“Can you land us some distance south of the life-saving station?” he asked.
“Sure. I’ll run in by the Davis Street pier.”
“I’ll be obliged to you,” Orme sighed. “I made a bad mess of it, didn’t I?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the life-saver. “We got the lady.”
Orme started. “Yes,” he said, “we got the lady—and that’s more important than all the rest of it.”
Porter grinned a noncommittal grin and devoted himself to the wheel.
They had saved the girl! In his disappointment over the escape of the Japanese Orme had forgotten, but now he silently thanked God that Porter and he had come out on the water. The girl had not yet explained her presence in the boat. In her own good time she would tell him. But she had been there under compulsion; and Orme shuddered to think what might have happened.
He stole a glance at her. She was leaning back on the seat. Her eyes were closed and her pose indicated complete relaxation, though it was evident from her breathing that she was not asleep. Orme marveled at her ability to push the nervous excitement of the evening away and snatch the brief chance of rest.
When at last the launch ran up under the end of a little breakwater near the Davis Street pier, she arose quickly and sprang out of the boat without help. Then she turned, as Orme stepped up beside her, and spoke to Porter. “If you and Mr. Orme had not come after me,” she said, “there’s no telling whether I should ever have got back. I should like to shake hands with you,” she added; and bending down, she held out her firm white hand.
Then Orme laid his hand on the life-saver’s shoulder. “You’ve done a piece of good work to-night,” he said.