Foot by foot Frank found himself nearing the stern of the sharpie. He did not need to use the paddle at all, for the current was gently wafting him along in just the direction he wished to go.
So softly did he come that when he reached the sharpie's counter all he had to do was to just put out his hand and fend off.
He now saw that it was really and truly a boy sitting there. The other seemed to be not over ten years of age, judging from his size. He was barefooted, and without either hat or coat, though the night was getting cold now.
Several times he sighed deeply, and once Frank was sure he heard what seemed to be a stifled sob, as though he would have cried had he dared.
Obeying an impulse he could not control, Frank put his hand on the other's arm, at the same time whispering softly:
"Don't make a noise, please. I'm from the other boat, and I want to help you, if I can. You may trust me, my boy, to the limit!"
The crouching figure started, and Frank saw a small face bent down close to his own; then a trembling hand caught his, and there came a whisper:
"Oh! if you only could get me out of this scrape! I'll die if I stay here! They kick me and beat me terribly! Please take me away, mister!"
Frank's first impulse was to draw the lad into the dinghy, then his natural caution caused him to hesitate.
"Who are you, boy?" he whispered.