The Kilo came to a standstill, and, a second later, Tom had pulled into his boat one of the girls.  She would have collapsed, and fallen in a heap on the bottom boards, had not Ned, who had come forward from the engine, caught her.

Then Tom, again leaning over the side, pulled in the other girl, who was clinging to the life ring.

“You’re all right,” Tom assured her, as she came up, gasping, choking and crying hysterically.  “You’re all right!”

“Is—­is Minnie saved?” she sobbed.

“Yes, Grace!  I’m here,” answered the one Ned was supporting.

“Oh, wasn’t it terrible!” cried the second girl Tom had saved.

“I thought we would be drowned, even though we can swim.”

“Yes, it—­it was so—­so sudden!” gasped her companion.  “What happened?”

“The wash from that big boat upset you,” explained Tom.  “That fellow ought to be ashamed of himself, rushing along the way he did.  Now, can I take you girls anywhere?  Your canoe seems to have drifted off.”

“I have it!” someone called.  “It’s turned over, but I can tow it to shore.”

“And I’ll take the girls home,” offered a gentleman in a large rowboat.  “My wife will look after them.  They live near us,” and he mentioned his own name and the names of the two girls Tom had saved.  The young inventor did not know them, but he introduced himself and Ned.

“This is the annual moonlight outing of our little boat club,” explained the man who had offered to look after the girls, “and it is the first time we ever had an accident.  This was not our fault, though.”

“Indeed it was not,” agreed Tom, after he had helped the two dripping young ladies into the rowboat.  “It was due to Mr. Peters’s speed mania.”

“I shall make a complaint against him to the navigation authorities,” said Mr. Ralston, who was looking after the girls.  “He must think he, alone, has any rights on this lake.”

With renewed thanks to Tom and Ned, the rescued girls were rowed off to their homes, while the interrupted water carnival was continued.

“Some little excitement; eh, Tom?” remarked Ned, when they were once more under way.

“Yes.  We seem to run into that fellow Peters, or some of his doings, quite often lately.”

“And it isn’t a good sign, either,” murmured Ned.

For some minutes after that Tom did not speak.  In fact he was so silent that Ned at last inquired: 

“What’s the matter, Tom—­in love?”

“Far from it.  But, Ned, I’ve got an idea.”

“And I’ve got a wet suit of clothes where that nice young lady fainted in my arms.  I’m soaked.”

“That’s what gave me the idea—­the water, I mean.  I noticed how everything was reflected in it, and, do you know, Ned, I believe I have been working on the wrong principle for my photo telephone.”

“Wrong, Tom, how is that?”

“Why, I’ve been using a dry plate, and I think I should have used a wet one.  You know how even in a little puddle of water on the sidewalk you can see yourself reflected?”