As the dory drew nearer the lightkeeper saw a pallid face staring at him over the gunnel of the motor-boat. The boat had shipped considerable water and was wallowing deep in the sea; but the man seemed unable even to bail out. "Crippled—must be," decided the rescuer, at last. "I’d better get to him soon, or he’ll lose all holts." Despite the boisterous seas the lightkeeper brought his dory skilfully alongside the tossing motor-boat. The wan face of the young fellow in it advertised his woe. "What’s the matter with ye?" bawled Tobias. "I’ve hurt my foot!" replied the man. "I guess I’ve sprained it." "Oh, sugar! That might ha’ kept ye from walking ashore. But what’s the matter with your boat?" "The engine won’t run, and the steering-gear is fouled. I haven’t been able to do a thing with it since daybreak." "Hard luck!" returned Tobias. "Better come aboard here. Can ye make it alone?" "Can’t you tow me? I don’t want to lose my boat. It cost a lot of money." "Likely. But I ain’t no sea-going towboat," said the lightkeeper. "If I undertook to try to tow your boat, we’d bring up about to the Bahamas. You’ll have to kiss it good-bye, I cal’late." "I’ll pay you well," cried the other. "Can’t be did," said Tobias confidently. "Now, then, when I throw her to ye, be ready to crawl over the gunnels. We ain’t got no time to jabber. Stand by!" Seeing that the old man was firm in his intention, the castaway prepared awkwardly to make the exchange. He was doused between the two boats, but Tobias Bassett’s strong hand helped him inboard, or a tragedy might have been enacted. The castaway was a man in the early twenties, and not at all robust looking. Nor did his countenance very favorably impress the rescuer. "Still, ye can’t scurcely judge the good points of a drowned rat," Tobias considered, as the man he had rescued squatted in the stern of the dory, nursing his right foot and groaning. "Tell me all about it," the rescuer suggested. "How did it happen?" "I left Nantucket yesterday noon, going to Boston." "All the weather-wise folks on Nantucket must be dead, eh? Or didn’t nobody tell ye to take the inside passage?" "Well, I thought I could make it outside before it blew really hard. And I could have done so, only for that engine." "I see." "Then I fell and twisted my foot. It’s swollen, you see. Can’t put my weight on it." "Too bad," grunted the lightkeeper between strokes. "And you been battin’ off and on here all night?" "Pretty near." "Lucky I spied ye. It’s going to blow harder before it gets through. You didn’t stand much chance of being picked up by any other craft, so far inshore." "I hate to lose my boat," complained the castaway. "You like to have lost your life, young feller," said Tobias, seriously. "You can get another motorboat easier. What’s your name?" "Conway Degger. I belong in Boston." "Do ye, now? Come o’ rich folks, I cal’late?" "Not rich enough to throw away a motor-boat like that."