Jimmy Toppan had already begun to pull the small boat alongside, but before he could get into it, the young man called out:  “That’s all right!  I’ll swim.”

And he plunged into the water, and struck out toward us.  Of course he could not overtake a sail-boat, and we soon left him behind.  He kept on swimming, however, until his hat fell off.  Turning around, he picked up the hat, and jammed it on his head again.  By this time the Captain had put about, and started on a tack that brought us near the swimmer.  The young man came alongside, with a smile on his wet face.

“Don’t try to grab the boat,” shouted the Captain, “get hold of the tender!”

So the swimmer let us pass him, seized the side of the small boat, and after one or two trials (which nearly upset the tender) managed to climb in.  He stood up in the stern, and raised his hand toward the sky, again, as if he were “speaking a piece” in school.

“Safe!  Safe, at last!” he cried.

At this instant the painter became taut; the small boat gave a sudden jerk, and he went overboard again like a flash, head first.

Captain Bannister turned his head to see how the young man was getting on.  Of course the boat was empty.

“Where’n the nation has he got to, now?” exclaimed the bewildered Captain.

We were all doubled up laughing, but we managed to gasp out:  “He’s gone overboard again!”

“What’s he done that for?”

“He—­he—­fell over!”

“Fell over?  What’n the dickens did he do that for?  Where is he, anyhow?”

At this moment the sandy head, and astonished face came up, once more, in our wake.  He brushed the water out of his eyes, looked at us, and began to smile again.

“Say, you!” shouted the Captain, “be you comin’ on this boat, or what be you goin’ to do?”

The swimmer gasped.

“If you keep on at that rate,” he called, “I’m probably not coming.  If you’ll wait a bit, though, I’ll—­”

Here he swallowed a mouthful of water, and stopped speaking.  He waved one arm at us, however, and seemed to smile cheerfully.

“Well, I’ll come back once more,—­d’yer hear?” This from the Captain.  “An’ when yer get aboard, stay aboard, will yer?”

The “Hoppergrass” turned again, and the same performance was gone through.  The pink-shirted man climbed into the tender, but this time he sat down cautiously in the stern, and waited for the painter to become taut.  It had not slackened however, so there was no chance for another such accident as that which knocked him overboard before.  He watched the painter for a moment, and then shook his fist at it.

“Fooled you that time, you old rope!”

Jimmy and Ed pulled the tender alongside, and the wet man stepped gingerly aboard the “Hoppergrass.”  His clothes stuck tight to him, and his shoes made a squshy sound, wherever he stepped.  But he insisted on shaking hands with us, all around.