octor Chicago arrives, he is told by the boatman that this
craft having two passengers, and being smaller than the other, can carry
no more.

Sir Lionel as they push off sings out to him, pleasantly:

"A Roland for an Oliver, Chicago."

John smothers his chagrin and enters the other, boat with Aunt Gwen and
the professor. After all, it is only for a brief time, and surely he can
afford to give Sir Lionel that pleasure.

Thus they set out.

Lady Ruth appears to be in good spirits, for they can hear her voice in
song, blending with the bass of the baronet, floating over the waves,
which are really rougher than any of them had anticipated.

The lights of the steamer can be seen, and they head for her.

Suddenly the song ceases to float across the water. It comes so suddenly
to a stop that John Craig sits up in the other boat and clutches the arm
of the professor.

"Listen! I thought I heard a slight scream."

"Nonsense!" exclaims Aunt Gwen.

"That British prig--"

"Sir Lionel is a gentleman. He would not sully his reputation by a word
or deed."

"There--again."

"That time I heard it, too. Boatman, bend to your oars, and pull. There
is something wrong with the other boat," cries the professor.

Then across the bounding waters comes a hail, in the lion-like voice of
the Briton. A hail that stirs the blood in their veins until it runs
like molten lava--a hail that tells of danger.

"Ho! there, this way, quick! We're sinking! sprung aleak!"

Such is the cry that comes to them.

All are at once alarmed. The boatman is pulling well, but, to John's
excited fancy, it seems as though they hardly move.

He springs up, and takes one of the oars.

"Professor, mind the helm!" he cries.

"Ay, ay!" sings out that worthy, adapting himself immediately to the
situation.

The young American is hardly an athlete, although he belongs to one of
Chicago's best boat clubs.

He has an incentive now which causes him to strain every muscle, and
under the united strength of two men the boat dances over the billows in
the quarter whence the cry of help was heard.

It nevertheless takes them nearly five minutes to reach the scene, and
this is the longest five minutes John ever knew.

Only the voice of the boatman is heard, still calling, and by this they
know that the climax has already come.

A dreadful fear almost palsies John's heart as they reach the scene.

The boatman is discovered, clinging to the oars, and sho