with those windows. Chris and I will clean out. Bring a broom, Walt."

When Walter got back with his arms full of bundles he found the shack wet inside but clean, the windows shining brightly, and his comrades nowhere in sight.

CHAPTER III.
THE FIRST ALARM.

The shack contained a rough board cupboard in one corner and a few shelves along one side and upon these Walter arranged his purchases which made quite an imposing array. He had bought carefully but there had been many things that the four of them absolutely had to have. There was a change of rough, cheap clothing for each, four blankets, the same of oilskins, four lanterns, a belt and sheath-knife apiece, and a stock of groceries; this was small, containing only such staples as rice, coffee, sugar, salt, beans, bacon, and flour, for he figured that they would get most of their living from the sea.

His packages arranged to his satisfaction, Walter sat down to await the appearance of his chums.

Charley was the first to arrive. He came out from the shore, staggering under a great load of clean, silver Spanish moss.

"For our beds," he explained, as he spread the soft hair-like stuff on the floor in one corner. "It will take a little of the hardness off the boards."

Captain Westfield soon appeared bearing a large box partly filled with sand.

"What is that for?" Walter inquired.

"That's our stove," the old sailor explained. "It will have to do us until we are able to buy one. Chris is coming with some wood."

The little darkey soon appeared, bearing a load of driftwood that he had picked up on the beach.

"I reckon you-alls can fix up things widout me," he observed as he deposited his burden just outside the door and produced a bit of string and a fish hook from his pocket. "Dar jis' naturally oughter be lots ob fish around dese old dock posts. A mess of dem, fried nice an' brown, would sho' go powerful good for supper."

Charley grinned, for Chris loved to fish with all the ardor of his race. "Go ahead," he said, "we will get along without you."

The little negro needed no second permission, and baiting his hook with a piece of bacon, and getting astride of a post, he began to fish earnestly.

The others occupied themselves in trying to make their new home as comfortable as they could with the little they had to do with. They spread their four blankets on the pile of moss, filled and trimmed their lanterns, made a rough table and some benches out of a few boards they found on the dock, and covered the broken panes in the windows with some sand-fly netting Walter had bought at the store. When all this was done and their new garments hung up on nails, the rude shack took on quite a comfortable, home-like appearance.

"It's not so bad," Charley observed. "It will do us very well until we can get better quarters."

"We have cause to be thankful," Walter agreed. "Only a few hours ago we had nothing in the world, now, we have got a dry place to stay, clothes, a supply of food, and a prospect of soon making money."

The chums' further conversation was interrupted by a rumble of a wagon and a hail from the dock. It was the man with their nets.

"Better put them inside your house until you are ready to use them," he advised. "The nets all look alike and some one might steal them from you if you left them outside. I'll be out again in about half an hour with your boats, they are anchored up the beach a way."

The boys awaited his return with eagerness for they were anxious to view their new crafts. Soon they heard the quick snapping of an engine and a large launch swung out from the beach with a string of skiffs in tow.

"My, she can move some," Charley cried as she swept towards them with a froth of foam at her bow.

"She's got good lines," announced Captain Westfield, with the certainty born of his sailor life, "she is bound to be a good sea boat with that shape."

When within a hundred feet of where the boys stood on the dock, the man threw off the switch and the graceful craft glided up alongside. Charley caught the line the man threw, took a couple of half hitches around a post, and the three clambered aboard.

"By gum, she's a beauty," exclaimed Captain Westfield with delight as he finished his inspection.

"You're right," agreed the man, pleased with the old sailor's approval, "she's one of the best in the fleet. There's only two or three that can run away from her, and she is a peach in a seaway—just like a duck. She is thirty feet over all and sound as a dollar. You will find that cozy little cabin will come in pretty nice in bad weather. Few fish boats have one. Which one of you is going to run her?"

"Not me," said Captain Westfield, decidedly. "I've dealt with sailing crafts all my life and I'm not hankering to start monkeying with engines at my age."

"Both my chum and I would like to learn how to run the engine," Charley said, "so if anything should happen to one of us the other would know what to do."

"All right," the man agreed. "All I can teach you are the principles, you will have to learn to run it by yourself. A gas engine is a thing you have to learn by experience. No two engines are exactly alike. Each has its own peculiarities which one has to become acquainted with. The principles are quite simple. There are only three elements, oil, gas and the spark. See this little valve here? You turn that and it lets the gasoline into this little tank—called a carburetter. This other little valve lets air into the same tank to mix with the gas. Now your gas is on ready to start. See these wires, they lead from four dry battery cells to the switch and from the switch to this plug in the head of the engine called the spark plug. Shove on your switch,—that's right. Now your gas and spark are ready. To start, now, all you have got to do is to rock this big fly wheel a couple of times then throw it over quickly. To stop, just throw off your switch. As soon as you stop, shut off your gas. Keep that oil cup filled. It lubricates the engine. Be careful with matches and lights when your gas is turned on—you can't be too careful." He clambered up on the dock. "Good-by and good luck to you," he called.

"Hold on," cried Charley, in dismay. "You are not going off and leave us this way, are you?"

"Boss's orders," grinned the man. "I can't be with you always. You have got to learn to run her for yourself sooner or later."

The boys sat down and gazed at each other in consternation as the man disappeared up the dock, then Charley grinned as the humor of it struck him. "It's up to us," he chuckled, "unless the captain will help us out."

Captain Westfield shook his head, decidedly. "You are the engineers," he said, firmly. "I can't make head or tail of that dinky heap of iron. 'Pears to me though that the man said something about turning one of those things there."

"He did," said Charley, with mild sarcasm. "He also mentioned several other things. Well, here goes for a try."

He rolled up his sleeves and started to work. At the end of half an hour, he was still turning the big fly wheel and puffing and perspiring much to the delight of a crowd of fishermen who had quit work for the day and had gathered at the dock's edge offering free comments and suggestions.

"He'll sure wear that fly wheel out," observed one in a perfectly audible voice.

"Put rowlocks in her and get a pair of oars, young fellow," suggested another.

Charley stood the chaffing nobly but at last he was obliged to stop for breath.

"I'm sure I don't know