Half an hour passed and the dog swam steadily. They must have covered two miles. Another half hour went by and Pep began to weaken and to lag behind. Occasionally he stopped to tread water.
The doctor’s heart sank within him, it was going to be a losing fight for brave Pep after all. But at this point the boat stopped to determine if possible their direction and by a mighty effort Pep regained the gunwale. Then a bright idea came to the doctor and he cursed his stupidity for not having thought of it before. He unlaced his shoes and tied the strings together. Then he coaxed Pep close to the boat and tied the shoestring in his collar. With that done he breathed a great sigh of relief. The dog was now as safe as the rest of them. If the boat made shore, he would.
Two hours later the lifeboat grounded on the beach and the physician dragged his nearly senseless bull terrier after him to the shore.
He was quite spent, but could still wag his tail and lick his master’s hands, and the doctor knew that rest was all he needed.
“Good stuff, old pal,” he said, tweaking the dog’s ears as he set him down on the beach. “It takes more than a submarine to put you and me out of commission. We will get even with the Boche for this.”
To which Pep responded with a sigh of deep satisfaction.
CHAPTER IV
THE HOSPITAL
PEP and his master were finally assigned to duty in the great hospital at Brest and life went on there quite to the dog’s liking.