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be said that the supper was a very elaborate one. They ate canned corned beef and crackers, and drank coffee from clam shells and empty tin cans, but Dick said it tasted as good, if not better, than the most complete meal Hans, the cook, had ever served to them on the yacht.

"It sure does," agreed Beeby, with a sigh of satisfaction. "I'll have a little more of that fricasseed corned-beef on toast, with a bit of mushroom sauce on the side, if you don't mind, old man," and he passed his clam shell to Dick.

"You'll have nothing of the kind," announced the young millionaire, peering into the frying pan, in which the beef had been warmed, "for the simple reason, Beeby, that it's all gone."

"Ah, a very good and sufficient reason," admitted the stout cadet. "Then I'll fill up on water. There's plenty of that."

They sat about the campfire after the meal, discussing over and over again the strange disappearance of the launch and yacht, but being