"Sic him, Tige!" cried another, who was standing beside him.
A brindle bulldog, which Carl had not seen until that moment, gave a yip and started for the scene of the trouble.
"Vat's der madder, anyvays?" demanded Carl, convinced by the young lady's manner that she did not want to be rescued.
"Moving pictures, you Dutch idiot!" yelped the leader of the pirates. "If you'd had any sense you'd have known that without being told. Now we've got to do it all over again! Take him, Tige!"
The bulldog was hurling himself across the sand like a thunderbolt, and he was making straight for Carl. Neither the girl nor the pirates showed any inclination to stop the dog; on the contrary, they appeared to derive considerable satisfaction from the prospect of his getting close enough to use his teeth on the Dutch boy.
Carl was perfectly willing to face any number of pirates in order to rescue a beautiful maiden in distress, but he drew the line at coming company front with a vicious bulldog. When a person wears nothing but a bathing suit his means of offense and defense are naturally limited.
Since Carl could not help the girl, he made up his mind to do what he could to help himself. Whirling about, he laid himself out in the direction of the steel pier, the bulldog in hot pursuit and gaining on him at every jump.
Everybody, except the moving-picture people, was laughing. And excepting Carl. There was nothing especially amusing in the situation for him.
The Italian with the pushcart was haw-hawing and holding his sides. A boy, using his legs to get away from a dog, was something he could understand, and it pleased him.
Carl did not have time to go around the cart, so he ducked under it. The dog ducked after him. Carl had seen how the Italian was enjoying himself, and he resented it. By rising up under the cart Carl could overturn it, thus dropping a lot of buns and "red-hots" on the dog and possibly stopping the pursuit. Carl did not stop to debate the matter—he hadn't time—but rose up, thus sending the cart over upon the dog.