"Lucky we got this chair to working or soon you wouldn't have had any father!"
The swinging seat had now reached the yacht. Two men lashed into it a stout, squarely built figure. The lantern signaled that all was ready and the shoreward journey began. Percy was shaking so violently that he could hardly pull. The mate reassured him.
"Don't be frightened, young fellow! We'll land him all right!"
He added his strength to that of the others, and John P. Whittington came in faster. He reached the ledge, only twenty-five feet from shore. Then came disaster!
Something gave way on the yacht, and the hawser suddenly slackened, letting the boatswain's chair drag on the ledge. The end of a swinging rope caught in a crack. The millionaire stopped short!
"Harder!" shouted the mate, setting the example.
The boys surged on the rope, but to no avail; they could not budge the chair. Percy stood motionless with horror.
Up curled a huge wave, high over the struggling figure. A thundering deluge hid him from view. It looked bad for John P. Whittington. Two or three seas more and it would matter little to him whether he was pulled in or not.
Guttering and rumbling, the water flowed back. Down over the ledges after it leaped a slim, wiry figure. It was Percy Whittington!
He had thrown off his oil-clothes to give his limbs greater freedom. His head was bare and his light hair stood straight up from his forehead. Grasping the hawser, he plunged into the sea and dragged himself toward the rock to which his father was fastened.