"Well, well! That's a good one. I was just a-tryin' ter find out what the village looked like."
"And I guess you came pretty near doing it," said Sam, with a grin. "If you had piled on a bit more wood, we wouldn't have run into Mr. Fenton's boat."
"Eh—what? Run into Mr. Fenton's boat?" gasped Mr. Prescott, half rising from his seat. "Say that ag'in."
"Then you know him?" broke in Tom Clifton, abruptly.
"Did I say anything about knowin' 'im? Did yer hear me utter any words to the effect that I knew him, eh?"
Mr. Prescott brought out an enormous bandana handkerchief, and mopped his perspiring forehead.
"If you boys ain't quizzers from Quizzerville—well, this Mr. What-you-may-call-him wasn't hurt, was he?"
"Not so you could notice it," said Sam, flippantly. "Going to stay here long, Mr. Prescott?"
"Mebbe—mebbe not. If you hev time ter wait, I'll write out the story of me life an' give it ter you. Where did you come from, an' what are you doin' out here?"
A grim smile played over Mr. Prescott's features. He began to speak rapidly, and more gruffly than ever.