Then, as he turned the wheel over and, having failed to put the spark on, got no response from the engine, appalling sounds came from the shanty-boat’s interior, sounds that were unmistakably those of heavy footsteps, and, before the alarmed Tim could try the engine a second time, a tall figure appeared behind the lesser form of Gladys Ermintrude! It was a man who confronted them, a tall, wide-shouldered, bearded man. Pud’s heart sank. This was undoubtedly the ‘grateful’ Mr. Liscomb! ‘Well, boys,’ said the apparition in a surprisingly pleasant, deep voice that, because of its striking similarity to hers, placed him instantly as Gladys Ermintrude’s father, ‘we meet at last!’ To Pud’s surprise, Mr. Liscomb was smiling in a very friendly fashion, and, seen close-to, was not at all the desperate-looking person Pud had thought him. Just the same, Pud’s suspicions were not wholly quieted, and, although he cleared his throat, no words came. At least, not from Pud; nor yet from Tim nor Harmon. Gladys Ermintrude, though, still had the power of speech. ‘Yes,’ she was saying, ‘these are the boys who were so very kind to me, Father. This is Pud and that one’s Ted――no, Tim, and that’s Harmon back there. Harmon cooks wonderfully, Father.’ ‘Does, eh? Well, Tibbie, if I had a wonderful cook I’d look after him better. They’ve let him sit out in the sun until he’s all tanned up!’ Pud and Tim smiled embarrassedly, but Harmon gave the joke full value and exploded into ‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!’ Then he as suddenly subsided into silent solemnity. Mr. Liscomb chuckled and, one arm over his daughter’s shoulders, turned his gaze back to Pud. ‘You look mighty familiar to me,’ he said. ‘Live around here, Pud?’ ‘No, sir, Millville,’ Pud managed. ‘Millville? Guess I don’t know any one in Millville. What’s the rest of your name?’ ‘Pringle,’ said Pud. ‘Anson Pringle.’ ‘Anson Pringle? Then your father’s Pringle, of the _Courant_ up there! You’re Anson Pringle, junior, eh?’ ‘I suppose so,’ allowed Pud. ‘Folks call me Pud, usually.’ ‘Well, well! Why, I know your father, son, know him right well. Both newspaper men, you see. I’m assistant editor of the Corbin _Journal_. You tell him you met Bill Liscomb, will you? Tell him you ran off with his girl!’ The speaker chuckled, and Pud ventured a doubtful grin. ‘She said――’ he murmured. ‘I mean, you see, we didn’t understand――exactly――’ ‘Oh, that’s all right, Pud! You don’t need to apologize. Here’s the culprit right here.’ He gave Gladys Ermintrude a hug. ‘She’s a pretty good sport, boys, but she’s got an imagination about ten sizes too large for her, and she reads too many silly stories and sees too many foolish movies. But we’re going to change all that, aren’t we, Tibbs? We’re going to cut out the novels and most of the movies for awhile, eh?’ Gladys Ermintrude assented readily, even gayly.