calmly. There was five feet of water between the two boats. “Bring your boat hook here!” called the tugboat captain to one of the hands. “You boys might as well give in,” he added, not unkindly. “You’re beat, I guess. Where’s Captain Sauder’s boy?”