The gang-plank was being hauled in, and Captain Barton was about to swing the engine room telegraph signal over to "half-speed ahead," when a shout sounded up the broad pier.
"Here he comes!" cried Paul. "Here comes Innis, on the run!"
The boys saw a very stout lad waddling along at what he probably considered a run, but which was far from it. In front of him, trundling a hand-truck, containing the cadet's trunk and suitcase, was a tall, thin porter, built on the lines of a racer. He would rush along and, on looking back, would see his employer about twenty feet in the rear, coming slowly.
"Can't you hurry, sir?" the porter shouted, so that Dick and the others heard him. "The ship's about to sail, sir."
"Tell—'em—to—hold—her," panted Beeby. "I'm—com—ing!"
Forward ran the porter, trundling the truck. After him came Beeby, going slower and slower, for he was winded. Captain Barton, unaware of the impending arrival of Dick's guest, had shoved the telegraph lever over. There was the ringing of a bell in the engine room, and the yacht gathered way.
"Hold on!" cried Dick. "Stop the engines!"
"Run out the gang-plank again!" ordered Paul.
"Come on, Innis, come on!" yelled Dick to his frend.
"Get on the truck, and let the porter wheel
