"Do I remember?" shouted Mr. Davidson. "You bet I do! You young reprobate! I might have shot you; do you know that? And—and who was it that helped you out?"
"Helped me out?" repeated Billy, with an innocent stare and a wrinkling of his forehead. "How do you mean?"
"The other boat—the fellow who boarded you and got your engine going."
The young man in flannels shook his head in a puzzled way.
"No fellow boarded me," he said.
"I tell you we heard him—saw him."
"He didn't come aboard my boat, Uncle Henry. I'll swear."
"Billy, you're lying!"
Mr. Davidson's nephew indicated that he was deeply affronted by the accusation. He gazed solemnly at Rosalind. She was idly turning the leaves of a book that lay on the library table.
"I suppose I must put up with anything," he sighed.