“I’ll have Hank get her for you!” called Neale, as he swung the boat around. “The string will float, even if your doll won’t, and Hank can fish it back aboard.”
Neale signaled to Hank by means of a bell running from the upper deck near the steering wheel to the motor room below, where the former mule driver looked after the gasoline engine. It was arranged with a clutch, so it could be thrown out of gear, thus stopping or reversing the power, if need be.
“What’s the matter?” called Hank, coming out on the lower deck and looking up at Neale. “Going to make a landing?”
“No. But Dot lost her Alice-doll overboard,” Neale explained. “Tess had a string to it and—”
“Oh, is that what the string was?” exclaimed Hank. “I saw a cord drop down at the stern past the motor-room window and I made a grab for it. I thought it was somebody’s fish line. Wait, I’ll give it a haul and see what I can get on deck.”
Leaving the wheel, which needed no attention since power was not now propelling the craft, Neale hastened to the lower deck, followed by Ruth, Tess and Agnes. They saw Hank pulling in, hand over hand, the long, white cord. Presently there came something slapping its way up the side of the Bluebird, and a moment later there slumped down on the deck a very wet, and much bedraggled doll.
“Oh, it’s my Alice! It’s Alice!” cried Dot. “I’ve got her back once more.”
“There won’t be much left of her if she gets in the water again,” prophesied Neale. “This is the second time this trip.”
“She is rather forlorn looking,” agreed Ruth, trying not to smile and hurt her little sister’s feelings, for Dot was very sensitive about her dolls, especially her “Alice” one. “I shall have to get you a new one, Dot.”
“I don’t want anybody but my Alice-doll! Will you hang her up in the sun for me so she’ll dry?” begged Dot of Neale, holding out to him the really wretched doll.