Nearer and nearer came the car, riding safely over that white, yeasty sea. It was pulled across the surf, and the outermost man laid his hands on it and pushed it. At the same time a little door in the top slid back, and a boy’s head rose higher and higher in the car, and as it stopped he was helped to get out. He seemed to be in a heap, and his movements were stiff, for his legs were cramped by the cold.
“There!” he screamed, “it’s the last time I ever want to go on that pesky old sea.”
“Wort Wentworth!” shouted Tony, springing forward to meet this returned knight.
“Hullo, Tony! Hullo, Charlie!”
“This you?” asked Charlie.
“Yes, it’s me just about drowned. They let me come alone. The others were not quite ready.”
“Haven’t you been through a lot?” asked Tony.
“More than I want to see again.”
“How many are on board the ‘White Shield?’”
“I feared it was she when I laid my eyes on her,” said Captain Peters.