managed it all right. It's up to him, fellows! Frank's to blame!"
"I am like pie!" cried the acrobatic lad, turning a handspring to calm his excited feelings.
"Of course, it's your fault," added Paul, with a wink at the others.
"Sure," came from Henry.
"Maybe it was Grit's fault," suggested Tim Muldoon, gently, for he wasn't quite sure whether Dick and his chums were in earnest or not. "I saw Grit trying to wag his tail, just as the puddin* went overboard."
"Tim, you've solved the mystery!" declared Dick. "It was Grit's fault. Grit, you old sinner, don't you know any better?" and the dog leaped about joyously, barking in delight at the fun and excitement.
"Well, it's gone, and I reckon the crew doesn't mingle any plum duff with their ship's biscuit tonight," observed Widdy, with a sigh. "It sure did smell good, Mr. Hamilton, and it looked good, too," and the old sailor recoiled the rope he had grabbed up in his excitement. Captain Barton came on deck, then, to inquire the cause of the fun, and laughed when told the story of the pudding, to the rescue of which Widdy had sprung so valiantly.
But if there was no plum duff for supper there were other good things, for Dick had well stocked the yacht's larder.
"Der crew needn't mind so mooch," spoke the
