“take him off!” yelled andy, dancing about. “grab him, chet. wow! how he pinches!”
“oh! don’t let it get loose!” begged miss mabel, looking for a place upon which she could climb out of danger.
“loose! that’s just what i want to do—get him loose!” cried andy.
“how—how did it happen?” asked chet innocently. “was that a lobster you gave me, andy?”
“never mind what i gave you,” howled the youth. “help me get him off.”
now chet was not a very wise youth, but he knew better than to pick off a lobster, especially when there was yet one large claw that wasn’t working, but which was waving about seeking for something else to pinch.
“can’t you help me?” begged andy. frank had stopped to speak to an acquaintance, and did not see the plight of his brother.
“oh! oh, dear! what shall i do?” wailed mabel. several men and boys began to gather about the scene.
“i’ve got to get him loose or he’ll pinch off my foot!” cried andy. he reached over as well as he could, while standing on one foot, and tried to get hold of the lobster by the back, behind the vicious claws. but he made a miscalculation.
the next moment the other claw of the lobster had gripped him on the wrist, fortunately taking hold around andy’s coat sleeve so that the flesh was not cut by the “teeth” of the crustacean’s pincher.
andy was now in a peculiar predicament, for he was held in a stooping position with the lobster clinging to his ankle and wrist. he put on the ground the foot which had first been gripped and was vainly endeavoring to pull the lobster loose when frank, attracted by the crowd, hurried up. he saw at once what the trouble was, and with one well-directed kick he sent the lobster spinning out into the middle of the street, the suddenness of the blow loosening the tight claws.
“well, of all things! what happened, andy?” frank asked.
“don’t ask me. come on home,” replied his brother, limping away, while miss mabel smiled and turned aside. chet sedley grinned. it was the first and only time he had unwittingly gotten the better of andy racer.
“i told you not to play any more jokes,” spoke frank, as he walked along at his brother’s side. “you never can tell when they’re going to come back on you.”
“oh, say, let a fellow alone; can’t you?” expostulated the younger lad.
“does it hurt you very much?” inquired frank.
“i should say it does!” and andy stooped over and rubbed his ankle and then gently massaged his wrist.
“better get home and put some vaseline on it,” suggested frank.
“vaseline! say, the next time i try to play a joke on anybody, please holler ‘lobster’ at me. and if that doesn’t do any good just pinch me good and hard,” requested the younger lad.
“i told you so,” commented frank.
“yes, but i didn’t believe you. let’s get home. don’t tell mother. she’d think i’d be in for a siege of blood poisoning, and keep me in bed. i’ll be all right. but say, things have been happening lately; haven’t they?”
“i should say yes. i’m sorry we missed that strange man to-day. we might have been able to get something about paul out of him.”
“i doubt it. however, we had a great time with the snakes and monkeys. better not say anything about that at home, either, or dad and mom will put a stop to our sailboat if they think that something happens every time we go out in her.”
“i guess that’s right. we’ll lay low and say nothing.”
but the story got out, for the skipper of the lighter told at the dock in seabright how two boys had come to his rescue, and the description of them fitted our heroes.
“i don’t know what i’m going to do with you chaps,” said their father after supper a few evenings later, as he looked at them over the top of the paper. “seems to me you’re always doing something.” he had heard the lobster and snake stories from a friend that day.
“but this wasn’t out fault,” said frank. “we just had to help that man.”
“it was just the same as when they rescued me,” put in paul gale, who was sitting in an easy chair. “i’d never be alive to-day only for them.”
“and it’s too bad we missed getting a chance to talk with that strange man,” went on andy, glad to change the subject. “he might have told us something about you, paul.”
“i doubt it,” commented mr. racer. “that man, whoever he is, has some strong object in keeping out of our way. i can’t understand it, and have half made up my mind to put detectives on the case, for i feel sure that there is some strange mystery behind it all.”
“detectives, dad!” exclaimed andy. “say, let frank and me do the detective work, and pay us the reward.”
“reward! i never thought of that!” exclaimed the silk merchant. “i believe it would be a good idea to do that. i’ll put another advertisement in the papers.”
he did so. but it brought no responses of any account, though many irresponsible persons claimed to be able to solve the mystery of the identity of paul gale. however, they all proved to be “fakers,” and paul was as hopeless as before.
“never mind, we’ll get on the track of it yet,” declared frank one day.
“oh, if you only could!” sighed paul. “perhaps my mother or father may be anxiously looking for me, and can’t find me. nor can i find them until i know who i am.”
“well, we’ll find out, if it’s possible,” declared andy. “i haven’t yet given up looking for your motor boat. i suppose it was your boat?” and he looked at the lad who, though yet partly an invalid, was rapidly convalescing.
“i—i don’t know,” was the weak response. “sometimes i have a hazy notion that i had many such things, an auto, a boat, a pony, and a rich home, but it is all like a dream—a dream,” and paul buried his face in his arms.
“don’t worry,” spoke mrs. racer soothingly. “now you boys must stop talking about this, and get on a more cheerful subject. i want you all to promise to come and see me play golf to-morrow. we have a medal match at the harbor view links, and it will do you good to get in some society, other than that of whales, wrecked motor boats and sailors. you will be strong enough to come, won’t you, paul?”
“i—i think so. i’m feeling better every day.”
paul went to the golf match in a carriage, and sat on the shady porch of the clubhouse while the two racer boys followed their energetic mother about the links.
the sixteenth hole was down near the sandy shore of the bay, and while mrs. racer was teeing up for a trial at the seventeenth, frank and andy strolled toward the beach.
“it’s a fine day for a sail,” observed the younger lad.
“what! go off and not see mother win!” cried frank.
“oh, i was only joking.”
“hum! joking!” exclaimed frank, and andy laughed uneasily.
“there’s someone in a boat headed this way,” said frank, after a pause. “he’s rowing fast, too.”
“looks like bob trent’s dory,” commented his brother.
“it is,” was the answer. “wonder what he’s in such a hurry about?”
they watched the rower in silence for a few minutes, while mrs. racer played on, too interested in the game to miss her sons. a little later bob’s boat grounded on the shelving beach. he leaped out, pulled it up farther on the sands, and then, seeing the two racer boys regarding him, he sang out:
“there she blows! a whale! almost dead, and headed for shore. there she blows!”
he pointed out across the bay.
“a whale?” cried frank.
“maybe it’s our whale!” exclaimed andy. “let’s go out and get it!”
he looked at his brother. then both glanced over to where their mother was posing for a difficult shot.
“come on!” cried andy, and frank followed him in a race to the beach, where bob trent awaited them. out on the bay they could see two misty fountains of spray blown into the air—the spouting of the wounded whale.
