Resting the little girl’s head on it, he pushed it before him toward the ferryboat, the rail and end of which were now black with excited people.
Several deck hands were standing outside the folding guards with ropes in their hands, and the moment Jack was seen to be within reach one of them flung his line so that it struck the water close to him.
He seized the end with his disengaged hand, and the men began to pull him in at once.
Less than ten minutes from the time the girl was pitched into the river Jack had her back on board and regained the deck himself.
Dripping like a large Newfoundland, he was instantly surrounded by an admiring group of passengers loud in their commendations on his courage and presence of mind.
At the same time another throng gathered about the unconscious child, its well-nigh frantic mother, and the white-haired old gentleman.
“Come down into the boiler-room, young fellow,” spoke up a strapping deck hand, “and we’ll dry your clothes for you.”
And Jack, glad to get rid of the attentions of the crowd, followed his guide to the warm regions beneath the engine-room.
“Hello!” exclaimed a grimy-faced stoker. “Been overboard, eh?”
“That’s what he has,” said the deck hand. “Done what’ll put his name in the papers, Jim. Jumped overboard after a little gal that fell in from the rail where she was sitting when that barge run us afoul.”