“Pull us to the land,” he commanded, but Max was in for mischief. “Don’t do it. On we go,” and then he began to sing: “A life on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep.” Poor Klatchman overcame his fear of Max and jumped out of the boat. A big, powerful fellow--swimming like a fish--he tried to reach the land. The current was too strong. He struck out vigorously, but was carried along backward. Ibrahim was so frightened that he threatened to jump out. “Don’t do it,” implored Max. But Ibrahim was determined and Max was afraid that not only would the native perish, but that his Persian friend would be sacrificed also. “It is only a joke,” said Max, “we will pull back now.” “And Klatchman?” “He will catch up to us.” Ibrahim sat down again, and Max ordered the Arabs to pull back to the place from which they started. A few strokes and Ibrahim again interfered. “Save the poor wretch, Max, for my sake.” “If you like, but Klatcher can catch up to us; it is good to give him a scare.” “Please save him.” Max laughed long and heartily. “How serious you are. One would think we were in the rapids of Niagara.” “My dear fellow--Klatchman is a human being----” “Is he?” “Of course he is.” “Thought perhaps he was Darwin’s missing link.” Max may appear to the reader to have been thoroughly heartless, but he was not. For weeks he had curbed his spirit of fun and had played no practical jokes. Now he had a chance to frighten the poor savage and Ibrahim at the same time. That was his only idea. If he had thought poor Klatchman was in any danger he would have been the first to have even risked his life to rescue him; but in the first place he did not believe in the danger, and then he looked upon the savage much as he would upon a Newfoundland dog--one quite as much at home in the water as out of it. “Never mind what he is,” said Ibrahim, “don’t be heartless, Max. Save the poor wretch.” Max looked round and saw that the native had resigned himself to his fate. He had ceased to make any effort to save himself. “Look, Ib. It’s a whirlpool, by all that’s holy!” Max was right; Klatchman’s body was being whirled round at a furious rate. “If only he had a torch in his hand he would look like a Fourth of July pin-wheel,” continued the madcap. Turning to the Arabs, he said: “Pull to the wretch and drag him into the boat.” “It is not safe, your excellency.” “Tush! do as you are told.” The men bent to the oars and pulled toward the whirlpool, but no sooner had they changed the position of the boat than it seemed to fly over the water, borne along by some fierce current below the surface. “This is awful,” exclaimed Ibrahim. “Awfully jolly, you mean,” replied the American. “I am afraid.” “Are you? Whyou!” whistled Max, “but we are in for it now.” He was right; the boat whirled round like a teetotum. It was useless to try and manage it. “Great Scott! What a race.”