“Matter?” cried Mr. Duffy with half-comic irritation. “Let go of me. Do you think I’m the strong Turk who lifts a dozen people at once? There’s a poor boy would have drowned if it hadn’t been for this brave young lady, and there’s another young lady about to go under, and you sitting on the beach playing mumbly-peg when human life is at stake! If I hadn’t been an animated cork there’d have been three drownings this morning. Get busy and look alive.”
“I’m all right,” said Billie, as one of the young men swam toward her. “Look after the others please.”
It was Genevieve and Timothy who were towed ashore while Billie and Mr. Duffy slowly followed the rescuing party, swimming side by side and chatting as if they had been old friends.
“I’m glad there’s a happy ending to this little story,” gurgled the fat man, moving easily along in the water like a man walking on shore.
“I am, too,” answered Billie, pillowing her cheek on a green wave and propelling herself gently toward shore. She felt as if she could swim forever now; so much has the state of mind to do with swimming.
“You are a brave girl,” went on Mr. Duffy. “How far had you towed the boy?”
“I don’t know. Not as far as it seemed, I suppose. The current kept us going. All I had to do was to hold his head above water.”
“Wasn’t he the boy who raced for the rubber ball?”
“Yes.”
“What became of the other fellow, the one who threw the ball,” demanded Mr. Duffy, looking out seaward as if he expected to see him also struggling in the waves.