The boys took this as a hint that they had better leave the room, so the three of them filed silently out to permit of the physician and Mrs. Racer continuing their efforts to bring the lad out of the stupor into which he had fallen.
"It's a queer case," mused Frank.
"It sure is," agreed his brother. "I hope he doesn't die before we find out who he is, or where he belongs."
"I hope he doesn't die at all," put in his brother quickly.
"Oh, of course," assented Frank. "So do I."
"Could you make out any name on the motor boat?" inquired Bob.
"Didn't have a chance," answered the older Racer lad. "Andy and I had our hands full managing our boat, and, when I went overboard I had to depend on Andy to pull that lad and me back. The sea was fierce and it was blowing great guns. All I know is that it was a fine boat, and it's a shame it was wrecked on the Shark's Teeth."
"She'll go to pieces if she stays there long," was Bob's opinion. "The bottom will be pounded out of her and she'll go down."
"Your father was right about the storm coming up," said Frank, after a pause. "I never saw it blow so hard in such a short time."
"Oh, dad can generally be depended on for a weather guess," said the son proudly. "Well, I must be getting back. Got to put on another load of clams before supper. Let me know how that chap makes out, will you?"