"Tie it under your arms and hold fast."
Alec's hands shook so that he could hardly knot the rope, but finally he had it fast about his chest. He grasped the rope at arms' length. "All right," he cried.
"Heave ho!" sang the voice on the float. "Here you come, my hearty." And the rope tightened.
Alec pulled on the rope as hard as he could, and worked his feet loose. The instant he was free from the mud, he went skimming through the water to the side of the float, where strong arms lifted him up.
"You didn't have much to go on," said the sailor. "It's a darned good thing for you that the tide was running out instead of in. Who are you, and how'd you come to get in the water? Been drinking?"
"My name's Alec Cunningham, and I belong on the Bertha B. Somebody threw me overboard." Alec's teeth were chattering so that he couldn't say another word.
"Drunk as a fool," said the sailor. "Bagley don't have any hand named Cunningham. Wish I knowed where he belonged."
"I'm not drunk," said Alec, shivering more violently than before, "and I do belong on the Bertha B. Just went to work this morning."
"Maybe he ain't drunk," said the steersman on the boat, as they stepped aboard. "Maybe he does belong on her. We'll go see. We got to take him somewhere darned quick or he'll freeze to death."
The motor-boat was headed down-stream and in a few minutes came alongside the Bertha B. "Hello, Bagley!" called the steersman.