“’Fraid not, dear. You feel how the house is shaking. It can’t last long. We’ve got to reach the rocks.”
“It’s been pretty awful, Tug. When the wall was swept out, I thought—” She shook that appalling memory out of her mind and smiled at him, shyly, adorably. “I’m not afraid as long as you’re here.”
“Don’t be afraid,” he reassured. “I think I can do it, Betty.”
“Can’t I help?”
“Yes. Knot together two sheets to make a rope. I’ll need it later.”
He dropped from a window, found himself caught in an irresistible tide that swept him away like a chip. It was all over in a moment. He was whirled round and dashed into the rocks. The impact knocked the breath out of him. He clung, desperately, to a jutting spar of sandstone, hardly conscious of what he was doing.
The life went out of him. When he came to consciousness, he lay on the shelf, feet and legs still in the water. He noticed that his head was bleeding and for an instant wondered what it was all about.
Betty’s voice reached him. “Tug! Tug!”
She was leaning out of the window of the tossing house.
He rose and waved a hand. Strength flowed back to him in waves. The haze lifted from his brain. He visualized the problem of the bridge and set about meeting it.