“Is this you, Gordon?” exclaimed the clerk.
“It’s what is left of me,” gasped Clarence.
“Why, how did you ever get into this fix? Your clothes are torn——”
“I know,” interrupted Clarence. “Wait until I recover my breath, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Clarence reached the steamer just in time; for, as he sank panting and exhausted upon the stairs, the lines were cast off, and in five minutes more the Emma Deane was on her way up the river. The clerk superintended the getting out of the freight that was to be put off at the next landing, and then came and sat down beside Clarence, who, by this time, began to feel a little more like himself.
Clarence Escapes on the “Emma Deane.”
“Am I not a pretty looking object?” said the latter.
“Well, I’ve seen you when I thought you looked better,” answered the clerk, with a laugh. “Been taking a rough and tumble with somebody ashore?”
“No,” replied Clarence.