The halter flew from Brown's hands, he rolled and bumped and clutched at clumps of grass and bushes.

Then he struck the beach and stopped, spread-eagled on the wet sand.
A voice said: "Well--by--TIME!" Brown looked up.

Seth Atkins, a paint pail in one hand and a dripping brush in the other, was standing beside him, blank astonishment written on his features.
"Well--by time!" said Seth again, and with even stronger emphasis.
The substitute assistant raised himself to his knees, rubbed his back with one hand, and then, turning, sat in the sand and returned his superior's astonished gaze with one of equal bewilderment.
"Hello!" he gasped.

"Well, by George! it's you, isn't it! What are you doing here ?" The lightkeeper put down the pail of paint.
"What am I doin' ?" he repeated.

"What am I doin'-- ?
Say!" His astonishment changed to suspicion and wrath.