"Oh, yes—he is breathing the oxygen regular now and knows me; he will be all right soon. Can I help you?" she replied joyfully. "He has been that way often. So have I, when sponging."
"I must examine that boat yonder before it sinks. I want some heavy cord."
She looked about for a moment and spied the cord she had taken from her father's belt and tied to the cleet. She unfastened it and began pulling it in, but she could raise it only part way. I took the rifle in my right hand and assisted her with my left. In a moment we brought up an ingot of copper.
"Daddy must have used this to carry the line to the bottom," said she, but I thought of the heavy rolls of sharkskin leather in the warehouse. She removed the cord and began winding it about her little hand into a hank.
"Now, little Jim, I am going to use your boat to reach that wreck. Time is important. Has your father a rifle aboard?"
"Yes," she replied exultingly. "And here it is."
"Now, I know you are a dead shot. While I start the motor and get our boat over to the wreck, keep it covered."
An anxious glance at her father reassured her. He was breathing the oxygen regularly.
"I can do that. Shall I just scare them?"