oadside on. The standing figure continued to wave its
arms.

Those people must be in trouble of some sort, I decided, and it was
evident that Small thought so, too. There could no imminent danger
threaten for, on a day like this, with no sea running, there was nothing
to fear in the bay. If, however, they should drift out of the bay it
might be unpleasant. And they certainly were drifting. I resigned myself
to the indefinite postponement of my dinner, swung the skiff about, and
pulled as hard as I could in the direction of the row boat.

With the tide to help me I made good progress, but, even at that, it
took me some time to overtake the drifting craft. She was, as Ben had
said, a lap-streaked, keel-bottomed dingy--good enough as a yacht's
tender or in deep water, but the worst boat in the world to row about
Denboro bay at low tide. Her high rail caught what breeze there was
blowing and this helped to push her along. However, I got within easy
hailing distance after a while and called, over my shoulder, to ask what
was the matter.

A man's voice answered me.

"We've lost an oar," he shouted. "We're drifting out to sea. Lend us a
hand, will you?"

"All right," I answered. "I'll be there in a minute."

Within the minute I was almost alongside. Then I turned, intending to
speak again; but I did not. The two persons in the dingy were Victor--I
did not know his other name--and Mabel Colton.

I was wearing the oilskin slicker and had pulled down the brim of
my sou'wester to keep the sun from my eyes; therefore they had not
recognized me before. And I, busy at the oars and looking over my
shoulder only occasionally, had not recognized them. Now the recognition
was mutual. Miss Colton spoke first.

"Why, Victor!" she said, "it is--"

"What?" asked her companion. Then, looking at me, "Oh! it's you, is it?"

I did not answer. Luck was certainly against me. No matter where I went,
on land or water, I was fated to meet these two.

Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing. "By Jove!" he observed;
"Mabel, we seem destined to . . . Humph! Well? Will you give us a hand?"

The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in that
rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter. Ben Small could have gone
to their rescue just as well as I. However, here I was, and here they
were. And I could not very well go away and leave them, under the
circumstances.

Victor's patience was giving way.

"What are you w