“We may stay here until to-morrow—I cannot tell,” explained Frank. “If we do, I think we will be at the Beach Hotel.”
The young lady had a small writing tablet with a tiny pencil attached, secured by a ribbon at her waist. She made some notations. Then she extended her hand and grasped Frank’s with the fervency of a grateful and appreciative person. Then an auto cab drew up at the end of the pier, the officer summoned help, and Mrs. Carrington was lifted from the launch. Frank assisted Miss Porter, and Peter, apparently fancying himself an object of admiration to all the focussed eyes of the crowd, disappeared into the automobile.
“Hey!” yelled Pep after him, doubling his fists. “Thank you!”
The motor boat man grasped Frank’s hand with honest thankfulness in his eyes.
“I shan’t forget you very soon,” he said with genuine feeling.
“Did the boat belong to you?” asked Frank.
“Yes, I own two motor boats here,” explained the man, “and run them for just such parties as you see.”
“The explosion will cause you some money loss.”
“I hardly think so,” answered the man. “Mrs. Carrington is a rich woman, they say, and she is quite liberal, too. I think she will do the right thing and not leave all the loss on a poor man like myself.”
“Get the skiff back where you found it, Randy,” directed Frank. “I will be with you soon,” and he started the launch back for the spot where he had been allowed to use it by its owner.