“Are you there?” came a hail.
“Yes, I’m coming,” Tom answered.
A huge wave seemed to sweep him onward. He saw that he was close to the wrecked boat. A few more strokes, and a hand was reached out to him. He grasped it desperately.
“Come aboard, mate!” a hearty voice sang out. “We haven’t much, but you’re welcome to it. Come aboard!”
Tom found himself scrambling up the side of some craft. In the next flash he saw the forms and indistinct faces of two men. One of them held something in his arms.
“What are you on?” gasped Tom.
“A partly submerged derelict,” was the answer. “It’s the one the Silver Star struck, I reckon, and the thing that ripped a hole in her and sunk her. It’s a big derelict, my lad,” the sailor went on, “and when we were tossed overboard we landed close to it, same as this other little chap did.”
“What other little chap?” asked Tom, as he sank down exhausted on the deck of the derelict.
He had his answer a moment later.
“Oh, Tom. Tom Fairfield!” a childish voice cried. “I want you and I want my daddy!”