Working with Budge and Throppy, he took in the slack of the hawser, and soon the chair was dancing back to the yacht. Meanwhile Jim and Percy were working over Mr. Whittington, and before long he recovered his senses. With a groan he half raised himself.
"Where am I?"
"You're all right, Dad!"
"Percy!"
Both father and son showed a depth of feeling Jim would hardly have credited them with possessing.
"You don't need me here any longer," he said. "I'll go down and help pull the others ashore. Throw these oil-clothes of mine over your father, Percy, and make him comfortable, and as soon as the rest are safe we'll carry him to camp."
"What's that?" growled the millionaire. "Carry me? I guess you don't know the Whittingtons, young man!"
His jaw set and he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet.
"Come on, Percy! Where's that camp?"
Walking slowly, the father leaning on his son's shoulder, the two disappeared in the darkness. Jim watched them for a few seconds, then started down over the ledges. The last half-hour had raised his estimation of the Whittington stock considerably above par.