The hair was streaked down into his eyes. He hardly wondered that she didn’t recognize him.
“Mr. Crabb!” she said at last, rather faintly, “how did you happen——”
“It was the dog,” he said cheerfully. “I thought he understood canoes.”
“He might have drowned you. Why, it’s Jack Masters’ ‘Teddy,’” she cried. “Here, Teddy, come aboard at once, sir.” She bent over the low freeboard and by dint of much hauling managed to get him in.
In the meantime, the catboat had drifted away from the canoe. Crabb had at last succeeded in getting in and was now bailing with his cap.
“Won’t you come over?” shouted Patricia.
“Oh, I’m all right,” he returned. “It was the dog I was worried about.” Then for the first time he was aware that the paddle had drifted off and was now floating a hundred yards away.
“I’m sorry, but my paddle is adrift.”
So Patricia, amid much barking from the rejuvenated Teddy, came alongside again.