“Well, that gink at the helm is a mess and no mistake,” was Durand’s scornful comment.  “What the mischief is he trying to do with that tub anyhow?”

“Wreck it, ruin a better one, and drown his passengers, I reckon,” answered Peggy.

“And look at that little child.  Haven’t they any better sense than to let her clamber up on that rail?” exclaimed Polly, for just as the launch in question was executing some of its wildest stunts, a little girl, probably six years of age, had scrambled up astern and was trying to reach over and dabble her hands in the water.

“They must be seven kinds of fools,” cried Durand.  “Say, Peggy, there’s going to be trouble there if they don’t watch out.”

But Peggy had already grown wise to the folly—­yes, rank heedlessness—­ on board the other launch.  If any one had the guardianship of that child she was certainly not alive to the duty.

“I’m going to slow down a trifle and drop a little astern,” she said quietly to Durand.  “Don’t say a word to any one else but stand by in case that baby falls overboard; they are not taking any more notice of her than if she didn’t belong to them.  I never knew anything so outrageous.  What sort of people can they be, any way?”

“Fool people,” was Durand’s terse rejoinder and his remark seemed well merited, for the three ladies on board were chatteringly oblivious of the child’s peril, and the men were not displaying any greater degree of sense.

Peggy kept her launch about a hundred feet astern.  They had passed the bridge and were nearing the broader reaches of the river where ferry boats were crossing to and fro, and the larger excursion boats which had brought throngs of sightseers to New London were making the navigation of the stream a problem for even more experienced hands, much less the callow youth who was putting up a bluff at steering the “wash tub,” as Ralph called it.

The older people in the Frolic were not aware of what was happening up ahead.  The race was ended, they had been tinder a pretty high stress of excitement for some time, and were glad to settle down comfortably and leave the homeward trip to Peggy and the coxswain who was close at hand.  Never a thought of disaster entered their minds.

Then it came like a flash of lightning: 

There was a child’s pathetic cry of terror; a woman’s wild, hysterical shriek and shouts of horror from the near-by craft.

In an instant Durand was out of his white service jacket, his shoes were kicked off and before a wholesome pulse could beat ten he was overside, shouting to Peggy as he took the plunge: 

“Follow close!”

“I’m after you,” was the ringing answer.

“Heaven save us!” cried Captain Stewart, springing to his feet, while the others started from their chairs.

“Trust him.  He is all right, Daddy.  I’ve seen him do this sort of thing before,” called Peggy, keeping her head and handling her launch in a manner to bring cheers from the other boats also rushing to the rescue.