Tim knew the steward’s reasoning was correct, and yet he refused to be comforted. He was led below despite his struggles, but when he reached the main-deck he ran to the rail, from where he could see all that was going on in the water.
“Do you s’pose he will get ashore all right?” Tim asked of Mr. Rankin, as he watched Tip’s exertions to save himself.
“Of course he will; he’s almost there now, and in five minutes more he’ll be just as safe as ever, and a good deal cleaner.”
By this time the freight for the island had been landed, and the steamer was already leaving the wharf. Tim was in an agony of fear lest he should be obliged to depart without assuring himself that Tip was a saved dog.
But in order that the steamer should be put on her course again it was necessary to back her for some distance, and that was a bit of good luck for Tim, since they moved in the direction taken by Tip.
Tim could see Bobby, at the extreme point of land that jutted out into the sea, urging the dog to increased exertion, and aided by all the boys who were on the wharf at the time Tip was thrown overboard, as well as by a number of others who had learned of the excitement by seeing Bobby as he ran around the shore.
Just as the steamer’s paddle-wheels ceased to force her back, and began to urge her in the opposite direction, Tip’s short legs touched the bottom, and in another instant Bobby was holding him, all wet and dripping, high up in the air, while he executed a sort of triumphant war-dance before Tim’s delighted gaze.
Tim stood looking with his very heart in his eyes as the Pride of the Wave carried him farther and farther from the only friend he had in the world, and when he saw Tip run along the beach and shake himself he laughed from very joy.
But in another instant he understood that, if the dog was safe, he was being separated from him very rapidly.