or us much. Queer old skate!
They say he's got some good Indian things, though--if it's them you're
after?"

The professor ignored the question but pondered the information.

"I think you are right. It must be the same person," he said. "But he
certainly led me to expect--"

A chuckle from the boat-builder interrupted him. "Ah, he'd do that, all
right," grinned Mr. Johnston. "They do say he has a special gift that
way."

"Well, thank you very much anyway." The professor offered his hand
cordially. "And if we're going, we had better go."

"You'll be a tight fit in the launch," said Mr. Johnston. "Miss Farr's
down 'ere somewhere. I saw her pass."

"Miss Farr!" The professor's ungallant horror was all too patent. He
turned haunted eyes toward the second nail keg, now plainly visible and
unoccupied.

"Missy in boat. She waitee. No likee!" said the Chinaman, speaking for
the first time.

"But," began the professor, and then, seeing the appreciative grin upon
Mr. Johnston's speaking countenance, he continued blandly--"Very well,
let us not keep the lady waiting. Especially as she doesn't like it.
Take this bag, my man, it's light. I'll carry the other."

With no words, and no apparent effort, the old man picked up both bags
and shuffled off. The professor followed. At the end of the wharf there
were steps and beneath the steps a small floating platform to which was
secured what the professor afterwards described as "a marine vehicle,
classification unknown." Someone, girl or woman, hidden in a loose,
green coat, was already seated there. A pair of dark eyes looked up
impatiently.

"I am afraid you were not expecting me," said the professor. "I am
Hamilton Spence. Your father--"

"You're getting your feet wet," said the person in the coat. "Please
jump in."

The professor jumped. He hadn't jumped since the sciatica and he didn't
do it gracefully. But it landed him in the boat. The Chinaman was
already in his place. A rattle and a roar arose, the air turned
suddenly to gasoline and they were off.

"Has it a name?" asked the professor as soon as he could make himself
heard.

"What?"

The professor was not feeling amiable. "It might be easier to refer to
it in conversation if one knew its name," he remarked, "'Launch' seems
a trifle misleading."

There was a moment's silence. Then, "I suppose 'launch' is what father
called it," said his companion. He could have sworn that there was cool
amusement in her to