"He knew me, probably, in a flash," muttered the submarine boy. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize him sooner."
Having gotten his wind back, Jack broke into a run again. Just because Millard had dropped out of sight was no reason for taking chances of a sudden swoop from the stranger.
For some five minutes Jack Benson jogged along. Then he came in sight of a little semicove. Here lay a small motor launch, whose skipper, somewhat of the fisherman type, was busily engaged with the engine.
"Say," hailed young Benson, running down to the water's edge, "can you start your engine at once?"
"I reckon," nodded the fisherman, looking up.
"Run your bow in, so I can get aboard, then," directed Captain Jack, briskly. "I want to get over to where the Army tug is at work. Do you know where that is—over to the southeast ward?"
"Yep," nodded the fisherman.
"I'll give you three dollars to take me over there in a hustle," proposed
Jack.
"You're easy enough," grinned the man in the boat, starting the engine, then lightly driving the bow of the boat upon the sand. "But you'll pay me in advance."
"Certainly," nodded the submarine boy, taking out the money, as he stepped into the boat, and handing it over.