Their conversation was broken in upon by Sam, who demanded in no very gentle tones: 

“Well, who’s going ashore?  I’m off.”

“No hurry, Sam,” said Jack in a more amiable tone than he had yet used that morning.  “Let’s sit around here a while and enjoy the sun—­we might take a swim after a while.”

“If you don’t come now you’ll have to swim ashore,” grunted Sam, arising and brushing the sand from himself.  “I’m going back to Hampton.  I’m tired of camping out here.”

He walked toward the beach and prepared to shove off the dinghy, preparatory to sculling out to the hydroplane, which lay a few rods off shore in the channel.

“Hold on, Sam,” cried Bill; “we’re coming.  Don’t go away sore.”

“I’m not sore,” rejoined Sam, in a tone which belied his words, “but I don’t think you fellows are doing the right thing when you maroon a kid like Joe Digby on a lone island, in a deserted bungalow in which you’d be scared to stop yourselves.”

“Why, what’s got into you, Sam?” protested Jack.  “It’s more a lark than anything else.”

“Fine lark,” grunted Sam, “scaring a kid half to death and then writing notes for money.  It’s dangerously near to kidnapping—­ that’s what I call it, and I’m glad I’m not in it.”

Both the others looked rather uncomfortable at this presentation of the matter, but Jack affected to laugh it off.

“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, “it’s a little bit rough, I know, but such things do a kid good.  Teach him to be self-reliant and—­and all that.”

“Sure,” agreed Bill, “you don’t look at these things in the right light, Sam—­does he, Hank?”

Hank, who had shuffled toward the dinghy at the conclusion of these edifying remarks, agreed with a chuckle that Sam had no sense of humor, after which they all got into the dinghy and we sculled off to the unlucky hydroplane.

It didn’t take long to get under way, and the little craft was soon scudding through the water at a good pace, towing the dinghy behind her.

“Better put us ashore before we get into Hampton,” suggested Bill.  “We don’t want to be seen about there more than can be helped.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” objected Jack.  “We’ll put Hank ashore up the coast, but the more we are seen about the place the better.  It won’t look as if we had anything to do with the Digby kid—­in case things do go wrong.”

So it was agreed that Hank was to be landed in a small cove a few miles farther down the coast, from which it was a short cut across country to the neighborhood of the Digby farm.

Then he was to waylay the first likely-looking messenger and entrust the note which Jack had read to him for delivery.  After that he was to spend the time as best he could in suitable seclusion, and after dark conceal himself near the sign-post.  He was not to make any attempt to secure the money if any one hovered about the place, but if the coast was clear he was to go boldly in and take it.