e made redder by exertion, who had just forced
his way to the edge of the dock and was peering up at the
passenger-lined rail.

The boat had now begun to move slowly out of its slip, backing into the
river. It was now that the man on the dock sighted the girl. She
gesticulated at him. He gesticulated at her. He produced a handkerchief,
swiftly tied up a bundle of currency bills in it, backed to give himself
room, and then, with all the strength of his arm, hurled the bills in
the direction of the deck. The handkerchief with its precious contents
shot in a graceful arc towards the deck, fell short by a good six feet,
and dropped into the water, where it unfolded like a lily, sending
twenty-dollar bills, ten-dollar bills, five-dollar bills, and an
assortment of ones floating out over the wavelets.

It was at this moment that Mr. Oscar Swenson, one of the thriftiest
souls who ever came out of Sweden, perceived that the chance of a
lifetime had arrived for adding substantially to his little savings. By
profession he was one of those men who eke out a precarious livelihood
by rowing dreamily about the water-front in skiffs. He was doing so now:
and, as he sat meditatively in his skiff, having done his best to give
the liner a good send off by paddling round her in circles, the pleading
face of a twenty-dollar bill peered up at him. Mr. Swenson was not the
man to resist the appeal. He uttered a sharp bark of ecstasy, pressed
his bowler hat firmly upon his brow, and dived in. A moment later he
had risen to the surface, and was gathering up money with both hands.

He was still busy with this congenial task when a tremendous splash at
his side sent him under again: and, rising for a second time, he
observed with not a little chagrin that he had been joined by a young
man in a blue flannel suit with an invisible stripe.

"Svensk!" exclaimed Mr. Swenson, or whatever it is that natives of
Sweden exclaim in moments of justifiable annoyance. He resented the
advent of this newcomer. He had been getting along fine and had had the
situation well in hand. To him Sam Marlowe represented Competition, and
Mr. Swenson desired no competitors in his treasure-seeking enterprise.
He travels, thought Mr. Swenson, the fastest who travels alone.

Sam Marlowe had a touch of the philosopher in him. He had the ability to
adapt himself to circumstances. It had been no part of his plans to come
whizzing down off the rail into this singularly soup-li