“Come out, Ted,” screamed his sister as he came up for breath again.

The mate disappeared once more, but coming up for the third time, hung on to the side of the barge to recover a bit.  A clothed man in the water savours of disaster and looks alarming.  Miss Harris began to cry.

“You’ll be drowned,” she whimpered.

“Come out,” said Mrs. Gibbs, in a raspy voice.  She knelt on the deck and twined her fingers in his hair.  The mate addressed her in terms rendered brotherly by pain.

“Never mind about the purse,” sobbed Miss Harris; “it doesn’t matter.”

“Will you make it up if I come out, then,” demanded the diver.

“No; I’ll never speak to you again as long as I live,” said the girl, passionately.

The mate disappeared again.  This time he was out of sight longer than usual, and when he came up merely tossed his arms weakly and went down again.  There was a scream from the women, and a mighty splash as the skipper went overboard with a life-belt.  The mate’s head, black and shining, showed for a moment; the skipper grabbed him by the hair and towed him to the barge’s side, and in the midst of a considerable hubbub both men were drawn from the water.

The skipper shook himself like a dog, but the mate lay on the deck inert in a puddle of water.  Mrs. Gibbs frantically slapped his hands; and Miss Harris, bending over him, rendered first aid by kissing him wildly.

Captain Gibbs pushed her away.  “He won’t come round while you’re a-kissing of him,” he cried, roughly.

To his indignant surprise the drowned man opened one eye and winked acquiescence.  The skipper dropped his arms by his side and stared at him stupidly.

“I saw his eyelid twitch,” cried Mrs. Gibbs, joyfully.

“He’s all right,” said her indignant husband; “’e ain’t born to be drowned, ’e ain’t.  I’ve spoilt a good suit of clothes for nothing.”

To his wife’s amazement, he actually walked away from the insensible man, and with a boathook reached for his hat, which was floating by.  Mrs. Gibbs, still gazing in blank astonishment, caught a seraphic smile on the face of her brother as Miss Harris continued her ministrations, and in a pardonable fit of temper the overwrought woman gave him a box on the ear, which brought him round at once.

“Where am I?” he inquired, artlessly.

Mrs. Gibbs told him.  She also told him her opinion of him, and without plagiarizing her husband’s words, came to the same conclusion as to his ultimate fate.

“You come along home with me,” she said, turning in a friendly fashion to the bewildered girl.  “They deserve what they’ve got—­both of ’em.  I only hope that they’ll both get such awful colds that they won’t find their voices for a twelvemonth.”

She took the girl by the arm and helped her ashore.  They turned their heads once in the direction of the barge, and saw the justly incensed skipper keeping the mate’s explanations and apologies at bay with a boat-hook.  Then they went in to breakfast.