He seized old Mrs. Benson, and swung her to his shoulder, “Come,” he cried to Phronsie, “they’re to lower the boats; I’ll save ye both.”
“I must go to Grandpapa,” cried Phronsie, “save her;” and dashed off by herself.
“No use,” roared the sailor roughly, “you’ll all be lost together. Come this way;” but he followed her with an oath, with the little old lady.
Stateroom doors were being flung open, and heads thrust out. Now and then a woman screamed, and men were shouting and cursing. And above it all that dreadful roar and the blinding smoke!
“Grandpapa! O Grandpapa!” cried Phronsie, reaching the door and kneeling at it, “O Grandpapa, please hurry, and open the door to Phronsie!”
“Leave away,” cried the sailor, dropping the little old lady, and pushing Phronsie aside. Then he backed off, and dashed at the door with his fist.
“Oh, what is that?” called old Mr. King, sitting straight in his berth.
“Let me in, Grandpapa dear!” begged Phronsie.
“Er—oh—why, Phronsie, child!” Old Mr. King threw wide the door, and drew her to her feet with a hasty hand.
“Grandpapa,” cried Phronsie, “there is not an instant to lose—the ship is on fire, Grandpapa. Quick! get his life-preserver,” to the sailor.