“That’s so!” agreed Jerry. “Noddy ought to swim ashore while he has the chance. Otherwise he may be hurt! I forgot about the rapids.”
The “rapids” were really not very dangerous at low water, but when the river rose, and dashed over the jagged rocks, about a mile below town, they formed eddies and whirlpools that were exceedingly risky to navigate. In fact no boats dare risk them with the stream at flood.
It was toward these rapids that Noddy’s boathouse, torn away by the waters, was rapidly drifting. The crowd soon realized this and began shouting advice.
“Swim ashore!”
“Get a boat and save him!”
“Jump off!”
“Throw him a rope!”
These were some of the expressions called to Noddy, but he paid no heed to them, continuing to race up and down on the platform, waving his hands, and yelling for help.
“Say, something ought to be done to help him,” remarked Ned in a low voice.
“Yes,” agreed Jerry. “It’s Noddy Nixon, and he’s been pretty mean to us, but I suppose——”