The Otters were off duty. That is to say they had to "remain on the beach" while the Aberstour Sea Scouts yacht went away on a cruise with the Seals. The _Puffin_ was ready to get under way and was only awaiting Mr. Grant's arrival before slipping her moorings. "A week afloat," replied the Scoutmaster. "I've seen your people and explained matters. You noticed that ketch yacht that came in last evening?" "The _Thetis_, sir?" "Yes, her owner is an old friend of mine, although I didn't recognise him until he made himself known this morning. He is in a bit of a hole and he came to me to know if the Aberstour Sea Scouts could help him out. I said I thought they could." "We'll have a jolly good shot at it, anyway, sir," exclaimed Peter. "The difficulty is this," resumed Mr. Grant. "My friend, Mr. Clifton, is cruising. He left Burnham-on-Crouch last Monday with a paid hand as crew. Unfortunately, or perhaps it may turn out fortunately, the crew proved unsatisfactory, so much so that Mr. Clifton discharged him at Otherport and came on to Aberstour single-handed. He tried at both places to obtain another paid hand, but as you know the fishing season is on. When he heard that we ran a fairly smart Troop of Sea Scouts here and that I happened to be Scoutmaster he suggested that I might find a reliable lad to go with him. I hinted that perhaps he might take all the Otter Patrol, but when I told him that there were eight of them he drew the line at that." "'Then he missed something, sir," declared Craddock. "But he was quite willing to have two Sea Scouts," continued Mr. Grant. "I thought of Brandon and you, but Frank had promised to help Old Negus on the fishing-smack _Frolic_, because Jim Negus has broken his arm. So I fixed on Carline and you. Carline's on his way down. Report on board the _Thetis_ before twelve o'clock. Well, I must not keep the Seals waiting. Cheerio, Peter, and good luck." Punctually at the appointed time, Peter Craddock and George Carline went on board the _Thetis_, where they introduced themselves to the owner. Mr. Clifton was a thin, wiry man of about thirty. He was not tall--Peter could give him a couple of inches--but he was full of energy and as active as a kitten. He was deeply sunburnt, while his bony hands were as hard as iron--characteristics of a yachtsman who gets the very best out of the pastime by taking an active part in the management of his own craft. "I'll like that chap," thought Peter as the owner and skipper of the _Thetis_ shook hands. "These are the fellows I want," decided Mr. Clifton, as he gave a swift, comprehensive glance at the two alert, well-set up Sea Scouts. "If appearances go for anything they know their job. Thank goodness they're wearing rubber shoes and not hob-nailed boots."