“What’s that! What’s that on my foot?” demanded Mr. Duffy, not daring to move and unable to see over the hemisphere of his portly frame.
Billie looked up mechanically. In her relief and weariness, she had really forgotten that Genevieve existed in the world, and there was her new friend clinging desperately to the fat man’s foot and breathing hard.
Billy could hardly keep from laughing! What a funny picture they must make to the people on shore: a big whale surrounded by small fry; or an ocean liner being pushed seaward by three little tugs.
“It’s just another tired swimmer,” she answered at last.
Mr. Duffy’s round, good-natured face wrinkled into a delightful smile.
“I seem to be a sort of general life-preserver,” he exclaimed. “Do the people on land think we are playing a game? Why doesn’t somebody come out and help this poor boy before we float on out to sea?”
“I’m awfully sorry, but we’re too tired to call for help,” said Billie, apologetically.
“Of course you are, little girl. But you’ve done a brave thing, so don’t reproach yourself and don’t be frightened any of you. I’m going to send out one of my chest notes.”
With that, Mr. Duffy roared out “Help, help!” in such deep bass tones that the ocean fairly rocked with the sound. Just as he called, Billie noticed a girl run up to the group of people on the beach and point toward the sea. It was Georgiana Paxton, she was almost certain. Two men in white flannels, taking off their coats as they ran, dashed into the surf. As they swam, they appeared like two great white fish leaping out of the water. Presently they came alongside the human flotilla and swimming to the other side of Mr. Duffy’s huge frame, paused for breath.
“What’s the matter?” asked one.