Toby had the landing to himself. The box on which he sat held provisions for the yacht _Penguin_, and some time around nine o’clock a tender was to call for them. Toby, when school wasn’t in session, did such odd jobs as fell to his hand, and just now, it being Saturday morning, he was earning a whole quarter of a dollar from Perkins & Howe, the grocers. Having propelled the box to the gangplank in a wheelbarrow, and slid it down to its present resting place, all that remained was to continue sitting right there until some one claimed it, a task which suited Toby perfectly. Not that he was especially lazy or disliked work, for he wasn’t and didn’t, but it was pleasantly hot today, and Toby was in a contemplative frame of mind, and sitting there in the sun, with the water lapping beneath him and the good smell of the sea in his nostrils, was very satisfying to Toby’s soul. The visions he saw with those blue eyes of his, squinted a bit because of the glare on the dancing water, must have been enthralling, since he didn’t observe the white launch that entered the harbor until it was almost up to the landing. Then the chug-chug of her exhaust caught his attention, and he shaded his eyes and observed her intently. She wasn’t very big, perhaps eighteen feet over all, and she had a spray hood in lieu of cabin. At present the hood was down, and Toby could see much mahogany and polished brass as the launch sped, head on, for the landing. There was only one passenger in sight, a boy of about Toby’s age, who stood at the wheel in the bow. Toby, who knew most of the craft that entered Spanish Harbor, failed to recognize this one. Nor did the name, in gilt letters on her nose, make him any wiser. “_Frolic_,” muttered Toby. “Never heard of her before. Must be a new one. Wonder where that lubber thinks he’s going to? He’ll be on the float in a minute if he doesn’t look out!” When about forty feet away the boy in the launch threw the clutch into reverse. There was much churning of green water under the stern, and the boat’s speed lessened, but what with the impetus given her and the incoming tide she seemed bound to either land high and dry on the float or to considerably damage her immaculate white and gold bow. The skipper dropped the wheel and looked excitedly around for a boat-hook. “Sheer off, you idiot!” cried Toby, nimbly scrambling out of the way. “Put your wheel over!” “Grab her!” responded the boy in the launch. “Fend her off!” Toby grunted. Then there was a crash, the float bobbed and shivered, and the white launch, finding further progress barred, rebounded from the obstacle in her path, and, leaving much fresh white paint on the canvas fender, churned merrily backward. Simultaneously two boys, one on the float and one in the launch, scrambled to their feet again and broke into speech. “Hey, you boob!” yelled Toby. “Look where you’re going! You’ll have her stern into that dory in a minute. Shut off your engine!”