Promptly at six o'clock the following morning the uniforms were delivered at the American House. Without delay the boys put them on, and they proved satisfactory in every way, so Frank paid the bill and the messenger who brought them departed satisfied.

The boys ate an early breakfast, and all had good appetites. The American House dining room is rather somber, but they joked and laughed in the best of spirits.

After breakfast final arrangements for the care of their baggage were made, then a cab was ordered, and they all piled in and were rattled away toward Atlantic Avenue.

Jack had not seen Frank's yacht, and he was curious, concerning her appearance.

Not far from the pier of the Bangor boat lay the White Wings, guarded by a watchman, who saluted Merriwell as the boys went aboard.

The White Wings was a sloop yacht with club and jib topsails. She was not large, and it did not strike Diamond that she would prove to be fast, but she looked comfortable, and comfort was what they sought. They were not thinking of racing.

Frank paid the watchman for his services, and gave him something extra, whereupon the man departed greatly satisfied.

"Come, fellows," called Merry; "we'll go below and see how she looks down there."

They descended into the cabin, which was locked, Merry having the key. Jack was astonished when they entered the cabin, for it was far more roomy than he had supposed possible. A glimpse at the curtained berths showed there was plenty of sleeping room for all of them. There was a folding table, an oil stove, comfortable seats on the lockers, and everything looked inviting. Four handsome repeating shotguns and a magazine rifle hung above the lockers.

"How does she look down here, fellows?" asked Frank.

"She looks all right," grunted Browning, as he lazily rolled into one of the bunks. "Excuse me. I want to see what kind of a place I'll be stowed in when I am seasick."

"What do you think you'll do with those guns, Frank?" asked Jack.

"Can't tell," smiled Frank. "Remember, we are going down into Maine."

"Yes, but you told us Maine was a civilized State. From your talk when we discussed the matter I didn't suppose guns would be needed down there."

"Is Virginia civilized?"

"Well, rather."

"Ever find anything to shoot up in the mountain region?"

"Oh, yes; but——"

"That's all. New York is civilized, but there are bears and deer in the Adirondacks."

"Well, I didn't know we were going anywhere near a portion of Maine where there was game."

"Can't tell where we may go."

"Besides, if they have game laws down there, it must be close time for hunting."

"It is, but, all the same, it will be a good scheme to have these guns along. We're going to rough it a great deal, and we may need them. I have brought all sorts of rigs for fishing, and I have two tents on board. My idea, gentlemen, is to make this a regular outing trip, and, when we are not on board the White Wings, we do not want to spend our time in hotels."

"Not much," nodded Hodge.

"Say, Merriwell," cried Diamond, in admiration, "you are a dandy. You have planned all our outings for the past two years, and we have had sport galore; but what makes me sore is the fact that you pay all the bills."

A truck team came rumbling down onto the wharf, and Hodge looked around.

"Baggage," he called.

A truckman had arrived with their luggage from the hotel. The boys, excepting Browning, went on deck and brought the stuff aboard.

As Frank was settling with the truckman, the latter said:

"I wish you good luck, young man, but I doubt if you'll have it taking a cruise in that craft."

"Why is that?" asked Merry. "What is the matter with that craft?"

"Well, sir, they do say as how she is hoodooed."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, sir. Everybody as has owned her in the last two years has had hard luck."

"This is interesting."

"I hauled her first load of provisions, and I have known her a long time. On her trial cruise she capsized before she got out of the harbor."

"Is that all?"

"Hardly. Her first owner committed suicide on board of her—cut his throat down below. They say she has been haunted by his spook ever since."

Merry laughed.

"This is decidedly interesting. I'd have given more for her if I had known she owned a spook. I am very fond of spooks. They are interesting."

"Boo!" shivered the truckman. "Don't want none in mine."

"Have you told me all the unlucky things that have happened to the White Wings?"

"No. Next fellow that owned her ran down a rowboat and drowned a boy. Then he put her on top of a ledge, but got her off without doing her much damage. He sold her for a song."

"What happened next?"

"Next fellow as owned her went crazy and is in an asylum. They say he saw the spook go through the suicide act in the cabin, and that was what crazed him."

"The interest increases. The horrors are piling up. Anything more?"

"Benjamin owned her next."

"Anything happen to him?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"He got the Klondike fever."

"That all?"

"Ain't that enough? He's run away to Alaska, and his father's rich as mud. He didn't have no need to go up there into that infernally cold region and freeze and starve. His old man's so mad he threatens to cut him off."

"Well," laughed Frank, "the White Wings is mine now, and I don't fancy all the spooks of the infernal regions could scare me away from her. In fact, I'd rather enjoy having a call from a few spooks."

"You'll have some kind of bad luck," declared the truckman, as he prepared to go. "I don't like to tell you that, but I think you oughter be looking out."

A young man with a small, curly, black mustache came hurrying onto the pier. He was well dressed and carried a cane. He came straight up to Frank and the truckman.

"Where is the person known as Frank Merriwell?" he asked.

"I am Frank Merriwell," Merry answered. "What can I do for you?"

"You are the chap I want to see," said the stranger. "I understand you bought the White Wings of Jack Benjamin?"

"I did, sir."

"And he sold it to you as clear and free of encumbrance?"

"He did."

"He beat you."

"How is that?"

"I hold a bill of sale of that yacht, and I am here to claim it as my property!" was the answer.

Frank was surprised.

The truckman slapped his hand against his hip and muttered:

"I told him! The thing is hoodooed! Anybody as has anything to do with it is bound to buck against hard luck."

"This is rather surprising information," said Frank Merriwell, speaking with the utmost calmness, while he studied the face of the stranger with piercing eyes. "I hardly understand it. I believe Jack Benjamin has the reputation in Boston of being on the level, and so I hardly understand a piece of business like this."

