“He must be crazy,” Guy said to himself. “That explains his strange actions. Otherwise he would have waited to help me get mother to a boat.”
But it was hard for the boy to remain convinced of this interpretation. Gunseyt had not appeared to be the sort of person at all likely to lose his mental poise under any circumstances, however severe. Indeed, he had seemed to possess unusual nerve. What, then, could be the explanation of his present actions?
The question seemed unanswerable. As he ran, the man put the racket under one arm, opened the box, took out the shoes, threw the box away, and pushed the “radio footgear” into his overcoat pockets. Then he disappeared through the cabin exit.
When Guy and his mother reached the open deck, their late would-be helper had disappeared. But other matters of more pressing importance were before them just now, and they dismissed him from their minds. They started to run aft in the hope of finding someone who could tell them what to do, when a passenger rushed past them, crying:
“No boats here, Burton—top deck.”
It was Glennon. He recognized Guy at a glance and tossed him the information as he would toss a life buoy to a drowning man. Then, realizing his passenger friend’s predicament, he stopped and said:
“Hello, is this your mother, Burton? Let me help you.”
Without waiting for uttered consent, Carl Glennon seized Mrs. Button by one arm, and together the two boys almost lifted her over the carpeted deck to the stairway and up to the boat deck. There they found two or three hundred men assembled in the stern and watching a boat as it was about to be lowered into the water.
Glennon appreciated the situation at a glance. It was the last boat in this quarter and possibly the only opportunity for saving Guy’s mother. Several seaman were manning the block and tackle and were about to lower away, when a voice called out:
“Wait, haven’t you room for one more woman?” It was Carl who spoke.