“Hey, officer,” he hailed the man, “get a conveyance for the party as quick as you can.”
“Suppose you do it yourself?” growled the motor boat man, looking as if he would like to give Peter a good thrashing.
“Me? In this rig? Oh, dear, no!” retorted the shocked Peter. “I’ve got five suits of clothes home. Really, I ought to send for one. Don’t know what the people at Catalpa Terrace will say to see me coming home looking like a drowned rat, don’t you know,” and Peter grinned in a silly, self-important way.
“He makes me sick!” blurted out the motor boat man.
The young lady who was supporting Mrs. Carrington leaned toward Frank. Her face expressed the respect and admiration she felt for their rescuer.
“We can never thank you enough for your prompt service,” she said, in a voice that trembled a trifle from excitement.
“I am glad I was within call,” replied Frank, modestly.
“Won’t you kindly give me your name?” inquired the young lady. “I am Miss Porter, and I am companion to Mrs. Carrington. I know her ways so well, that I am sure the first thing she will want to know when she becomes herself again is the name of her brave rescuer.”
“My name is Frank Durham,” replied our hero. “My chums in the little boat are Randolph Powell and Pepperill Smith.”
“So you live here at Seaside Park? Where can Mrs. Carrington send you word, for I am positive she will wish to see you?”