“Wolf! Wolf!” shouted Tom Walton, at the helm, just as I was taking my second cup of coffee; for I did not expect to sleep much that night. “What’s the matter?” I demanded, springing into the standing-room, fearful that some calamity impended over the beautiful yacht. “There’s some one calling to us from over there,” he replied, highly excited, as he pointed towards the eastern shore. “There he is! It’s a man in a boat, or on a raft.” “Help! Help!” cried the person, in a voice which sounded strangely familiar to me. “Let out the main sheet, Tom. We will run over and see what the matter is,” I replied, taking the helm. In a few moments the Grace swept round into the wind, under the lee of the person who had appealed to us for aid. He was on a kind of raft, sitting upon the wet planks, over which the waves flowed freely. I ran the bow of the yacht up to his frail craft, to which the sufferer was clinging with both hands. Giving the helm to Tom, I rushed forward to help the man, whose face presented a most woe-begone aspect. My astonishment may be surmised when I recognized in this person Colonel Wimpleton! CHAPTER XIII. IF THINE ENEMY HUNGER. As soon as the Grace came within reach of Colonel Wimpleton, on the raft, he improved his opportunity. Grasping the bob-stay, he made his way on board, with my assistance. He was so clumsy and terrified that without my help he would certainly have fallen overboard. He plumped upon the deck on all fours, in a most undignified attitude for the magnate of Centreport. I helped him to rise. In doing so, I discovered that his breath was very odorous of liquor, which seemed to do something towards explaining the unfortunate plight in which we had found him. He was not intoxicated at the time he was pulled on board the Grace; but perhaps he had had time to work off the effects of the potions whose incense still lingered about him. “Wolf Penniman!” exclaimed he, as he grasped one of the fore-stays, and, steadying himself with it, gazed into my face; and his expression seemed to indicate that he would rather have been rescued by any other person than by me. “Colonel Wimpleton!” I replied, returning his compliment. “Is it you, Wolf?” he added, as if unwilling to believe the evidence of his own eyes. “Yes, sir; it is I. But if you feel bad about it, you can return to the raft.” He glanced at the little staging of three planks on which he had made his involuntary cruise, and shuddered as he did so, partly with cold, and partly with dread. “I will pay you well for whatever you do for me, Wolf,” said he, glancing doubtfully at the boat, and then at me. “Let me tell you in the beginning, Colonel Wimpleton, that you can’t pay me the first red cent,” I replied, with proper spirit. “You won’t turn me adrift again--will you?” “No, sir; I will do anything I can for you.” “We have not been very good friends lately.”