"Throw the hound on shore!" cried the captain, impatient at the delay. The captain had been both mate and mud-clerk in his day, himself.
"All right, sir!" responded the mate; and then to the man in the pilot-house: "Hold her nose to the bank a minute, Mr. Hawkins!"
But at this moment a soft female voice was heard saying:
"Oh, don't, captain. See, the poor fellow is nearly drowned. Now as a favor to me, let him remain."
The captain was about to politely protest, when the sweet voice silenced him, and the next moment he called to the mate:
"Let the fellow remain, Mr. Blassfeme!"
Then the bells jingled back by the engineers, and the great boat sprang out into the stream.
Poor Ben, dripping with water, turned his eyes gratefully to the deck above, and there stood the owner of the great, glorious, grey eyes, and by her side stood Blackoat, the captain, and a group of admirers. One glance she gave our hero, and a smile; but the glance bore no recognition, and the smile was for his comical aspect. They were such notices as she might have bestowed upon a persecuted animal, rescued from the hands of its tormentors.
"Shan't I go down and bring your new friend up and give him an introduction, Bertha? He has been washed now, you know," said Blackoat, with a sneer.
"Thank you, Arthur," she replied; "you may thank good fortune that it was not yourself that needed a good word with Captain Sparbar."