There sounded the clash of oars in her ears. How Betty had lowered the jib, thrown over the anchor, and manned the skiff so quickly would always be a mystery to Louise. But the "able seaman" knew this coast as well, at least, as Lawford Tapp. They were just over a shoal, and there was safe anchorage for a small craft.
"Give him to me. Land sakes!" gasped Betty over her head. "I never see no city gal like you, Miss Lou."
Nor had Louise ever seen a woman with so much muscular strength and the knowledge of how to apply it as Betty displayed. She lifted Lawford out of the girl's arms and into the skiff with the dexterity of one trained in hauling in halibut, for Betty had spent her younger years on the Banks with her father.
Louise scrambled into the skiff without assistance. Betty was already at the oars and Louise took the injured head of the man in her lap. He began to struggle back to life again.
"I—I'm all right," he muttered. "Sorry made such a—a fool—of—myself."
"Hush up, you!" snapped Betty. "I'd ought to have seed to this skiff. Then you wouldn't have got battered like you did." A tear ran frankly down Betty's nose and dripped off its end. "If anything really bad had happened to you, Lawford, I'd a-never forgive myself. I thought you was a goner for sure."
"Thanks to you, I'm not, I guess, Betty," he said more cheerfully. He did not know who had jumped overboard to his rescue.
For some reason the girl was suddenly embarrassed by this fact.
The skiff reached the plunging sloop and Louise got inboard and aided
Betty to get Lawford over the rail. Then she slipped on her skirt.
Lawford slumped down in the cockpit, saying he was all right but looking all wrong.