dodgin' around in the choppy water. There's a crisp, salty breeze
that's makin' the flags snap, the sun's shinin' bright, and take it
altogether it's some brilliant scene. Only I'm on the outside peekin'
in.

"What's the use?" thinks I. "I'm off my beat up here."

Fin'lly I drifts down to the Yacht Club float, where the launches was
comin' in thick. I must have been there near an hour, swappin' never a
word with anybody, and gettin' lonesomer by the minute, when in from
the harbor dashes a long, low, dark-colored boat and comes rushin' at
the float like it meant to make a hydroplane jump. At the wheel I gets
sight of a young chap who has sort of a worried, scared look on his
face. Also he's wearin' a striped blazer.

"Young Hollister, maybe," thinks I. "And he's in for a smash."

Just then he manages to throw in his reverse; but it's a little late,
for he's got a lot of headway. Honest, I didn't think it out. And I
was achin' to butt into something. I jumped quick, grabbed the bow as
it came in reach, shoved it off vigorous, and brought him alongside the
fenders without even scratchin' the varnish.

"Thanks, old chap," says he. "Saved me a bad bump there. I--I'm
greatly obliged."

"You're welcome," says I. "You was steamin' in a little strong."

"I haven't handled the Vixen much myself," says he. "You see, our
boatman's laid up,--sprained ankle,--and I had to come down from the