hyuh, I'll vote for 'em good and hearty. But where's Hardy and that leggy lad?"
Turner proceeded to explain the occasion of their absence.
"Them lighthouse superintendents is cracked to be sendin' men kitin' aroun' in the air, with a storm dead-ahead. They don't git Bill Buffum a-sailin' hither and thither. I was give my lighthouse job to set, and set like hardtack I will aginst all the flyin' powers in creation."
"That reminds me," said Turner. "I got a wireless that Commodore Hatton's yacht is due to pass sometime this evening. He's young Hatton's father. Keep your light burning."
"I'll have it extry bright," promised the ex-mariner, "but if I had my hands on them there wires I'd 'a tol' him to snug in some handy port, for, take a Jack tar's word for it, it'll be blowin' great guns and loaded ones, with Old Nick servin' 'em, by sundown."
On the outskirts of the group of brawny fishermen gathered about the shark, stood a man who seemingly was not of the company, though he wore a longshoreman's oilskin coat reaching nearly to the heels of his rubber boots, while a
