'What! you, Dick?' shouted the new-comer. 'What does this mean?' and, followed by the boatman, he made a dash at the group.
The wharf-rats threw down their captive and fled, and the gentleman picked Dick up.
'Thanks, Uncle Jim,' said Dick, puffing like a grampus. 'If you hadn't lent a hand, those wharf-rats would have tipped me over into the mud.'
'How did you fall into their hands?' asked his uncle.
'They've been a-sluggin', I shouldn't wonder,' remarked the boatman.
'That was it,' said Dick. 'There was a slug between our fellows and the wharf-rats out of Skinner's Hole, and they bagged me.'
His uncle nodded. He had been a Bardon boy in his time, and knew all about it. He paid the boatman, and away he and Dick went together, for his house was in the same road as Dick's home.
'They're a jolly sly lot, those wharf-rats,' said Dick, as they walked along. 'Our fellows sent me ahead as a scout, but I never saw a sign of them, and yet they were waiting for us on the Flat all the time.'
'Seems to me you weren't much of a success as a scout, Dick,' said his uncle, smiling.
'You're right there, Uncle Jim,' replied Dick, a broad grin on his honest, open face. 'I muffed it that time, and no mistake. Hallo, here's the bobby!'