“We'll haul on you, too, now, Mr. Hazelton!” sounded the voice of Foreman Payson.
“Don't you dare do it until I give the word,” thundered back the voice of the assistant engineer.
With a line securely about him, Harry felt that he could afford to take the slight chance of waiting his turn.
He saw Tom's knees coming up out of the sand before he called:
“Now, Payson, you can give me a little boost if you like. Don't pull me in ahead of Tom Reade, however.”
Presently deafening cheers went up. Both young engineers were being slowly, surely hauled to safe ground.
Then Tom and Harry reached a spot where they could rise to their own feet and floundered. Tom started, then swayed dizzily.
“Steady, there, old Gridley boy!” mumbled Hazelton, slipping an arm around his recovered chum.
Then the two young engineers reached the platform and a fresh tumult of joyful cheering burst forth.
“Payson,” exclaimed Harry, going up to the foreman, and holding out his hand, “will you accept my apologies for all I said to you? I had to use strong language, or you'd have held me back from Reade.”