need for them, I'll be glad to take them off."

"Come down to my boat," invited Tom, using the word "my" with a
proper pride, "and I'll take off the brass letters. I have a
screw driver in my motor-cycle tool bag."

As the former and present owners of the ARROW (which is the name
by which I shall hereafter designate Tom's motor-boat) walked down
toward the dock where it was moored the young inventor gave a
startled cry.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Hastings.

"That man! See him at my motor-boat?" cried Tom. He pointed to
the craft in the lake. A man was in the cockpit and seemed to be
doing something to the forward bulkhead, which closed off the
compartment holding the gasoline tank.

"Who is he?" asked Mr. Hastings, while Tom started on a run toward
the boat.

"I don't know. Some man who bid on the boat at the auction, but
who didn't go high enough," answered the lad. As he neared the
craft the man sprang out, ran along the lakeshore for a short
distance and then disappeared amid the bushes which bordered the
estate of Mr. Hastings. Tom hurriedly entered the ARROW.

"Did he do any damage?" asked Mr. Hastings.

"I guess he didn't have time," responded Tom. "But he was