Everybody was watching eagerly the moonlit expanse of the river.
“I guess he’s a goner,” said a man after a few moments. “He ain’t in sight nowhere.”
“There he is!” cried a half dozen voices all at once.
A head shot into sight a few hundred yards astern, blowing the silvered water aside. The small boat, which 390 was now afloat, immediately headed in his direction, and a moment later he was hauled aboard amid frantic cheers. The dripping victim of the accident clambered to the deck.
It was Johnny!
He was beside himself with excitement, sputtering with rage and uttering frantic threats against something or somebody. His eyes were wild, and he fairly frothed at the mouth. I seized him by the arm. He stared at me, then became coherent, though he still spluttered. Johnny was habitually so quietly reserved as far as emotions go that his present excitement was at first utterly incomprehensible.
It seemed that he had been leaning against the rail, watching the moonlight, when suddenly it had given way beneath his weight and he had fallen into the river.
“They had no business to have so weak a rail!” he cried bitterly.
“Well, you’re here, all right,” I said soothingly. “There’s no great harm done.”
“Oh, isn’t there?” he snarled.