stler leaned over
the side and, with a maul, tapped the bass on the head.

But when he got his hand in the gills of the fish they clamped down upon
his fingers, and, in the struggle, he was almost hauled out of the
boat.

"Hey! Help!" he bawled. "What are you fellows? Just passengers?"

Frenchy gave him a hand on one side and Ikey on the other; between them
the trio hauled a ten-pound bass over the gunwale. Torry was dancing
around in glee and shouting at the top of his voice.

"Hush!" commanded Whistler. "You'll scare even the sharks and dogfish
away."

"Or you'll dance through the rotten old bottom boards of the boat and
we'll have to walk ashore," added Frenchy.

But it was a great catch, and the others could feel nothing but envy of
Torry's success. He had set a pace that none of them could equal; for
after that there did not seem to be another bass of even two pounds'
weight in the whole ocean.

"Hey, fellows!" ejaculated Ikey suddenly. "Who's this coming?"

"Somebody walking on the water, is it?" chuckled Frenchy.

"Aw, you needn't be correcting my English," responded Ikey. "There are
no medals on you for being a purist."

"Wow, wow!" yelled Torry. "Listen to him sling language."

"Hold on, fellows," Whistler said, diving for the glass he never went
to sea without. "That's no smack."

They all had turned to look at the approaching craft which Ikey had
first sighted. It was a power boat and was running parallel with the
coast in a southeasterly direction and inshore of the anchorage of the
_Sue Bridger_.

She was about forty feet long and was showing some speed; but her hull
looked battered, and there was nothing natty or yacht-like about her.

"No pleasure craft, that," ventured Torry, as Phil trained his glasses
on her. "She's too slouchy."

"She's got speed, just the same," observed Frenchy. "What's her name,
Phil?"

"Can't make it out," returned Morgan. Then immediately he uttered a
surprised ejaculation.

"What's up?" Torry asked him.

Whistler said nothing but he drew his chum up beside him and thrust the
glass into his hand. "Look at that fellow," he commanded.

"Which fellow?" asked Torry trying to focus the glass on the strange
craft.

"The man forward. He's looking this way. See! The man with the
whiskers," whispered Morgan.

"I see him," returned Torry.

The other boys were giving more attention to their fishing again.
Whistler was very much in earnest, and he spoke softly i