Lower down, men with poles and ropes were waiting. The danger to the child was not as great as that to himself, for he feared to draw himself up on the raft of ice lest his weight should too much depress it and disturb the little one now crouching on it. Carefully he tried to guide it toward the rescuers, keeping meanwhile a watchful eye on other swinging, pursuing blocks behind. One, however, was too persistent for him. He tried to allow it to pass, to crowd himself against the stone wall, but it turned a ragged edge, and he received a blow on the temple. Dizzy, fainting, and with eyes full of blood, he felt himself sinking down into the river, away from light and hope, and all things pleasant and attractive.
When he came to himself he found that he was lying on his own bed, and his mother and Captain White were bending over him.
Both their faces were drawn with anxiety, but they grew relieved at his feeble smile.
"He's come to," said Captain White, gleefully.
An old man advanced from a corner. "I told you it would not be long. It was only a slight concussion."
"Slight concussion," grumbled Captain White, "combined with almost total drowning. Well, old boy, how do you feel?"
"Shaken up. Did they get the child?"
"Yes, squealing like a pig to think you'd left her."
"Who got me out?"
"I performed that little service. I was sitting, taking my dinner in the hotel, when I heard a great racket, and saw waiters running toward the pantry windows. I ran too,—saw you coming along under the hotel wall, ramming the child ahead; then, right within smell of good food, you went down like a stone. I went like another, thanking my lucky stars that I'm as much at home in the water as a rat, but I did better than you, for I took a rope with me. You know they always keep one at the hotel in case of accidents. I clutched you, and up we came together, thanks to the waiters. How are you now?"