"Petered at last," grunted Madden, staring at the corpselike face in dull speculation. "How in the world are we going to get him out of here?"
"I guess we can tow him out, sir," growled Greer with dull indifference. "Mighty puny chap—always flopping over when he's in a tight place."
"Come here, stick his arms through our buoys, put his own under his head!"
The plan was quickly carried out and Smith's unconscious form was placed beyond immediate danger.
The two youths took up their long swim once more. As they moved down the opening, they could see what slow progress they were making. Presently Madden explained in a low whispering tone:
"His heart's bad... can't stand much... poisoned with alcohol."
Another pause filled with slow weary swimming, then Greer said:
"Said I was no gentleman... didn't know a French word... I keep sober."
Madden made no defense to this reflection on the unconscious Englishman, but after a while he said:
"We ought to overlook lots in him, Greer—unfortunate fellow... there's good in him, Greer... bad too."