“Guahd dat do’h!” cried the negro, but it was too late.
Garvin had turned to flee. In a bound he was in the doorway, one more and he was at the rail, and the negro cried in real agony as the bruiser vaulted over into the water.
“You got ’im plenty, Sam,” said Freddy.
Wilson was hobbling here and there on deck.
“We’ve cleared ship, sir,” he reported. “Now we’ve got to hold her.”
Then I remembered why I had started aft. I was in a fog. Presently I found myself trying to climb the after rail while a cluster of arms held me back.
“Betty! Brack!” I was muttering. “Over there. Let me go.”
“No, no, Gardy, old man. Steady down, Brains; you can’t walk the water. Easy, sir, easy.”
George, Freddy and Wilson; they were all holding me, pleading with me. They drew me forward toward the staterooms.
Suddenly I tore myself free. The light from the open door of George’s room reached up to and illuminated the port bow rail. I had seen a head appear where the ladder reached the deck. It was a small, wet head. Then showed a wet, white face and much wet hair, and finally over the rail came a very wet young woman, pausing bewildered in the glare of light and calling: