"Well, we'll put in and see," decided the lad of millions. At Savannah, when the yacht had docked, Dick found a telegram awaiting him from his chum, Beeby. It read: "Will be with you at ten A.M. to-morrow." "And, just as likely as not he won't," commented the young captain. "But we'll lay up here over night and see." Ten o'clock the next morning came, and the boys eagerly scanned the pier for a sight of the fat lad. There were all sorts of people coming down to the water-front, but Innis Beeby was not of them. "Guess we'd better get under way," suggested Dick, when eleven o'clock had passed, and there was no sign of the cadet. The gang-plank was being hauled in, and Captain Barton was about to swing the engine room telegraph signal over to "half-speed ahead," when a shout sounded up the broad pier. "Here he comes!" cried Paul. "Here comes Innis, on the run!" The boys saw a very stout lad waddling along at what he probably considered a run, but which was far from it. In front of him, trundling a hand-truck, containing the cadet's trunk and suitcase, was a tall, thin porter, built on the lines of a racer. He would rush along and, on looking back, would see his employer about twenty feet in the rear, coming slowly. "Can't you hurry, sir?" the porter shouted, so that Dick and the others heard him. "The ship's about to sail, sir." "Tell--'em--to--hold--her," panted Beeby. "I'm--com--ing!" Forward ran the porter, trundling the truck. After him came Beeby, going slower and slower, for he was winded. Captain Barton, unaware of the impending arrival of Dick's guest, had shoved the telegraph lever over. There was the ringing of a bell in the engine room, and the yacht gathered way. "Hold on!" cried Dick. "Stop the engines!" "Run out the gang-plank again!" ordered Paul. "Come on, Innis, come on!" yelled Dick to his friend. "Get on the truck, and let the porter wheel you," suggested Paul. He scarcely believed the fat cadet would do it, but the suggestion came at just the right time, and the fleshy lad called: "Here, porter, let me sit on top of my trunk. I can't go another step." "Sure!" assented the man, and, a moment later, he was assisting the late passenger up on top of the baggage. There was a laugh from the crowd on the pier, in which Dick and his chums joined, but Innis Beeby cared little for that. He could breathe easier now, and there was a better chance of him catching the yacht. The porter broke into a run with his load, and soon was alongside the _Albatross_. But the vessel was now in the grip of the tide, and, though the engine had been stopped, the yacht was moving. The gang-plank could not be run out, for a snubbing post was right in the way. "Get off, and I'll throw your baggage on board!" cried the porter, for there was, as yet, but a small space of water between the steamer's rail and the bulkhead. "Yes--but--how--am--I--going--to--get--on--board?" panted the exhausted cadet.