tantly there was a rush of
passengers to the side. From the schooner a boat was being lowered and
manned.

"I see him. He's swimming this way. I believe he's trying to escape,"
one slender young woman cried.

"Nonsense, Alice! He fell overboard and he's probably so frightened he
doesn't know which way he is swimming." This suggestion was from the
beautiful blonde with bronze hair who stood beside her under a tan
parasol held by a fresh-faced globetrotter.

"Don't you believe it, Val. Look how he's cutting through the water.
He's trying to reach us. Oh, I hope they won't get him. Somebody get a
rope to throw out."

"By Jove, you're right, Miss Alice," cried the Englishman. "It's a race,
and it's going to be a near thing." He disappeared and was presently
back with a rope.

"Come on! Come on!" screamed the passengers to the swimmer.

"He's ripping strong with that overhead stroke. Ye gods, it's close!"
exclaimed the Britisher.

It was. The swimmer reached the side of the ship not four yards in
front of the pursuing boat. He caught at the trailing rope and began to
clamber up hand over hand, while the Englishman, a man standing near,
and Alice Frome dragged him up.

The mate of the Nancy Hanks, standing up in the boat, caught at his foot
and pulled. The man's hold loosened on the rope. He slid down a foot,
steadied himself. Suddenly the left leg shot out and caught the grinning
mate in the mouth. He went over backward into the bottom of the
boat. Before he could extricate himself from the tangle his fall had
precipitated, the dripping figure of the swimmer stood safely on the
deck of the _Bellingham._

In his wet foul slops the man was a sight to draw stares. The cabin
passengers moved back to give him a wide circle, as men do with a wet
retriever.

"What does this mean, my man?" demanded the captain of the _Bellingham,_
pushing forward. He was a big red-faced figure with a heavy roll of fat
over his collar.

"I have been shanghaied, sir. From Verden. I'm the editor of the _World_
of that city."

"That's a lie," proclaimed the mate of the _Nancy Hanks_, who by this
time had reached the deck. "He's a nutty deckswabber we picked up at
'Frisco."

"Why, it's Mr. Farnum," cried a fresh young voice from the circle.

The rescued man turned. His eyes joined those of a slim golden girl and
he was struck dumb.

"You know this man, Miss Frome?" the captain asked.

"I know him by sight." She stepped to the front