“Yes, I guess they’re doing some tall thinking,” agreed Tubby, as a wave caught the little Flying Fish “quartering” on her port bow, and sent a white smother of spray swirling back over her occupants.

“That’s the time we got it,” laughed Rob, from the wheel, peering straight ahead.  Suddenly he uttered a shout and pointed seaward.

“Look there!” he shouted at the top of his voice.  “There are those three fellows, and they’re in trouble, from the looks of it.”

The others looked, and beheld, half a mile or so away, on the roughening waters, the hull of the hydroplane.  She was tossing up and down like a cork, and apparently was drifting helplessly, with her motor broken down, in the heavy sea.  Her occupants seemed to be bailing her; but as they caught sight of the Flying Fish they stood up and waved frantically.

“Yes, they’re in trouble, all right,” agreed Tubby.  “And I suppose we’ve got to go and get them out of it.”

Rob had already put the Flying Fish about and headed her for the distressed craft.  As they drew near, Sam Redding began shouting: 

“Help, help!  We’re sinking, we’re sinking!”

Jack Curtiss and Bill Bender, drenched to the skin with spray and white with fright, said nothing, but a look of great relief came over their faces as the chums’ boat ranged alongside.

“I don’t want to risk ramming my boat by coming right alongside,” shouted Rob.  “You’ll have to jump for it.  Don’t be scared.  We’ll pull you aboard.”

The three youths on the water-logged hydroplane looked somewhat alarmed at the prospect, but Rob knew that Jack and Bill could swim.  He was not sure of Sam, but assumed, from the fact that he had lived by the sea all his life, that he was equally at home in the water.

The hesitation of Jack Curtiss and his chum was over in a minute, as the hydroplane gave a plunge that seemed as if it would be her last.  Lightly dressed as they were, in canvas trousers, sleeveless jerseys and yachting shoes, it was no trick at all for them to swim the few feet to the Flying Fish.  As they leaped overboard, Sam lingered.

“Come on, Sam,” shouted Jack, as the boys lugged the two dripping, sputtering castaways on board.

“I—­I can’t swim.  You’ll have to come alongside for me,” stuttered the badly-scared Sam.

“All right.  Hold on, and we’ll do what we can,” hailed Rob, starting to carry out the risky maneuver of getting alongside the plunging hydroplane in the heavy sea.

In some never-to-be-explained manner, however, the frightened Sam suddenly lost his balance in the tossing racing boat, and, clawing desperately at her bulwarks to save himself, shot over the side.

“He’ll drown!” shouted Jack Curtiss.  “He can’t swim, and he’ll drown.”

“If you knew that, why didn’t you stand by him?” truculently growled Tubby.

Without an instant’s hesitation, Merritt threw off the jacket he had put on when it started to blow, and slipped off his shoes.  He was overboard and striking out for the drowning boy before those in the Flying Fish even realized his purpose.