If mistaking the crew of the “Pollard” for members of the United States Navy would make matters move any more quickly, there was no need to disabuse the mind of either of these queer men.  But Jack and Hal gave each other a queer, amused look.

The old man took to the water, without difficulty.  Buoyed up by his life preserver, he was able to hold to his satchel with one hand, pulling himself along the slightly sagging rope with the other.  His son swam along lazily beside him, Eph, outside the rail, but holding to it with one hand, employed his other in helping the father and son up to the deck.  When this had been accomplished, Hal threw off the line, after which he and Jack swam back.  Eph drew them up to the platform deck.

“Go down below, and hear their account of themselves, if you want to,” said David Pollard, leaning against the wheel.  “For myself, I’m sick of that pair already.”

Jack and Hal had quite enough boyish curiosity to go below.  Eph soon followed.  The father, dripping wet and still clutching his satchel with one hand, sat on one of the long seats of the cabin, while the son, scowling, paced back and forth.

“It seems to me that I know you,” Farnum was saying, to the elder man.

“I—­I am very sure you don’t,” replied the one addressed, uneasily.

“Don’t you know who I am?” pursued the boat-builder.

“N-no; I’m very certain I don’t.”

“Let’s see.  Did you ever hear of a man named Arthur Miller, of Sebogue?”

The elder man started, paling a trifle.  The younger man stopped his walk, his face settling into a black scowl.

“No-o; I don’t know Arthur Miller,” replied the older man; with an effort.

“Queer,” mused Mr. Farnum.  “It just came to me that you were Mr. Miller.  However, of course you know best about that.”

“Thank you,” nodded the older man, with an attempt at a smile.  “I started to tell you that my son started out late this afternoon, in the sloop that lies overturned yonder, intending to put me aboard the yacht of friends who are passing down the coast.  I have most pressing business with those friends.  The business is to be finished on the coming trip.  It seems that our friends are late; still, I know they must be on their way down the coast.”

“As they haven’t shown up, at least, not close enough,” proposed Jacob Farnum, “we’ll put you ashore at Dunhaven, and doubtless you can catch up with your friends in some way.”

“Dunhaven?  Then you must be Mr. Farnum,” cried the older man, eagerly.  “This must be the torpedo boat you were building.  And these young men belong to the Navy?  Midshipmen, no doubt?”

“There are no Navy men on board,” replied the builder.  “These young men are my employes.  But we are losing time drifting about on the high seas.  We will put back to Dunhaven, and you can tell us your story, if you choose, on the way.”