“Great hopping watermelons!” yelled the farmer, rushing at his son followed by his wife.  Together the worthy souls almost squashed the small lad like a butterfly under a harrow.  But at last the first greetings were over and the farmer turned to the somewhat amused group of boys and men who were looking on.

“My, what a fright we had,” exclaimed Mrs. Digby, a motherly-looking woman, dabbing at her eyes with capacious pocket handkerchief, “we gets a letter tellin’ us that our boy be kidnapped.”

“Yes we know all about that, Mrs. Digby,” put in Mr. Blake, “you recollect your husband telephoned to the chief of police here about it, and expecting news from the island, we came down here.”

“So he did, so he did,” cried Mrs. Digby, “oh, dear me, Mr. Blake, I’m in such a takin!  I hardly know what I’m sayin’.”

“Consarn them Boy Scouts,” sputtered the farmer, returning to his original grievance, “if Joe hadn’t a joined them none of this would have happened.”

“Oh, yes it would and worse in fact,” said Mr. Blake quietly, “from what I have learned of the affair it was your lad’s knowledge of the Morse code, which every Boy Scout must know, that saved him when he was confined on the island.”

“That’s right, pop,” piped up the lad himself.

“Wall, I don’t know nothin’ about Horses, codes,” grunted Mr. Digby, somewhat mollified, “but if it saved Joe here it must be all right.”

“Then your animosity toward the Boy Scouts is somewhat modified,” smiled Mr. Blake, “let me tell you just what happened.  As a matter of fact the whole trouble dates back to the day your son exposed the contemptible trick by which Jack Curtiss hoped to win the aeroplane model prize contest.”

The banker drew the farmer aside and related to him the story that had been previously narrated by Rob.

“I want ter shake yer hand, boy,” exclaimed the fanner, darting at Rob at the conclusion, “I want ter shake all yer hands,” he yelled in his enthusiasm.

“Bless my soul,” exclaimed Commodore Wingate suddenly, “we are clean forgetting about those two young rascals who tried to extort the money from Mr. Digby.  We must get after them at once and their accomplice who, I suppose, is, the man delegated to take the money from under the rock.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Mr. Blake.

“That we hasten to the office of the chief of police and then get into my car and ferret them out if possible,” said the commodore briskly, “they must be made to suffer for this.”

“I don’t believe that Sam Redding had any hand in it,” put in Rob as Merritt mentioned the name of the boat-builder’s son.  “You know that all our investigation only pointed to two persons, Jack and Bill, and their assistant, Hank Handcraft.”