"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.

"Now, pick up that boathook, and shove off, and we'll start," added the
master of the little launch.

As Jack snatched up the boathook he caught, sight of Millard, three
hundred yards away, just coming in sight on a run.

"You'd better get your engine going fast," warned Jack, "or that fellow
headed this way will make trouble for us both. He's carrying a gun."

The skipper took just one look at Millard, who was racing along, pistol
in hand, and was prepared to believe his present passenger. That little
launch stole out of the cover under its reverse gear until the master of
the craft thought himself far enough from shore for him to be out of
range of Millard's weapon.

"Who is that feller?" asked the fisherman, when satisfied that he was at
a safe distance and increasing it every instant.

"From the way he's dancing up and down, it looks as if he were crazy,"
laughed Jack, coolly.

"What's his particular specialty in craziness?" asked the master of the
launch, looking shrewdly at the submarine boy.