Trained by their vocation to act quickly, they threw off their coats, plunging into the water almost at the same instant. They swam fiercely, lashed on by that frantic wail, sounding fainter each time it was repeated. The race for a life was almost neck and neck until Joe, showing his tremendous reserve strength, shot ahead at the very end, grasping the struggling figure as it was sinking for the last time. Jim helped, and together they brought the rescued girl--the long dank black hair testified to her sex--back to shore, where a group of the native blacks, attracted by the cries, had gathered to welcome them. Dripping and exhausted, the two heroes of the occasion staggered up the bank while willing hands relieved them of their burden. "Let's beat it," whispered Jim, as the crowd of natives closed around the unconscious object of their heroism, "while the going's good. If that girl ever finds out that you rescued her she'll want to attach herself to you for life. That seems to be the fool custom of these parts." "She'd find it pretty hard work," said Joe, with a wry smile. "Besides, we don't even know that the girl's alive. It would be pretty heartless to clear out without learning." "Oh, all right," said Jim, uneasily. "But remember, if there are any consequences you've got to take 'em." At that moment the crowd opened and the boys saw a remarkably good-looking black girl standing dizzily and supported by another native who might have been her father. She looked dazedly from one to the other of the young men and Jim promptly "stepped out from under." "It's him," said Jim, neglecting grammar in his eagerness to shift the burden of credit to Joe's broad shoulders. "He did it all." The girl walked unsteadily up to Joe and said, submissively: "My life is yours! Me your slave!" Joe started, stared, and gulped, then turned to Jim to make sure he was awake, and not a victim of some bad dream. But Jim had suddenly acquired a peculiar form of hysteria, and with a choking sound turned his back upon his friend. "N-no," stuttered Joe, gently pushing the girl away, "no want." Another explosion from Jim did not serve to improve Joe's state of mind. His face was fiery red, and his voice husky. "Me slave!" persisted the girl stubbornly. Then Joe turned and fled, manfully fighting a desire to shout with laughter one moment, and groan with dismay the next. Two very much subdued baseball players crept in at the side door of the hotel, and scurried along the corridor toward their rooms, hoping ardently to meet no one on the way. It was with a sigh of relief that they slipped inside, locked the door, and repaired the ravages that the waters of the Yarra Yarra had made upon their clothing. A few moments later, with self respect considerably improved, they sauntered down to the writing room, where they found the two girls looking more distractingly pretty than ever, engaged in folding the last of their letters.