"I'm afraid he inhaled some of the flames," he said, "or he may have struck his head on something when he went overboard. We must get him home, and into bed, as soon as possible." There were several automobiles at the lake front, and in one of these Dick was taken to the Hamilton mansion at a speed which broke the law--but no one minded that. Mr. Hamilton was much startled, but he calmly gave orders to have his son cared for. Another physician was summoned, and the two worked over the unconscious form together, while Mr. Hamilton, his face drawn and white, paced anxiously up and down in the hall outside the room. Suddenly there sounded the patter of feet on the stairs, and, a moment later, something was muzzling Mr. Hamilton's legs, while a gentle whine begged his attention. "What is it, Grit, old boy?" he asked, huskily, as he reached over and patted the big bulldog's head. "You know something's wrong, don't you? Well--maybe it--maybe it will be all right." The dog whined and sniffed at the door of the room where the unconscious form of his master lay. "No--no--not now, Grit, old boy," said Mr. Hamilton, softly, and Grit with a look as much as to say that he knew what was going on, stretched out--a grim guardian at the portal of the silent chamber. Then, from the room, came a voice, at the sound of which the dog gave a joyous bark, and then, as though conscious that he had done wrong, he changed it to a whine. Mr. Hamilton, with wildly beating heart, heard his son murmur: "Oh, it's cold, so cold! Where am I? Is the fire out? Did I run down any boats?" Then came the calm voices of the doctors, urging their patient to be quiet. But this was more than Grit could do. His whining was like the cry of a child, and he scratched frantically at the door. "That's Grit. Let him in," Dick said, in stronger tones, and Mr. Hamilton uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. The portal was swung and Grit bounded into the room, followed by the millionaire. One of Dick's hands hung over the side of the bed, and Grit began licking it frantically. "Good--old Grit," murmured Dick, and Grit was content. "How is he?" asked Mr. Hamilton, in a whisper. "I'm all right, dad," answered Dick, unexpectedly. "Not as bad as we feared," answered one of the physicians. "He has inhaled no flames, but he struck his head on something as he jumped. Probably on a bit of floating wreckage. He will be all right after a few days' rest. But he must be kept quiet. No excitement. I congratulate you on your brave son, Mr. Hamilton." The millionaire silently wrung the hand the physician held out to him. "It wasn't anything," murmured Dick, in sleepy tones. "I had to stop the boat, and the only way I saw was to put a hole in the bottom. Too bad; it was a fine boat." "You can have another, if we can't raise her," interrupted Mr. Hamilton.