Roy and Dick settled themselves on the window-seat, but for Chub the seething expanse of troubled water held a fascination and he remained at the window watching. Jack had crawled between his master’s knees and placed his head in his lap, trembling and glancing about affrightedly. “Poor old boy,” said the artist, patting the dog’s head, “thunder just about scares him to death, doesn’t it, Jack?” At that instant there was a sharp cry from Chub, and as the others sprang to their feet he turned a pale, excited face toward them. “Look!” he cried. “There! It’s a boat bottom-up with a man clinging to it! Can you see?” “Yes,” they answered, and for a moment they were silent while the wind and rain roared outside and the capsized boat tossed heavily between the waves. “The wind will drive him on shore if he can hold on,” said Roy. But there was little conviction in his tones. “Not with that current,” answered Chub hoarsely. “He’s going down-stream fast. When I first saw him he was fifty yards further up.” “Haven’t you a boat?” demanded Dick eagerly of Mr. Cole. “Yes,” replied that gentleman calmly and thoughtfully, “but it’s just a cockle-shell and hard to row. There’s no use in thinking of that.” “But we can’t let him drown!” cried Chub. “No,” answered the artist. “We can’t do that. One of you look in the locker in the engine-room and bring me the coil of rope you’ll find there.” Roy darted away in obedience. “What are you going to do?” asked Dick. “Swim out to him,” was the reply. Mr. Cole was already shedding his outer clothes. “Do you know who he is?” They shook their heads. [Illustration: “‘It’s a boat bottom-up with a man clinging to it!’”] “I can’t see,” said Chub. “But he’s having a hard time staying there, I can tell that. The waves are going over him every minute. Do you think you can get to him, sir? Wouldn’t you like me to go along? I’m a pretty fairish swimmer, sir.” “Let me go!” cried Roy, hurrying back with the big coil of half-inch rope. But Mr. Cole shook his head as he took the rope and tied it under his armpits. “One’s enough,” he answered. “You keep this end of the rope and when you think best--haul in hard.” He took a final look out of the window at the tossing boat and went to the door and flung it open. The wind and rain burst in upon them, making them gasp. Mr. Cole turned to Dick. “Hold the dog,” he shouted. “He may try to follow. Pay out the rope as long as you can, boys. If it won’t reach, let go of it and I’ll try to make the end of the island. All right.” He raised his arms and plunged far out into the tossing water. CHAPTER XIX THE RESCUE