It was a whole life story in a nutshell.  Frank had never come so closely in touch with tragedy before.  He continued to squeeze the hand he held, while deep down in his heart the generous fellow was making resolutions that would bring a little of sunshine to the Abercrombie home when they landed in the key city.

“Well, we’ll have lots of time to talk all these things over to-morrow, and the other days to come.  The rest of you pile off again, and leave me here to sit out my watch.  I promise to awaken you if anything threatens us,” he said finally.

A place was easily found for little Joe.  Indeed, as Bluff remarked in a whisper, the motorboat seemed capable of expansion.

“Just like an elevator or an electric car, there’s always room for just one more,” was the way he put it.

Frank sat there, listening and thinking, for a couple of hours at least.  There was no alarm.  Once he thought he heard sounds such as might be made by the movement of a push-pole; but if so, the searching party failed to locate the anchored motor-boat in its new lodgings.

Jerry took his place a little later, and then Bluff wound up the night, Will being allowed to sleep in peace.

Frank was up at peep of dawn.  The masts of the sharpie stood up plainly through the dim light, showing that apparently her anchorage had not been changed at all.

Signs of life were to be seen aboard, and smoke arising from the cabin gave evidence that the three rough spongers were getting their frugal breakfast.  Doubtless this caused them to vent their anger anew, for it had been a part of the boy’s work to cook.

“The anticipated storm petered out, anyway,” remarked Jerry at his elbow.

“Which may be a good thing for us.  Possibly we might want to get out of here in a hurry, although I’m averse to running away like a frightened duck,” remarked Frank.

“I say stick it out, and give them tit for tat.  We’re armed, and can make a pretty good showing,” declared Bluff, also turning up after hearing voices.

So they began preparations for breakfast, Frank keeping an eye on the sharpie meanwhile.  He expected that the trio of spongers would not be likely to pull out without some show of threatening the four who comprised the crew of the motor-boat.

Joe proved to be a bright-faced lad, once the grime was removed, under the influence of salt-water soap and a rough towel.  All of the outdoor chums were glad that they had found a chance to be of service to one in distress, for Joe insisted that he never could have stood the vile treatment he was receiving, and meant to run away at the very first opportunity.

They were just sitting down to breakfast when Will gave the alarm.

“They’re pulling up anchor, fellows, and hoisting sail.  From the appearance of things, we’d better look out for squalls,” he announced.

Each of the other three quietly reached around and seized a gun.  Will, not to be outdone, picked up the instrument with which he did most of his shooting, his beloved camera, and waited for a chance to snap off the ugly faces of the spongers.