“Man overboard!” went up a cry, but it was instantly stilled, as it was seen that whoever it was in the water he was in no need of assistance. He could swim like a fish. A few strokes brought him once more to the side of the Beale, and he was helped up. He stood laughing and shaking himself on the deck a minute later, and the boys, who were in the crowd that gathered about him, heard the word passed among the crew.
“It’s Jim Prentice, one of the engineer’s bunch.”
“How’d it happen, Jim?” asked somebody.
“Dunno. I was fishing and watching that little boat when all of a sudden I slipped,” said the man readily.
“Recognize that chap?” asked Ned in a whisper, of Herc.
“Yes, it’s the fellow that gave us such a sizing up the other day.”
“That’s it. Take a little stroll this way, I’ve something to tell you.”
Ned seized the mystified Herc’s arm and led him away from the group clustered about Prentice, laughing and condoling with him.
“What do you suppose that fellow went overboard for?” asked Ned mysteriously, as soon as they were out of earshot of the men.
“That’s a bright question,—because he couldn’t help it, I suppose.”