Taffy stepped in until the waves ran by his knees. The sand held his feet, but beyond this he could not stand against the current. He reached forward, holding the crutch at arm's length.
"Can you catch hold?"
"All right." Both knew that swimming would be useless now; they were too near the upper apex of the sand-bank.
"The child first. Here, Joey, my son, reach out and catch hold for your life!"
Taffy felt the child's grip on the crutch-head, and drawing it steadily toward him, hauled the poor child through. The light from the cliff sank and rose on his scared face.
"Got him?"
"Yes." The sand was closing around Taffy's legs, but he managed to shift his footing a little.
"Quick, then; the bank's breaking up."
George was sinking, knee-deep and deeper. But his outstretched fingers managed to reach and hook themselves around the crutch-head.
"Steady, now ... must work you loose first. Get hold of the shaft if you can; the head isn't firm. Work your legs ... that's it."