“Three cheers for No. 9!” Joe Cushing cried, and this was responded to with such good-will that Fluff hurriedly ran back to his master, thoroughly frightened by the noisy demonstration. “Don’t he look great?” Benny cried, and Tom Downey replied with a laugh: “Indeed he does, lad; but you needn’t stay up there admiring him, for we’re more anxious to see your rig.” Then, moving slowly and shyly, as if almost ashamed of his fine feathers, Benny made his appearance on the stairs, and it was an exclamation of genuine admiration with which he was greeted. The little fellow looked manly in the neatly fitting suit of blue, bedecked with brass buttons, and very proud withal, for, although he considered himself a member of the crew, the fact had never seemed so real to him as at this moment when he was attired as a life saver. The deep crimson blood came into his cheeks as he stood before the men, in obedience to orders, turning here and there as one or the other dictated, and listening all the while to words of praise and genuine admiration. “It’s all right, No. 8,” Sam Hardy said at length. “I was almost afraid that tailor might rig you out like a jumping-jack, with a lot of folderols that had no place on a life saver’s uniform; but he’s gone straight with the orders I gave him, an’ the job couldn’t be improved on.” “Don’t forget that you’re to go into town with me when next I have leave of absence,” Joe Cushing cried, and then some one called attention to Fluff, who was sitting on the topmost step, still clad in uniform, wagging his tail vigorously as if asking whether it would be safe for him to venture down. “Call your partner, No. 8, an’ let’s see how the two of you look together.” During fully five minutes Benny and Fluff were forced to walk here or there in order that the men might have good opportunity for seeing them in all possible lights, and then Mr. Downey suggested that the lad show himself in civilian’s garb. No. 8 obeyed very readily, almost glad to escape from that atmosphere of praise, and when he next appeared it was in a suit of clothes such as any well-dressed boy ten or twelve years of age would be expected to display. [Illustration] A blue blouse with a rolling collar, sailor-fashion, knickerbockers, stockings, and a jacket of the same color, the clothing trimmed neatly with white braid, made of him, as Dick Sawyer said, “a perfect little gentleman.” “You look best in whichever you happen to have on when you heave in sight,” Sam Hardy said admiringly. “Ain’t it goin’ to be quite a come-down to get into your old pea-jacket an’ sou’wester?” “I’ll feel more like myself then,” Benny said emphatically. “It don’t seem right for me to be dressed up so fine, and most likely it ain’t.” “There’s nothin’ too good for you, accordin’ to my way of thinkin’, No. 8, so don’t get such queer ideas into your head. How does young Mr. Foster feel about it?”