“Suppose you do it yourself?” growled the motor boat man, looking as if he would like to give Peter a good thrashing. “Me? In this rig? Oh, dear, no!” retorted the shocked Peter. “I’ve got five suits of clothes home. Really, I ought to send for one. Don’t know what the people at Catalpa Terrace will say to see me coming home looking like a drowned rat, don’t you know,” and Peter grinned in a silly, self-important way. “He makes me sick!” blurted out the motor boat man. The young lady who was supporting Mrs. Carrington leaned toward Frank. Her face expressed the respect and admiration she felt for their rescuer. “We can never thank you enough for your prompt service,” she said, in a voice that trembled a trifle from excitement. “I am glad I was within call,” replied Frank, modestly. “Won’t you kindly give me your name?” inquired the young lady. “I am Miss Porter, and I am companion to Mrs. Carrington. I know her ways so well, that I am sure the first thing she will want to know when she becomes herself again is the name of her brave rescuer.” “My name is Frank Durham,” replied our hero. “My chums in the little boat are Randolph Powell and Pepperill Smith.” “So you live here at Seaside Park? Where can Mrs. Carrington send you word, for I am positive she will wish to see you?” “We may stay here until to-morrow—I cannot tell,” explained Frank. “If we do, I think we will be at the Beach Hotel.” The young lady had a small writing tablet with a tiny pencil attached, secured by a ribbon at her waist. She made some notations. Then she extended her hand and grasped Frank’s with the fervency of a grateful and appreciative person. Then an auto cab drew up at the end of the pier, the officer summoned help, and Mrs. Carrington was lifted from the launch. Frank assisted Miss Porter, and Peter, apparently fancying himself an object of admiration to all the focussed eyes of the crowd, disappeared into the automobile. “Hey!” yelled Pep after him, doubling his fists. “Thank you!” The motor boat man grasped Frank’s hand with honest thankfulness in his eyes. “I shan’t forget you very soon,” he said with genuine feeling. “Did the boat belong to you?” asked Frank. “Yes, I own two motor boats here,” explained the man, “and run them for just such parties as you see.” “The explosion will cause you some money loss.” “I hardly think so,” answered the man. “Mrs. Carrington is a rich woman, they say, and she is quite liberal, too. I think she will do the right thing and not leave all the loss on a poor man like myself.” “Get the skiff back where you found it, Randy,” directed Frank. “I will be with you soon,” and he started the launch back for the spot where he had been allowed to use it by its owner.