"We must have a nurse for him," Mrs. Racer decided, when she and her husband, together with the boys, had talked the case over at the breakfast table. "Poor lad, he needs care. He looks as if he came from good people—a refined family—don't you think so, Dick?" and she turned to her husband.
"Oh, yes, he seems like a nice lad. Get a nurse if you can, and have the best of everything. And I don't want you boys tackling any more whales," Mr. Racer added decidedly, as he gazed at his sons a bit sternly.
"No, indeed!" their mother hastened to add. "I should have died of nervousness if I had known they went out again, after that dreadful fish smashed Andy's boat."
"A whale's an animal, not a fish, mother," said the younger lad as he gave her a kiss. "We are going to capture that one and sell its oil."
"Don't you dare venture whale-hunting again, or we'll go straight back to New York, and that will be the end of your vacation," she threatened.
"That's right," added Mr. Racer. "Don't forget. Well, I must be off or I'll miss my boat," and he hurried away to his New York office.
There was quite an improvement in the condition of the mysterious youth that day, and, with the arrival of the nurse, the Racer boys and their mother were relieved from the care of him, though one or the other of them paid frequent visits to the sick room.
"He's doing nicely," said Dr. Martin on the third day. "He is out of danger now."
"And still not a word to tell who he is," spoke Frank.
"No," said the doctor musingly, "he talks intelligently on every subject but that. He remembers nothing of his past, however. He doesn't even seem to know that he was out in a motor boat. All he can recall is that he was in some kind of trouble and danger, and that he was saved. He knows that you boys saved him, and he is very grateful."