“Here’s a chance, sir—a chance! You—you’ve slanged and vilified me all the morning for making a muddle of the rescue scene. Here’s the real thing! Here’s a chance to show me how to do it now!” The walking-stick fell from Eliphalet’s hand and a fine colour flushed his cheek, as he said, articulating each word with biting emphasis: “I am sixty-two years of age, Mr. Cartwright.” But Cartwright, his temper roused by much pricking, was beyond the touch of sarcasm. “I merely said it was a chance,” he replied. “I didn’t expect you would take it.” The old man’s face went very white, and with trembling fingers he released the buttons of his long coat. “Did you not?” he said. “I have never asked a man to perform what I lacked the courage to do myself, Mr. Cartwright, so kindly observe me.” And, throwing aside his coat, he sprang head-first into the water. “Good God!” exclaimed Cartwright, and fell back a pace. Naturally, by this time a crowd had assembled. With the light of hope in their eyes, and greatly to the confusion of their lines, the melancholy fishermen came hurrying to the spot. The various sweet and novelty shops swiftly gave up their complement of be-pearled, peroxided maidens. A very worldly-wise young man, in a blue suit, which seemed to be entering into a colour competition with the sea, on the not unnatural assumption that a cinema play was in course of production, asked his friend where the camera was situated. From the far side of the pier a boatman, whose duty it was to guard the destinies of bathers, aroused himself from lethargy and plied a busy oar among the pier-piles, beneath the spectators, towards the confusion in the water. An old lady in a bath-chair, who, that very morning, had confided to her fellow-guests at the boarding-house her utter inability to walk unaided, alighted from her conveyance with surprising alacrity and managed to secure a place in the front row, while, in token of the mistake of leaping rapidly to conclusions, from the back of the crowd came a querulous and oft-repeated cry of “Fire!” “Make a passage there,” shouted a compelling voice, and shouldering his way through the crowd came Mr. Manning. Seeing Cartwright, he demanded: “What the hell’s up?” “The Guv’nor! A girl fell into the sea, and—and he—he went in after her.” “What! But he can’t swim, man—he’ll drown!” And gripping the pier railings, Mr. Manning leant perilously over the side. “You don’t mean that,” gasped Cartwright. “Mean it! Look for yourself, you fool!” And Cartwright looked.