Now, although Billy felt very happy indeed to have escaped Nickel Plate, the Aztec Fragments, and the Gillies, he was very much worried about Honey Girl. And as he floated along through the air he pictured her weeping in her lonely cell.

"I wonder if Nickel Plate told me the truth," he said to himself, "and if he did, what happened to good old General Merchandise and the Bee Soldiers. I wish I knew."

"Hello!" called a voice in his ear. He looked around but could see no one. "That's strange," he said.

"Hello!! Is that Billy Bounce?"

"Yes. Who are you and where are you?" said Billy, in amaze.

"I am Mr. Gas and I'm at home," said the voice.

"Then where am I?" said Billy, thinking he had suddenly lost his mind.

"You're wherever you are," said Mr. Gas's voice. "I'm talking to you over the wireless telephone—less telephone."

"Oh!" said Billy, "how wonderful!"

"You wanted to find out about Princess Honey Girl, I believe."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't worry about her, she is perfectly safe—I have my eye on her as well as on you. How are you getting along?"

"Very well, thank you—but I suppose I'm still a long way off from Bogie Man's house?"

"You are nearer than you were when you were not so near as you are now, so keep afloat and you will get there all right."

"Thank you," said Billy; "I'll try."

"Well, good-bye—I thought I would ease your mind a bit—the suit can't carry you and a heavy heart very fast nor far, you know."

"Thank you," said Billy, "good-bye."

"Now I feel lighter hearted," he said, and sure enough instead of falling (which he had just begun to do) he rose several feet in the air.

But as the old proverb says, "What goes up, must come down," and in a few minutes he was on the ground again. This time he stood on the sandy beach of a great sea.

"I wonder if I can jump all the way across," he said aloud.

And a great gray-bearded eel wagged his head solemnly at Billy from a few feet off the shore.

"Did you speak?" said Billy.

"No, I sang, which is worse," said the eel sadly.

"I thought it was you."

"It wasn't you, it was I," said the eel. "What a sad world it is, to be sure!"

"How do you mean?" asked Billy.

"I don't mean, I swim, and that's a terrible bore."

"I think swimming is lots of fun," said Billy.

"Not when you do it for a living; it stops being fun when you have to."

"I suppose so," said Billy thoughtfully; "but then, you see, I've never had to do it for a living."

"Then don't ever take it up. I've been at it all my life, and I'm very tired; why, I've almost forgotten how to climb trees. What's your name?"

"Billy Bounce."

"So you're Billy Bounce. I'm Ne'er Do Eel," and though he smiled, the eel looked very, very sly.

"How do you do?" said Billy politely.

"I don't do; that's the reason I'm called Ne'er Do Eel."

"Oh!" said Billy, "then how don't you do?"

"Pretty badly, I don't thank you. But come, you must hear me sing; this song was discomposed by the whistling Buoy, set to music by Sand Bars, and dedicated to me," and balancing himself on a large wave, the eel began to sing in a sad voice.

THE SONG OF THE NE'ER DO EEL.

"How's that?" said Ne'er Do Eel when he had finished.

"Very pretty," said Billy, "but is it—is it very sensible?"

"I really don't know—nobody ever understands it, so of course it must be very fine."

"I suppose so," said Billy, wondering if Ne'er Do Eel was quite in his right mind.

"Come in, the water's fine," called a funny, bristly little fellow popping his head up beside Ne'er Do Eel.

"No, thank you," said Billy, not wishing to join company with such a prickly looking individual.

"Aw! come on—see, it's only so deep," and he held up one hand.

"You're treading water," said Billy.

"How did you guess it?" asked the Sea Urchin.

"I can see your feet."

"So can I see your feet, but you're not treading water."

"That has nothing to do with it," said Billy.

"Just what I'm trying to prove to you," said the Urchin. "Are you coming in, or shall I have to come out and get you?"

"Neither," said Billy, jumping up very, very hard, because he knew it would take a long leap to carry him over the sea. "Good-bye."

"I suppose they are harmless," said Billy to himself, "but I'm glad enough to be away from them—that eel looks like a slippery old fellow and the Urchin has a bad face."

Up, up, up he went, floated forward quite a distance, stopped just a second, and then began to fall.

"I believe I am going to make it," he began, and then looked beneath him. Alas! poor Billy, the shore was yet far distant, and he knew that he was bound to fall into the sea.

How he did kick and wave his arms! He even tried to swim through the air, but, though this helped him a little, it didn't carry him far enough forward to reach the shore.

"Thank goodness I have on my rubber suit; I can't sink anyway," said he. And splash he hit the water, where he bobbed up and down like a cork.

But his troubles were not yet over, for he was horrified to see Ne'er Do Eel and the Sea Urchin swimming along at his side.

"So you decided to drop in on us after all," said the Urchin.

"Have you chosen a life on the bouncing wave as a profession?" asked Ne'er Do Eel, "in spite of my warning that you would do well to bid farewell to well-faring if you chose sea-faring?"

"Yelp, yelp!" said Barker, climbing up onto Billy's shoulder, where he stood shivering miserably.

"What's that thing?" asked the Sea Urchin.

"My dog," said Billy.

"Don't tell me that's a dog fish," said Ne'er Do Eel, "because I'll never believe you."

"You don't have to," answered Billy, "because he is not a dog fish, he's a dog."

"Oh, you mean a fish dog! You're sure he's not a bird dog—a flying fish dog, you know?"

