“Now!” he breathed. “Now! And now!”
The boat was on the rail. He could fairly feel the Stormy’s deck sinking beneath him. She was doomed, there was no doubt of that. Those heavy motors would take her down fast.
Once again he heaved. The life boat was now a quarter over the rail, now a third, now half.
Leaping from beneath it, he executed a double movement, a shove and a leap. He was in the life boat. The life boat plunged, all but sank, swayed from side to side, then righted herself.
There was a low, sickening rush of water. Johnny looked. The Stormy was gone. In her place were swirling water and in the swirl an odd collection of articles; a coat, a cap, a pike pole, and MacGregor’s checkerboard.
“MacGregor!” Johnny called hoarsely. “MacGregor! Where are you?”
“Here! Over here!” was the cheering response. “I had to get away. She would have sucked me down.”
Seizing an oar, Johnny began sculling the boat. In a moment he was alongside his companion. A brief struggle and MacGregor, watersoaked and shivering, tumbled into the boat.
“John—Johnny,” his teeth were chattering. “There—there shou-should be d-d-dry clothes in the stern.”
Dragging a half barrel from the prow, Johnny pulled out shirts, underclothing, trousers, socks and shoes.