Rub! rub! rub!
Chafe! chafe! chafe!
Under the shed over a wharf one human figure bent over another.
Rub! rub! rub!
With the quiet but energetic heroism of common humanity, the rescuer strove to bring back the spark of life to a young man only just snatched from the engulfing waters.
“It is odd, strange!” muttered the rubber, pausing for an instant to look at the lifeless figure. “Can it be possible that I was too late—or that I am too clumsy?”
He bent anxiously over the still figure.
“It would be a great thing to fool Senor Vasquez,” murmured the Cuban, for such he was. “Moreover, I would like greatly to save this American, who trusted me even as I trusted him.”
For some minutes more he continued to chafe the wrists and body of Hal Maynard.
“A sip or two of brandy might save him—but how shall one get brandy, which costs twenty-five pesetas a bottle? Perhaps——”