"No, just a plain dog."

"He's plain enough, goodness knows—but a dog—humph!"

"Who ever heard of a dog without fins?" said the urchin; "why, it's ridiculous."

"I expect there are lots of things you never heard of." It made Billy angry to have his word doubted, especially when there was Barker to prove them true.

"Ridiculous," said Ne'er Do Eel. "How can we help seeing everything in the sea? He who sees seas sees everything in season."

Billy didn't think this worth answering, so he redoubled his efforts to reach the shore. My! how he did make the water boil, dashing spray way over his head, and making poor Barker blink with the water he dashed into his eyes.

"With a little practice you might learn to swim," said the Urchin, "but you make lots of fuss in the water."

"So would you on dry land," panted Billy.

"But we wouldn't be so silly as to go on dry land," said the eel.

"I suppose that's as much as to say that it's silly of me to come into the sea."

"Take it or leave it—if the white cap fits you don't put it on," said the Urchin, turning a somersault in the water.

"Where are you going?" asked Ne'er Do Eel.

"Yes, you seem in a great hurry," said the Urchin.

"I'm going ashore as fast as I can," said Billy.

"That's your first guess—try another," said the eel, sticking his face up into Billy's.

"I don't guess it, I know it," answered Billy, striving to keep his courage up.

"No, is the right answer," said the Sea Urchin.

"Why shouldn't I go ashore?"

"Just because," replied the Eel, "oh! gracious what a sad world it is—here's a boy that thinks he knows."

"But how are you going to prevent it?" said Billy. "I'm not afraid of you."

"We will prevent it this way," said Ne'er Do Eel, winding his tail around Billy's legs.

"And this way," said the Sea Urchin, pricking a hole in Billy's suit with one of his bristles.

Poor Billy felt himself getting thinner and thinner as the air bubbled out of the suit. And while he knew that he could swim and so keep afloat a while longer, he was well aware that in a very few minutes all would be over and he would go down, down, down to the bottom of the sea.

Barker seemed to know it too, for he whined piteously.

"Now tell me that there is not just one more fish in the sea that never was caught," said Ne'er Do Eel triumphantly.

Billy didn't answer, for he knew that he must save his breath. But when he saw a plank floating just within reach he could not resist a feeble "Hurrah."

It required but a second for him to throw his arms over it and cling on for dear life.

"That's what comes of having planked white fish for dinner," said Ne'er Do Eel.

The Sea Urchin, seeing what Billy had done, swam madly about trying to find another opportunity for stinging him with his bristles, but was unable to make any impression through his wet clothes.

Ne'er Do Eel thrashed the water into a perfect foam in his efforts to drag Billy and the plank down, but barring giving Billy an occasional ducking and making Barker yelp with fright he could do nothing.

Suddenly Billy felt the plank sink deeper into the water so that his chin was barely above the surface. At the same moment a voice said "Umberufen."

And there balancing himself on the plank stood Umberufen.

"Get off, you're sinking us!" cried Billy.

"You called me," said Umberufen.

"I didn't."

"You touched wood and I'm sure it's very inconsiderate of you to call me way out here to sea."

"I don't want you," said Billy.

"Then you shouldn't have called me. Goodness knows I'm not here because I want to be—I can feel myself warping already."

"Do go away," said Billy; "can't you see it's all I can do to keep afloat?"

"I'll help you," said Umberufen.

"How?"

"I don't know. Who is your friend with a face like a hair-brush?"

"That's Sea Urchin, and he is trying to drown me."

"You must not do that, you know," said Umberufen, "it's very wrong." Then turning to Billy he whispered, "Leave him to me; I'll give him a good talking to."

"That's all you can do," said Billy desperately—"talk, talk, talk! I don't want words, I want help."

"Come down, come down. Oh! why be so obstinate?" cried the Eel, lashing the water.

"Gentlemen," said Umberufen, sticking one hand in the breast of his coat and bowing very low—almost too low, for just at that moment the plank twisted and he came very near going overboard—"gentlemen, you are doing very, very wrong."

"Bravo!" cried the Sea Urchin, "thank you for the compliment."

"Stop it and get away," cried Billy.

"Ingrate," cried Umberufen, "can't you see that already I have won their hearts—did you not hear the applause?"

"Of course I did," said Billy, "but it's only because they want to keep you here so that they can pull me down. But if you really want to help me, for goodness' sake pump me up and stop the leak in my suit."

"I wish I could," said Umberufen; "but I am not a mechanic, I am a thinker."

"You're a nuisance——" but just at that minute Billy's feet touched bottom. Looking up he found that in the excitement of the events he had drifted within a few feet of shore. Splash, dash, curl bing! and a wave had carried him well ashore. Ne'er Do Eel let go his hold when he saw the case was hopeless, and he and Sea Urchin bobbed about on the waves, shaking their fists and gnashing their teeth in despair at having lost him.

"Ugh!" cried Umberufen, "I told you I'd get wet helping you," and there stood the miserable little man soaked through and through.

"I warned you," said Billy.

"I—I—I kn-n-ow you-u-u d-d-did," said Umberufen, his teeth chattering, "but I stood to my post like a man—that's what comes of being brave and brainy. Good-bye. I'm going home to change my clothes," and away he went.

"Good-bye, Ne'er Do Eel and Sea Urchin," called Billy, running up the beach. "Death on the bounding wave isn't as easy as you thought, is it?"