Spurling & Company were dressing a big catch of hake on the _Barracouta_ early one afternoon when a rockety report resounded close to the island. Percy, who was wielding his splitting-knife with good effect, as his oilskins showed, glanced up quickly. "That's a yacht's gun!" Sixty seconds revealed that he was right. Into the mouth of the cove shot a keen-pro wed steam-yacht, resplendent with brass fittings and fresh, white paint. Five or six flanneled figures lounged aft, while a few members of her crew, natty in white duck, dropped anchor under the direction of an officer. Side-steps were lowered and an immaculate toy boat swung out; a sailor occupied the rowing-thwart, while one of the yachtsmen stepped into the stern and took the rudder-lines. The boat sped straight toward the _Barracouta_, which grew dingy and mean by contrast. Presently the strangers were near. The yachtsman touched his cap. He was a good-looking fellow of perhaps nineteen, with a light, fuzzy mustache and eyes that were a trifle shifty. "Would you be so kind as to tell me--" He broke off abruptly as he recognized Percy. "By the Great Horn Spoon!" he almost shouted, "if it isn't P. Whittington! Percy, old man, what do you mean by hiding yourself away offshore in a lonesome spot like this? Come aboard! Come aboard! The old crowd's there--Ben Brimmer and Martin Sayles and Mordaunt and Mack and Barden. I've chartered the _Arethusa_, and invited 'em to spend a month with me along the New England coast. We're not having a time of it--oh no! or my name isn't Chauncey Pike!" His eyes dwelt curiously on the details of Percy's costume and occupation. "What you masquerading for? Hiding from the sheriff?" Percy met his gaze evenly. His estimate of men and the things that make life worth living had undergone a material change during the last two months. Pike's jesting flowed off him like water off a duck. He introduced the other members of Spurling & Company, and Pike greeted them cordially. "I want you all to take dinner on board with us to-night. We've got a first-class chef, and I'll have him do his prettiest. 'Tisn't every day you run across an old friend." Jim was inclined to demur, but Pike would not take no for an answer, and he finally gave in when Percy added his entreaties to those of the yachtsman. "Signal the yacht when you're through, Perce," said the latter as he rowed away, "and I'll send ashore for you. I know your friends here will excuse you for a while if you come aboard and talk over old times with us." "Better let me set you ashore now," said Jim, "so you can wash up and change your clothes." "Not much!" refused Percy. "I'll see every fish salted first."