coast in a southeasterly direction and inshore of the anchorage of the
_Sue Bridger_.

She was about forty feet long and was showing some speed; but her hull
looked battered, and there was nothing natty or yacht-like about her.

"No pleasure craft, that," ventured Torry, as Phil trained his glasses
on her. "She's too slouchy."

"She's got speed, just the same," observed Frenchy. "What's her name,
Phil?"

"Can't make it out," returned Morgan. Then immediately he uttered a
surprised ejaculation.

"What's up?" Torry asked him.

Whistler said nothing but he drew his chum up beside him and thrust the
glass into his hand. "Look at that fellow," he commanded.

"Which fellow?" asked Torry trying to focus the glass on the strange
craft.

"The man forward. He's looking this way. See! The man with the
whiskers," whispered Morgan.

"I see him," returned Torry.

The other boys were giving more attention to their fishing again.
Whistler was very much in earnest, and he spoke softly in his chum's