The tide being out, the rain pattered down on the surrounding mud and shallow places, and the members of the patrol sat in the open doorway of their cozy little shelter wistfully gazing at the downpour, and watching the little holes that the raindrops made in the mud.

Each drop, like a bullet, drove a little hole in the oozy bottom, which slowly closed up again.  Schools of darting killies hurried this way and that frantically seeking an avenue into the deeper places where puddles would afford them a haven during the lowest ebb.  Rain, rain, rain.

On the porch of the boat-house a mile or so down-stream was gathered a group of young fellows, also watching wistfully.  Through the intervening space of rain they seemed like pictures of spectres, misty and unsubstantial.

“The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide,” said Townsend cheerily.  “I think when it comes in it’s going to stop raining, that’s what I think.  It’s going to clear up and be warm this afternoon, you see.  Rain before seven, clear before eleven.  What do you say we catch some of those killies and fry them?”

“That’s what you call an inspiration,” said Roly Poly.

They caught some killies with a bent pin and fried them and they were not half bad.

Along about eleven o’clock the tide began running up, the killies which had not been lured to their undoing, disappeared in the swelling water, and soon the ripples danced up over the mud, submerging it entirely.  The river began to be attractive again.  And then the sun came out.

“This is going to be some peach of a tide for races,” said Townsend; “it will be good and full after such an all night rain.”

At two o’clock, when the river was about half full, a launch came chugging up from the boat club bringing a flag and the young fellow who was to be posted at the turning point.  He planted the flag on its tall standard near the shore and settled down to mind his own business.  Pee-wee received him as if he were a foreign ambassador.

Our hero was now so intent upon his commercial enterprise that he forgot all about the races except in their commercial aspect.  The island was but the turning point for the contestants and seemed detached from the excitement and preparations which prevailed down at the club house.

Soon, along the shore, there began to be visible little groups of boys sprawling on the grass, waiting.  The boat-house porch and the adjacent float were filled with high school pupils.  They made a great racket, and from all the noise and bustle thereabouts the little island seemed removed, as if a part of the events and yet not a part.

Presently a little group of girls appeared at the edge of Gilroy’s Field, which was the nearest point on the mainland to Alligator Island.  They seemed to be looking about in a bewildered, inquiring sort of way.  Evidently the advertising was bringing results.  It seemed as if they might have banded together (as girls will) for the cut rate cruise which they had seen advertised.  At all events they seemed to be strangers.  Whoever they were, it spoke well for their adventurous spirit that they should wish to book passage to an unknown shore, when there were no others in sight who seemed the least interested in the voyage.