There was no cry, but a half-stifled shout; no noise but the single splash, for the body sank like a stone.
The sailor stood calmly gazing down on the water for some minutes. Not a ripple, not a break in the wavelets to show that the victim had risen again.
“I thought that would fix him,” the sailor said to himself. “He never could swim, and he will find it a little late to learn now.” With that he started singing his song again, retracing his steps. When he reached the lady in the light dress he went up to her, and speaking without any affectation of drunkenness—
“It’s no good, Ruby; he has not come. I suppose he was too fly to be taken in by that letter of yours.”
“Well, I’m glad of it, Huey. It might have got me into a row, and the pig is not worth it. What shall we do now?”
“I will take you to the dance, as I promised.”
* * * * *
Alec, on falling into the water, went quickly enough to the bottom, and nearly as quickly rose to the surface. He waved his arms frantically, nearly stifled and choked as he was by the covering on his head. When he came to the surface again it was, fortunately for him, not in the open harbour, but amidst the piles on which the roadway of the Quay was built—his hands in their wild struggle caught one of the slimy cross-timbers, and to this he clung in desperation.
He knew by the feel that his head was out of water, and the bag about his head was not so tight but it allowed him to take breath.
Getting firm hold of his support with one hand, he used the other in an effort to withdraw the bag. He tried and tried again, and, at last, aided by his strong arm, that had been developed by years of axe-work in the bush, by a final wrench, and a partial skinning of his ears, he pulled it off. And then, to his lasting regret, he cast it from him.