The girl gave her father a frown of protest, but Mayo smiled at her.
“I think this one is different, sir. If I am not very much mistaken, that is the yacht Olenia and she is hunting me up. Mate McGaw is one of our best little guessers.”
A quarter of an hour later he was able to assure them that the on-coming craft was the Olenia.
“Good old Mate McGaw!” he cried, rapturously. In his joy he wished he could make them his confidants, tell them who was waiting for him on board that yacht, make them understand what wonderful good fortune was his.
After a time—the long time that even a fast yacht seems to consume in covering distance to effect the rescue of those who are anxious—the Olenita's whistle hooted hoarsely to assure them that they had been seen.
“The same to you, Mate McGaw!” choked Captain Mayo, swinging his cap in wide circles.
“Seeing that things have come round as they have, I'm mighty glad for you, Captain Mayo,” declared Candage. “I ain't no kind of a hand to plaster a man all over with thanks—”
“I don't want thanks, sir. We worked together to save our lives.”
“Then I'm hoping that there won't be any hard feelings one way or the other. I have lost my schooner by my blasted foolishness. So I'll say good-by and—”
“Good-by?” demanded Mayo, showing his astonishment. “Why are you saying good-by to me now?”