ideous. The eyes are white and protrude. The
point is off the stern of the yawl.

"Not d-d-deep!" yells the mascot with an explosion.

"Sure enough!"

"S-s-s-s-see the sand in the wa-wa-ter!"

"Sure enough!"

The idea saves Corkey and the boy. Over the side Corkey goes. He
touches bottom and is swept off.

The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand.

"Let her go," is the command, and, boy in arms, Corkey stands on the
bottom. The sea rages as if it were a thousand feet deep.

If Corkey wore a life-preserver he would be lost.

Now is he on a sand-bar? This is his last and most prostrating fear.
Step by step he moves toward the point. The waves dash over his head,
as they dash over the yawl. Step by step he learns that he is safe.

The boat is gone forever.

The water grows shallower. The great sea goes by. The bay beyond may
look black now Corkey has escaped its jaws.

He puts down the lad.

"Walk, you moke!" he commands.

The twain labor hand in hand to the point.

The man sinks like a drunkard upon the sands wet with the tempest.

When Corkey regains his senses four men are lifting him in a wagon.
The mascot sits on the front seat.

Four newspaper reporters want his complete account.

CHAPTER XIV

IN THE CONVENTIONAL DAYS

One congressman, a hundred wood-choppers and fourteen miscellaneous
lives have been lost in Georgian Bay.

It is the epoch of sensational news. A life is a life. The valiant
night editor places before his readers the loss of 115 congressmen, for
a wood-chopper is as good as a congressman.

And while the theory that 115 congressmen have gone down astounds and
horrifies the subscriber, it might be different if that many
congressmen of the opposite party should really be sent to the bottom.

The conditions for conventional news are, therefore, perfect. Upon the
length of the report depends the reputation of the newspaper. The
newspaper with the widest circulation must have the longest string of
type and the blackest letters in its headings.

Corkey works for that paper.

"Give us your full story," demand his four saviors.

The mascot stammers so that communication with him is restricted to his
answers of yes and no.

It is therefore Corkey's duty to the nation to tell all he has
witnessed. He conceals nothing.

"It ain't much I know about it," he says; "she was rotten and she go
down."

"Yes, but begin with the thrilling scenes."

"There