James Walsham was too much accustomed to be wet through, to care anything about his dripping clothes, but they served him as an excuse to get away, for he felt awkward and embarrassed at the gratitude of the old soldier.  He pushed his way through the little crowd, which had now gathered round, and started at a run; for the news had brought almost all those gathered round the peep show to the shore, the excitement of somebody being drowned being superior even to that of the peep show, to the great majority; though a few, who had no hope of obtaining the necessary pennies, had lingered behind, and seized the opportunity for a gratuitous look through the glasses.

James ran upstairs and changed his clothes without seeing his mother, and then, taking down one of his lesson books, set to work, shrinking from the idea of going out again, and being made a hero of.

Half an hour later there was a knock at the front door, and a few minutes after his mother called him down.  He ran down to the parlour, and there found the showman.

“Oh, I say,” the boy broke out, “don’t say anything more about it!  I do hate being thanked, and there was nothing in swimming ten yards in a calm sea.  Please don’t say anything more about it.  I would rather you hit me, ever so much.”

The sergeant smiled gravely, and Mrs. Walsham exclaimed: 

“Why didn’t you come in and tell me about it, Jim?  I could not make out at first what Mr.—­Mr.—­”

“Sergeant Wilks, madam.”

“What Sergeant Wilks meant, when he said that he had called to tell me how grateful he felt to you for saving his little grandchild’s life.  I am proud of you, Jim.”

“Oh, mother, don’t!” the boy exclaimed.  “It is horrid going on so.  If I had swum out with a rope through the surf, there might be something in it; but just to jump in at the edge of the water is not worth making a fuss about, one way or the other.”

“Not to you, perhaps, young gentleman, but it is to me,” the showman said.  “The child is the light of my life, the only thing I have to care for in the world, and you have saved her.  If it had only been by stretching out your hand, I should have been equally grateful.  However, I will say no more about it, but I shall not think the less.

“But don’t you believe, madam, that there was no credit in it.  It was just the quickness and the promptness which saved her life.  Had your son hesitated a moment it would have been too late, for he would never have found her.  It is not likely that your son will ever have any occasion for help of mine, but should there be an opportunity, he may rely upon it that any service I can render him shall be his to the death; and, unlikely as it may seem, it may yet turn out that this brave act of his, in saving the life of the granddaughter of a travelling showman, will not be without its reward.”

“Is she all right now?” James asked abruptly, anxious to change the conversation.