Frank and his companions were no novices in the water. They saw that Jack Beavers had been struck down from the window sill by the falling bricks, and had probably been knocked senseless. Almost immediately after diving the heads of the boys appeared on the surface. “Got him!” puffed Randy. “Lift him up,” directed Frank, swinging out one hand and catching at a protruding window sill of the building. This purchase gained, all exerted themselves to drag up the limp and sodden form of Peter Carrington’s partner. Frank and Randy kept the upper part of the man’s body out of the water. Pep swam after the floating platform they had used a a raft. Jack Beavers, apparently more dead than alive, was placed upon it. His rescuers pushed this over to where the water was shallow and then carried the man into a drug store fronting the boardwalk. “I suppose I had better stay with him,” observed Vincent, as Beavers, after some attention from a physician who happened to be in the drug store, showed signs of recovery. “I know him the best, although I can’t say truthfully that I like him the best.” “Yes, he’s struck hard lines, and it’s a sort of duty to look after him,” said Ben Jolly. He and the boys put in nearly two hours helping this and that group in distress among the storekeepers of the slump. They got back to the Wonderland to find that its superior location had saved it from damage of any consequence. A wild morning was ushered in with a chill northeaster. Daylight showed the beach covered with wrecked boats and habitations. The tents over on the Midway were nearly all down. The National was still flooded and the street in front of it impassable. Very few of the frame buildings, however, had been undermined. The worst of the storm was over by afternoon, but no entertainment was given until the next evening. A big transparency announced a flood benefit, and five thousand dodgers telling about it were circulated over the town. It was a gala night for the Wonderland. There were few of the minor beach shows as yet in condition to resume operations, and after twenty-four hours of storm everybody seemed out. “At least seventy-five dollars for the benefit of the poor families down on the beach,” observed Pep. “Say, let me run down and tell them. It will warm their hearts, just as it does mine.” “All right,” acceded Frank. “I guess you can promise them that much, Pep.” Frank and Jolly stood in front of the playhouse talking over affairs in general as Pep darted away on his mission of charity. A well-dressed man whom Jolly had noticed in the audience, and one of the last to leave the place, had loitered around the entrance. Now he advanced towards them. “Is there a young man named Smith connected with your show?” he inquired. “Yes, sir,” replied Frank. “He has gone on a brief errand, but will soon return.” “I’ll wait for him,” said the stranger, and he sat down on the side railing.