“What? What?”
“King!—string—come loose! I’m—I’m losin—!” (Shriek.) “Most gone! King, you’ve got—got to tie—that—that—string! You’ve got to! Got to! Got to!”
Woman’s wail on lonely ocean! Saddest sound in the world.
“Then-rest-both-hands-on-my-shoulders!” he said grimly, setting his jaws hard.
“I can’t—I can’t—I can’t rest—but one! I’m holding the string! Oh, King! hurry—they’re most—”
“Steady now, Billee! Hold fast! Steady!”
And King tied the string!
For an age the great ocean had swallowed him up. But he tied the string!
Billee’s face went down on his breast when he recovered breath. And there it stuck.
“Don’t worry, Billee. It’s all right.” Billee was not worrying. She was laughing and choking and gurgling. Presently came a note of alarm: