The man was relapsing into unconsciousness when the doctor quickly took a powerful restorative from his medicine-bag, which lay beside the cot, and held it to the man's nose. The fumes roused him.
"Where did you leave him?" queried the doctor.
"I—I couldn't get him," gasped the rescued man, breathing heavily.
There was a general rustle and every man half-turned to the door. In the silence a man's boot, being kicked off, clattered noisily on the floor.
"How do you mean you couldn't get him?" the doctor persisted. "Was he swimming with you?"
"He went down—sudden—" came the answer, weakly, "and when I tried ... to help ... he pulled at my legs."
The words were hardly out of his lips before the station-house was empty save for the doctor and the rescued swimmer. As the door slid back behind them, Eric heard the man cry in a quavering voice,
"I've drowned him! I've drowned him! I had to kick him free to save myself!"
Outside, not a word was said. The men knew their work and their places. The coxswains were ready and the three white boats were sliding down the beach, the big boat down the runway, as the men heard that cry again,
"I've drowned him! I've drowned him. I had to kick him free to save myself!"