"Perhaps Benjamin was stuck, found it out, and got out of the hole the best way he could."

"How do you mean?"

"Perhaps at the time he bought the boat, he didn't know I held the bill of sale of her."

Frank started.

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "Then Benjamin did not give you the bill of sale?"

"No. Chap that owned her before that did. His name is Fearson."

"Fearson? Is he the one who went crazy?"

"The very same," put in the truckman.

"When did he give you this bill of sale?"

"Don't remember the exact date."

"The bill will show."

"Sure. Why do you want to know?"

"I want to find out if he gave it to you before a certain time. That's all."

The strange claimant of the yacht was suspicious.

"I don't see the point," he said. "I hold the bill, and I claim the yacht. Just found out what Benjamin had done, and I came down in a hurry, after getting track of the boat, to warn you not to try to move her. I won't have it."

It began to look like a scrape, but Frank was not flustered in the least. He kept his head, saying:

"Have you the bill of sale with you, sir?"

"Yes."

"Will you be kind enough to permit me to look at it?"

The stranger started to do so, but seemed to change his mind of a sudden, and said:

"No, I won't bother. I tell you not to move her. If you do, I'll make you pay a big sum for damages, so look out."

Frank smiled sweetly.

"That is a very silly threat," he murmured. "If you do not show me the document I shall not believe it exists."

"That doesn't make any difference to——"

"It makes this difference: It is now twenty minutes to nine. At nine I shall cast off from the pier. Wind and tide being right, it will not take me long to get out of the harbor."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"What is there to dare? I fail to see anything."

"Why, confound you! I'd make you smart for it!"

"You couldn't. You have made a lot of bluffing talk about holding a bill of sale, but I do not take any stock in that till you produce the document. I have purchased this yacht, and, as long as I believe myself her rightful owner, I shall do with her as I see fit. At nine o'clock she sails."

The fellow hesitated, and then snapped out:

"Oh, I can prove to you that I am not lying. I will prove it. Here is the bill—see for yourself."

He took a number of papers from his pocket, and selected one among them, which he opened and held before Frank. Merriwell looked the document over carefully. It was a bill of sale of the yacht White Wings from Fergus Fearson to Parker Flynn.

"Is your name Parker Flynn?" asked Frank.

"It is."

"And you bought the yacht of Fearson?"

"You bet!" nodded the claimant, triumphantly. "I rather think this document settles it."

"It does," nodded Frank, quietly. Then he turned to the truckman, and asked:

"When was Mr. Fearson committed to the asylum?"

"The latter part of May."

"And this bill is dated May 21st. The fellow must have been deranged then."

"Oh, you can't make that go!" cried Flynn, quickly. "It's no use for you to try to crawl out of a little hole like that."

"Why have you not claimed the yacht before? Holding this bill, why didn't you claim it while it was in Benjamin's possession? Answer that question!"

"I was away—out of the city," faltered Flynn.

"All the time?"

"Most of the time."

"Very well. Here is your bill. I advise you to destroy it without delay, or it may get you into serious trouble."

"What?" cried the man, angrily. "Destroy it? I'll have that yacht. This bill gives me the right to it."

"That bill gives you the right to nothing!" came clearly and distinctly from Merriwell's lips. "Either you have been badly fooled or you are a rascal trying to obtain property that you have not the slightest claim upon. It looks as if the latter were the real condition of affairs. Fergus Fearson is confined in a madhouse, and so he cannot deny that he ever gave you a bill of sale of this yacht."

"Deny it? Here is his signature!"

"And that may be forgery! I tell you to be careful!"

"It is not forgery! It is genuine! Your bluff will not go, sir! The yacht is mine, and I will have her."

"Even if the signature is genuine, the bill is not worth the paper it's written on!" declared Merriwell, with the utmost coolness.

"More bluffing! You are crazy! Why isn't it good?"

"Because it is dated May 21st."

"What of that?"

"The date is exactly four days after John Benjamin purchased and paid for this yacht, as I can prove by documents in existence. If Fergus Fearson sold you the White Wings on May 21st, he sold you property that did not belong to him. That's all, Mr. Flynn."

The claimant of the yacht turned pale and stared at the bill and then at Frank, who was standing there so coolly before him.

On the deck of the yacht were three boys who had heard the most of the conversation. Now Hodge exultantly exclaimed:

"That was a body blow! Merry has floored him!"

"That's right," nodded Diamond. "Frank has the best of it, but it did seem that we were in a scrape."

Flynn gasped for breath.

"I don't believe it!" he cried. "The boat is mine, so don't dare cast off from this pier."

"The White Wings sails at nine o'clock," said Frank, turning away.

Flynn's face, that had been so pale, flushed and turned purple with anger. All at once, he lifted his walking stick to bring it down on Merry's head.

A cry from the boys on the yacht warned Merriwell, who ducked and dodged—just in time.

Whizz!—the cane cut through the air, but Merry was not touched.

Quick as thought, Frank turned and grappled with Parker Flynn. He wrenched away the cane, and, with a quick motion, broke it across his knee. Then, as he coolly tossed it into the water, he said:

"If you try any more funny business, sir, you'll follow your cane."

"Oh, I'll fix you!" Flynn almost screamed. "I'll get a warrant for you! I'll be back in a hurry! Don't dare leave before I return!"

He dashed away on the run.

"I told you you would have bad luck," said the truckman. "It's begun."

"Oh, I don't know!" laughed Frank. "If Flynn paid money for the yacht, he is the one in hard luck."

At nine o'clock the White Wings cast off from the pier. Her sails were hoisted, and, aided by the out-running tide, she soon got away enough to catch a breeze.

And Parker Flynn had not returned.