With swift, powerful strokes he got alongside Sam just as the owner of the hydroplane was going down for the third time.

As the brave boy seized the struggling, frightened youth he felt himself gripped by the panic-stricken Sam in a frenzied hold of desperate intensity.  His arms were pinioned by the drowning wretch, and they both vanished beneath the waves.

As they went under, however, Merritt managed to get one hand free, and recalling what he had read of what to do under such conditions, struck the other boy a terrific blow between the eyes.  It stunned Sam completely, and, to his great relief, Merritt felt the imprisoning grip relax.  He could then handle Sam easily, and as they shot to the surface he saw the Flying Fish bearing down on them, with four white, strained faces searching the tumbling waters.

In a few moments the unconscious lad and his rescuer were hauled on board, and Rob, after congratulations, headed the Flying Fish for the mouth of the inlet, which was still some distance off.

Tubby and Bill Bender laid Sam on his stomach, across a thwart, and started to try to get some of the salt water, of which he had swallowed great quantities, out of him.  He soon gave signs of returning consciousness, and opened his eyes just as Jack Curtiss was demanding to know if the Boy Scouts weren’t going to take the hydroplane in tow.

“Not much we’re not,” responded Rob.  “I’m sorry to have to leave her; but this sea is getting up nastier every minute, and there’s no way of getting a line to her without running more risk than I want to take.  We’ve had one near-drowning and we don’t want another.”

“If this was my boat, I’d pick Sam’s boat up,” sullenly replied the bully.

“You ought to be mighty glad we came along when we did,” indignantly spoke up Tubby.  “You’d have been in a bad fix if we hadn’t.  Instead of being thankful for it, all you can do is to kick about leaving the hydroplane.”

An angry reply was on the other’s lips, but Bill Bender checked it by looking up and saying:  “I guess the kid’s right, Jack.  Let it go at that.”

The bully glowered.  He felt his pride much wounded at having been compelled to seek the aid of the boys whom be despised and hated.

“I suppose you’ll go and blab it all over town about how you saved us,” he sneered, as the Flying Fish threaded her way through the tumbling waters at the mouth of the inlet and began making her way up it.

“I don’t think we shall,” replied Rob quietly.  “I mean to recommend Merritt, though, to headquarters for his Red Honor.”

“Oh, you mean that cheap, bronze medal thing on a bit of red ribbon!” sneered Jack.  “Why, that isn’t worth much.  You couldn’t sell it for anything but old junk.  Why don’t they make them of gold?”

“That ‘bronze medal thing,’ as you call it, is worth a whole lot to a Boy Scout,” rejoined Rob in the same even tone.  “More than you can understand.”