Part 4 (1/2)

Cras.h.!.+

The row-boat was struck and stove in completely.

The Cut.w.a.ter was quite a good sized craft, and though the force of the collision did not damage her to any extent, it checked her progress considerably.

Jerry went down and down. He made a long dive, and when he came up it was within a yard of the sloop's rudder.

Before another boy would have had time to think, the boy who so loved the water made up his mind what to do. He made a mighty leap and caught hold of the rudder end ere the Cut.w.a.ter could get beyond his reach. It was hard work to hang on, as the sloop bobbed up and down with every wave, and the rudder, being beyond control, swayed from side to side.

But Jerry was both plucky and full of grit. He clung fast, and, watching his chance, climbed up to the stern and leaped on the deck.

A brief glance showed him the cause of the present trouble. Clarence Conant was actually too much frightened to lower the sails. He had started to act and got a rope twisted, and then, overcome with fear, had allowed the matter to go while he clung to the bow in despair.

”You confounded coward!” cried the young oarsman. ”You ought to have known better than to go out on anything bigger than a duck pond.”

He sprang to the halyards, and soon the main-sail came down with a bang.

The jib followed. There was no time to attend to the sails more than this.

Jerry looked around anxiously for Harry and Blumpo, but for a long while could see nothing of them.

”Look here,” demanded Clarence Conant, recovering his composure, now the greatest of the danger was over. ”What--ah--do you mean by talking to me in this fas.h.i.+on?”

”I mean just what I say,” retorted Jerry. ”You had no right to take these young ladies out and expose them to such peril.” ”The--ah--hurricane took me by surprise,” was the dude's lame excuse.

”I am very thankful to you, Jerry Upton,” cried Dora Vincent, the oldest and prettiest of the girls on board.

”And so am I.”

”And I.”

”Thank you,” replied the boy, blus.h.i.+ng. ”But now is no time to talk. Which of you will take the tiller, if I tell you exactly what to do?”

”I can--ah--take the tiller,” interposed Conant, haughtily.

”You won't touch it!” cried the young oarsman, sternly.

”Why, boy, what do you mean? Do you--ah--”

”Sit down! If you dare to stir I'll pitch you overboard!”

Overcome with a new terror, the dude collapsed. He was hatless, the curl was out of his mustache and hair, and altogether he looked very much ”washed out.”

He sank down near the bow, and it was well that he did so, for just then came an extra heavy blast of the gale.

”Hold hard, every one!” yelled Jerry. ”Perhaps you ladies had better go into the cabin,” he added.

”I am to take the tiller, you know,” said Dora Vincent. ”Well, then, let the others go. We can work along better with a clear deck.”