Merry struck out with powerful strokes, hearing a sudden tooting of the steamboat whistle, which told him that the pilot knew what had happened.
He grew to admire the girl more and more as he watched her, for he could see that, were it not for her clothing, she was a very good swimmer.
“She is either foolish or fearless,” he decided. “I do not think it is the former, and she has a face that indicates fearlessness.”
Behind Frank and the girl the little steamer was slowing down, while men were running about on her, shouting and throwing life preservers overboard.
It was a scene of great excitement, but still the strange girl swam on toward her dog, without once turning to look back.
Nearer and nearer to her Merriwell drew, forging through the water as rapidly as he could, and feeling that his progress was far too slow.
He saw that she would reach the dog before he could reach her, and this was what happened, but he was close to her as she came near enough to touch the whining little fellow.
“Good Jack—dear boy!” she called, encouragingly. “Keep up, Jack! They’ll get us out!”
Then, having reached the little fellow, she turned about and saw Frank Merriwell close at hand. She did not seem in the least alarmed, but a smile of pleasure crossed her face, and then she laughed outright.
“Dear me?” she exclaimed. “What made you?”