ne of the
yachtsmen stepped into the stern and took the rudder-lines. The boat
sped straight toward the _Barracouta_, which grew dingy and mean by
contrast.

Presently the strangers were near. The yachtsman touched his cap. He was
a good-looking fellow of perhaps nineteen, with a light, fuzzy mustache
and eyes that were a trifle shifty.

"Would you be so kind as to tell me--"

He broke off abruptly as he recognized Percy.

"By the Great Horn Spoon!" he almost shouted, "if it isn't P.
Whittington! Percy, old man, what do you mean by hiding yourself away
offshore in a lonesome spot like this? Come aboard! Come aboard! The old
crowd's there--Ben Brimmer and Martin Sayles and Mordaunt and Mack and
Barden. I've chartered the _Arethusa_, and invited 'em to spend a month
with me along the New England coast. We're not having a time of it--oh
no! or my name isn't Chauncey Pike!"

His eyes dwelt curiously on the details of Percy's costume and
occupation.

"What you masquerading for? Hiding from the sheriff?"

Percy met his gaze evenly. His estimate of men and the things that make
life worth living had undergone a material change during the last two
months. Pike's jesting flowed off him like water off a duck. He
introduced the other members of Spurling & Company, and Pike greeted
them cordially.

"I want you all to take dinner on board with us to-night. We've got a
first-class chef, and I'll have him do his prettiest. 'Tisn't every day
you run across an old friend."

Jim was inclined to demur, but Pike would not take no for an answer, and
he finally gave in when Percy added his entreaties to those of the
yachtsman.

"Signal the yacht when you're through, Perce," said the latter as he
rowed away, "and I'll send ashore for you. I know your friends here will
excuse you for a while if you come aboard and talk over old times with
us."

"Better let me set you ashore now," said Jim, "so you can wash up and
change your clothes."

"Not much!" refused Percy. "I'll see every fish salted first."

He was as good as his word. Not until the last hake lay on the top of
its brethren in the hogshead did he take off his oilskins and prepare
for his visit to the yacht. At his signal the boat rowed in and took him
aboard. He received an uproarious greeting from his former friends. The
first welcome over, he came in for more or less chaffing.

"Boys," jeered Pike, "what do you suppose I found this modest,
salt-water violet--or barna