"Then you might as well let me make a complete job of it," spoke Dick, quickly, with a laugh. "But, suppose we start back. The others may be getting anxious." Senior Valdez returned to his pocket certain papers, by which he had proved his identity, and arose. "Come on, Cousin Miguel," Dick said to the Cuban lad. "I'm going to call you cousin, from now on, if you don't object." "I am honored," answered Miguel, with a stately bow. Exploring part of the beach, near the signal mast, Dick and his two companions found a number of soft clams, of which they gathered a quantity, carrying them in a bag which the kidnappers had left with Miguel. "We'll have them steamed on a fire in a pile of seaweed," suggested the young millionaire. "It'll be a shore dinner, though the usual fixings will be missing." They found the whole party assembled on the beach, near the campfire, waiting for them, Paul and Beeby having returned empty handed. There was rather a glum look on their faces. "What's the matter?" asked Dick. "You look as if you'd lost your last friend." "We didn't find any grub," explained Beeby. "But _we_ did, and I found something else," went on the lad of millions. "Here are slathers of soft clams. We can't starve while they hold out." "We saw some like those, but I didn't think they were any good," remarked Beeby. "We were looking for something worth while." "You'll find these worth while when you're hungry," went on Dick. "Come on, now, fellows, get a good fire going, gather some seaweed and we'll have a feast. But, first, I've got some news for you," and he proceeded to relate his unexpected, but perfectly simple, finding of the relatives he had come so far to seek. "It's just like when once I found a whole lot of scrap iron I wasn't expecting," declared Henry Darby, and then he wondered why Dick and the others laughed, hastening to explain, as soon as he saw the joke, that he had no intention of comparing the young millionaire's relatives to iron junk. While the boys were discussing the strange outcome of the affair, Widdy was busy with the steaming of the clams. In a short time an appetizing aroma filled the air, which caused the boys to inquire anxiously when the "shore-dinner," as they dubbed it, would be ready. They ate in rather primitive fashion, with fingers doing duty for knives and forks, but they all said they had never tasted any better clams, though there was no drawn-butter to dip them into. [Illustration: THEY ATE IN RATHER PRIMITIVE FASHION, WITH FINGERS DOING DUTY FOR KNIVES AND FORKS.--_Page 228._ _Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht._] "Now," suggested Dick, as they finished, and wished for more, "we will take an account of stock, and see what's next to be done." "The bower or bungalow, or whatever you're going to call it, isn't quite finished," said Tim Muldoon.