“Dan Dalzell hasn’t come up,” Darrin choked.  “Here, clear the way.  I’m going down after Dick.”

He was gone like a flash.  Seconds ticked by while a score of pale faces watched over the side of the launch.

Then, at last, up shot Dave.  He was followed almost instantly by Dick, his arms wrapped around the motionless form of Dan Dalzell.

“Get close and we’ll haul you in!” called Tom Reade, a boat-hook in his hand.

“Is Dan drowned!” demanded a dozen voices.

“Don’t ask questions now!” cried Tom Reade impatiently, without looking about him.  “Keep quiet!  It’s a time for work.”

Abashed, the questioners became silent.  Tom caught the boat-hook through the collar of Dan’s flannel shirt.  With the aid of the launch’s helmsman Reade drew Dan in and got him aboard.  Young Dalzell’s eyes were closed, nor did he speak.

Then Dick and Dave were pulled aboard the launch.

“Dan didn’t seem to be able to free himself,” Darrin explained breathlessly.  “His foot was wedged under a cleat in the canoe.”

“Carry Dan aft,” ordered Dick, while he was still clambering over the rail.  “Lay him face down.”

Then, drenched as he was, Dick hastened aft, where he directed others how to pat Dan on the back and to work his arms.

“We’ve got to get that water off his lungs,” Dick explained.  “Don’t stop working for a moment.  I wish we had a barrel to roll him on!”

“We will have soon,” replied the launch’s helmsman, rushing back to his post and ringing the bell.  Thus recalled to his post, the engineer turned on the speed.

The craft made swiftly for Hiram Driggs’ float.  A few moments later it ran alongside.

Warned by the whistle, Driggs and two of his workmen came running out to the float.

“Get a barrel as quickly as you can!” shouted young Prescott.

By the time Dalzell had been hustled ashore the barrel was in readiness.  Dan received an energetic rolling.  Three or four little gushes of water issued from his mouth.

“Keep up the good work,” ordered Dick feverishly.  “We’ll bring him around soon.”

When they saw that no more water was coming from Dalzell’s mouth the workers placed him in a sitting position, then began to pump-handle his arms vigorously.

A tremor ran through the body of Danny Grin.

“Hurrah!” cried Dick.  “He’s going to open his eyes!”

This Dan did a few moments later.  “Keep on working his arms,” commanded Prescott.

“Quit!” begged Dalzell in a faint whisper.  “You’re hurting me.”

“Good enough!” chuckled Dick.  “Keep on at his arms until he can talk a whole lot more.”

“But isn’t it cruel?” asked a girl.

“No,” rejoined Tom Reade, turning to her.  “Did you ever bring a drowning man to?”

“Never, of course.”

“Then let our Dick have his way.  He generally knows what he’s about.  No rudeness intended you understand,” Reade added, smiling.