The man smiled; apparently he did not take Roy's explanation very seriously. "Now if you could only get that convict that escaped down yonder----" "We have no interest in him," said Roy, shortly. He and Tom had both counted on Poughkeepsie with its police force and fire department and general wide-awakeness, and they went back to the _Good Turn_ pretty well discouraged, particularly as the good people of whom they had inquired had treated them with an air of kindly indulgence, smiling at their story, saying that the scouts were a wide-awake lot, and so forth; interested, but good-naturedly skeptical. One had said, "Are you making believe to telegraph that way? Well, it's good fun, anyway." Another asked if they had been reading dime novels. The patronizing tone had rather nettled the boys. "I'd like to have told that fellow that if we _had_ been reading dime novels, we wouldn't have had time to learn the Morse code," said Roy. _"The Motor Boat Heroes_!" mocked Tom. "Yes, volume three thousand, and they haven't learned how to run a gas engine yet! Get out your magnifying glass, Tom; what's that, a village, up there?" "A house." "Some house, too," said Roy, looking at the diminutive structure near the shore. "Put your hand down the chimney and open the front door, hey?" But as they ran in nearer the shore other houses showed themselves around the edge of the hill and here, too, was a little wharf with several people upon it and near it, on the shore, a surging crowd on the edge of which stood several wagons. "Guess they must be having a mass meeting about putting a new spring on the post-office door," said Roy. "Somebody ought to lay a paperweight on that village a windy day like this. It might blow away. Close your throttle a little, Tom and put your timer back; we'll run in and see what's up." "You don't suppose all that fuss can have anything to do with Pee-wee, do you?" Tom asked. "No, it looks more as if a German submarine had landed there. There wouldn't be so much of a rumpus if they'd got the kid." But in another moment Roy's skeptical mood had changed as he saw a tall, slender fellow in brown standing at the end of the wharf with arms outspread. "What's he doing--posing for the movies?" "He's semaphoring," Tom answered. "I'll be jiggered if he isn't!" said Roy, all interest at once. "C--O--M--E---- I--(he makes his I too much like his C)--N. _What do you know about that!_ Come in!" The stranger held what seemed to be a large white placard in either hand in place of a flag and his motions were not as clear-cut as they should have been, but to Roy, with whom, as he had often said, the semaphore code was like "pumpkin pie," the message was plain. As they ran alongside the wharf the khaki-clad signaler greeted them with the scout salute. "Pretty brisk out on the water this morning?" he said. "We got your message--we were out canoeing last night; you use the International code, don't you?"