“Did you get it?” called the owner of the handbag eagerly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dick replied.

“The bag wasn’t open, was it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Let me have it quickly, please.  Oh, I’m so thankful!  Here is my purse with all the money safe and sound.  Wait, Master Prescott, I must reward you suitably.”

“No; I thank you,” Dick replied, his color rising.  “Your thanks are enough.  I’ve been taught that courtesy can’t be repaid with cash.  You are very, very welcome to any service that I was able to do you.”

As Dick hurried into the Central Grammar “dressing room” he found all five of his chums waiting to rub him down and help him dress.

“Here, give me that towel, and get out on other business in a hurry!” begged Dick.  “Dave!  Tom!  Amos Garwood is in the boathouse below here, working at a bench.  Get some of the men and rush down there to make a capture.  Greg, run and see to it that a launch moves down to the river end of the boathouse in case Garwood tries to get out that way when he hears the alarm!”

Prescott’s chums darted out in a hurry.  Dick half dried himself in a few frenzied dabs with the towel.  Then he pulled on his clothing faster than ever before.

He got outside on the pier just in time to see Dave and Tom leading a dozen men stealthily toward the door of the boathouse.  Out on the water Len Spencer’s launch, with half a dozen men in it, stood as river sentinel.

While those approaching the boathouse door were still more than a score of feet away there came a startling interruption.

Bang! sounded inside.  The door of the building strained an instant, but did not give way.

“That’s our old friend, Amos bang-bang, to a dot,” muttered Tom dryly, as the advancing party of men and boys halted.

“I don’t care about fooling with a dynamite factory,” remarked one of the men.

Dick, at a dead run, joined the party.

“Come along!” he cried.  “Let’s break down the door and find out whether the poor fellow is hurt.”

“Yes!  And have that ‘poor fellow’ hand you a peck of nitro-glycerine for a surprise,” retorted a man.

“Come on, fellows!  We can get the door down without help,” Dick called, appealing to his chums.

All five of them rallied to his support.  It took but a few sturdy shoulder blows to complete the work of the explosion and break the lock of the door.

Dick took one quick look inside.

“Tom, run and ’phone for a physician!” Prescott called back.  “Poor Garwood is unconscious, and cut.  He’s bleeding.  Poor chap, with his lop-sided mind and his ‘mastery of the world’ imaginings!”

Reade sped away.  As soon as the crowd found there was no danger there was a rush to the scene.  Darrin and three friends managed to hold the crowd somewhat at bay, while Prescott assisted two women in trying to bring the injured man to.