“There are the life guards,” exclaimed Cora, who stood by the open door. “And they have a coil of rope.”
“Good!” declared Jack. “We will have something to pull with, and some one to help us now. Come along, boys. Girls, you will find a basket of provisions some place. There may be, in it, something of use,” and with this he ran out to the beach where like two bronzed figures the life guards stood regarding the auto in the ocean. It did not take the boys long to explain the situation, and to show what needed to be done to haul out the ocean-going car. Fastening the heavy ropes about the machine the three boys and the two men pulled—pulled—and pulled!
At first the car would not budge. Then the soft sand, in which the tires were buried, slid away some, under the urgent pressure, and finally, when the car once moved, all hands at the ropes gave a concerted pull, and the machine rolled slowly, but more and more surely, toward the edge of the shelving beach.
“Good!” exclaimed Ed. “Don’t stop! Keep it up!”
It was heavy work, but at last the auto was clear of the water.
“There!” gasped Jack, almost breathless. “That’s all to the gasolene! Now to look her over.”
Half an hour of steady work and then Ed grasped the handle and started to crank up. It was stiff at first but presently the familiar whir-r-r-r—of the motor sounded, and Walter from the seat threw in the clutch with the lever set at low speed. The magneto was all right.
The little car swung out as gracefully as if it had “never tasted salt water,” as Jack put it.
The girls were eagerly watching every move.
How thankful they were, for the woman in the bungalow had need of immediate medical attention.