ugh the
crackling juicy-stemmed marsh-weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised
their fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, through the
reeds, aggressive, protesting.

"'Like millions of pygmy Ajaxes defying the lightning,' I said.

"Miss Holroyd laughed.

"'Now I never imagined that authors were clever except in print,' she
said.

"She was a most extraordinary girl.

"'I suppose,' she observed, after a moment's silence--'I suppose I am
taking you to my father.'

"'Delighted!' I mumbled. 'H'm! I had the honor of meeting Professor
Holroyd in Paris.'

"'Yes; he bailed you and Jack out,' said Miss Holroyd, serenely.

"The silence was too painful to last.

"'Captain McPeek is an interesting man,' I said. I spoke more loudly
than I intended. I may have been nervous.

"'Yes,' said Daisy Holroyd, 'but he has a most singular hotel clerk.'

"'You mean Mr. Frisby?'

"'I do.'

"'Yes,' I admitted, 'Mr. Frisby is queer. He was once a bill-poster.'

"'I know it!' exclaimed Daisy Holroyd, with some heat. 'He ruins
landscapes whenever he has an opportunity. Do you know that he has a
passion for bill-posting? He has; he posts bills for the pure pleasure
of it, just as you play golf, or tennis, or squash.'

"'But he's a hotel clerk now,' I said; 'nobody employs him to post
bills.'

"'I know it! He does it all by himself for the pure pleasure of it.
Papa has engaged him to come down here for two weeks, and I dread it,'
said the girl.

"What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby I had not the faintest
notion. I suppose Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my face,
for she laughed and nodded her head twice.

"'Not only Mr. Frisby, but Captain McPeek also,' she said.

"'You don't mean to say that Captain McPeek is going to close his
hotel!' I exclaimed.

"My trunk was there. It contained guarantees of my respectability.

"'Oh no; his wife will keep it open,' replied the girl. 'Look! you can
see papa now. He's digging.'

"'Where?' I blurted out.

"I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim, spectacled gentleman, with
close-cut, snowy beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw digging
wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered sou'wester, and hip-boots of
rubber. He was delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his face
streaming with perspiration, his boots and jersey splashed with
unpleasant-looking mud. He glanced up as we approached, shading his
eyes with a sunburned hand.

"'Papa, dear,' said Miss Ho