Frank Merriwell's Reward

by Burt L. Standish

It steadied Merriwell's reeling brain. He took hold of the boards and sought to draw himself still higher on them.

"That you, Hodge?"

"Yes. I thought that was you, Merry. How are you?"

"Soaked. But I guess I am all right. Something hit me on the head and shoulders, and I went under. I was swimming this way. Heard somebody call."

"I called, and you were struck by this drift. I heard you, and felt the shock when you struck. I reached out and got hold of you—and here you are?"

"Yes, here—and where is that?"

"In the Atlantic, somewhere off New York. I doubt if the captain knew."

"What became of the rest of the crowd?"

"Don't know. That collision threw me clean over the rail. I fell near these boards. I don't know but they came from the barge. When I came up, I bumped against them, and then hung on and began to call for help."

There was a moment of silence. Both were listening. Whistles could be heard here and there. Off to the left somewhere they fancied they heard a voice calling, but whether it came from the deck of a vessel or from some unfortunate in the water they could not determine. Near and far the whistles of steamers and tugs were hoarsely bellowing.