the truth, before dinner-time; I didn't seem to care for
luncheon, that day. Have you got a pencil? I've lost my fountain-pen
again; that's the third I've bought this month."

Gerard produced the pencil.

"It was a rough joke on you, though," he commented. "Didn't you resent
it?"

Corrie lifted his bright clear glance from his task of tearing a blank
leaf from his notebook.

"Hadn't I earned it?" he asked. "Keep the lines straight, Gerard; my
father never punished me in anger, nor unless I could first admit I
deserved it and we could shake hands on it afterward. Of course, that
sort of thing ended five years ago--there never was much of it--but
there couldn't be closer friends than we have been, right through. We
have kept each other's respect, we couldn't get along without it; and we
expect a good deal of each other, too. I just don't want you to
misunderstand."

He scribbled his signature across the bit of paper, and secured the
legend to the ciderpress.

"There; now the Goodwins will know who has been here. Ready?"

"Ready," Gerard assented.

The rain had ceased; the vigorous broom of the north wind was sweeping
the broken storm-clouds across a gray sky. The drive to the yacht club
was accomplished pleasantly and quickly.

"I told Rupert to meet us here at noon," Corrie observed, when they
stopped at the pier. "And I had lunch for three sent over, this morning.
What a deserted old hole the club is in October! Hello, what----"

From beneath the tarpaulin cover of a long, polished motor boat moored
in the wall-locked artificial harbor, a frowsy head had projected, to be
instantly withdrawn into shelter at sight of the two young men. The
genus of that head was unmistakable, the action significant. Both
arrivals halted involuntarily.

"Club steward?" inquired Gerard, with irony.

"Tramp!" flared his companion, recovering breath after the first shock
of amazement at the audacity of the intruder. "A dirty, lazy hobo in my
boat! Lying on my cushions, mauling my things, running my engine for all
I know. Oh!"

"Hold on," Gerard advised. "Better investigate."

But Corrie was already at the edge of the pier.

"Come out of there!" he shouted imperiously. "Come out, I say, or I'll
come aboard and throw you out. What do you mean by it? Come out, I tell
you."

The head slowly emerged, a red head in need of combing; its owner rested
his arms on the gleaming mahogany deck and turned a sullen, unshaven
face on hi