They did, but presently the rope grew taut and came very unwillingly. With two men at the other end and wind and tide both striving to defeat them it was a veritable tug-of-war. But foot by foot the line came in, wet and dripping, as the three boys dug their heels into the yielding sand and put weight and muscle into the task. “There they are,” muttered Dick in a moment. “I can see them. They’re almost into the calm water.” And then the rope came easier, and presently, with Chub and Roy still pulling, Dick sprang out, floundered to his armpits, and relieved the artist of his limp burden. In another moment the rescued man lay on the sand above the water and the artist was throwing off the rope with hurrying fingers. His face was white and his breath came in gasps. But the boys were staring in amazement at the upturned face on the beach. “Billy Noon!” cried Chub. “Is he drowned?” asked Roy in a trembling voice. “No, he’s alive,” answered the artist, “but we’ve got to get him to the boat. Who’ll give me a hand with him?” “Here,” said Dick, “you let us take him, Mr. Cole. You’ve done enough. He isn’t heavy.” But he was, for his clothes were sodden with water; and the wind buffeted them at every step. Mr. Cole bore his share of the burden and in a few moments they laid him on the floor of the studio. Pillows from the bedroom were hurriedly brought and the limp body was turned over on them, face downward, while coat and shirt were torn away and the artist’s strong hands manipulated the body. There proved to be but little water in the lungs and so they turned Billy over on his back and placed one of the pillows under his head. Then Roy pumped the arms up and down as he had learned to do in the foot-ball field while the artist massaged the upper part of the body until the flesh began to glow. The ashen hue of the lips disappeared and a faint spot of color came into each cheek. The breathing, which had been faint and labored, became strong and regular. Mr. Cole brought a flask and pressed a few spoonfuls of spirits between the lips. Then they finished undressing him and all took a hand at bringing warmth back to the chilled body. In another moment the eyelids flickered and opened. Billy looked weakly at Mr. Cole and closed his eyes again. “He’s all right,” said the artist heartily. And Billy proved it by saying something, the sense of which no one gathered, and trying to sit up. “Here, you stay where you are for a minute,” commanded the artist. He brought a big dressing-gown and they rolled Billy up in it. Then they carried him into the bedroom and laid him on the bed, covering him with blankets until Chub feared that they’d go to the other extreme and smother him to death. “Now you go to sleep,” said Mr. Cole, and Billy obeyed like a sleepy child. The others returned to the sitting-room where Jack went into spasms of delight over the return of his master.