“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. A chorus of cheers followed him. Glancing across the pier, Frank noted the owner of the motor boat surrounded by a crowd and being interviewed by two young fellows who looked like newspaper reporters. One of them parted the throng suddenly and ran along the pier, focussing a camera upon the launch. He took a snap shot and waved his hand with an admiring gesture at its operator. “Young man, I don’t know when I have been so pleased and proud,” observed the owner of the launch as Frank drove up to the pier where he stood. “I’m glad I had my boat at hand and as bright and smart a fellow as you to run it just in the nick of time.” Frank felt pleased over his efforts to be helpful to others. He was too boyish and ingenuous not to suffer some embarrassment as he passed little groups staring after him. Such remarks as “That’s him!” “There he goes!” “Plucky fellow!” and the like greeted his hearing and made him blush consciously. He found his friends down the beach, Randy laughing at Pep and joking with him, the latter seated on the edge of the boardwalk emptying the water out of his shoes and grumbling at a great rate. “What’s the trouble, Pep?” hailed Frank. “Trouble! Say, whenever I think of my chance to duck that cheap cad we took aboard the skiff I want to lam myself. ‘Jumped overboard to hurry for help,’ he claimed. Then found ‘that he had forgotten he couldn’t swim.’ Bah!” and the irate Pep slammed his shoe down on a board as if it was the head of the offensive and offending Peter Carrington.