With a feeling of anxiety such as he had never before known, Tom leaned out over the stern framework. He had hazarded a guess that Ned might have been rash enough to have attempted to gain the stern propeller bearings.

But his surprise and relief were not any the less on that account when he saw, lying limp and senseless across the slender stern shaft supports, the body of his young chum, for such Ned had grown to be in their weeks of work and association.

“Great Glory!” he exclaimed in his relief. “Heiny, hurray! he’s alive. Had an attack of air-sickness I guess, and it’s knocked him out.”

But in the midst of his jubilation came another thought,—a reflection that sent the hot blood curdling like ice water through Tom’s veins. Suppose the boy were suddenly to regain consciousness and, not realizing where he was, attempt to raise himself? In such a case he must inevitably be dashed to death through space.

Still further reflection, after the first gush of his joy at finding his comrade alive had subsided, convinced Tom that to get him on board from his perilous position would be no mean undertaking in itself. Ned lay some eight feet out from the end of the “running-bridge.” His inert form was balanced across the swaying, vibrating framework. Would that framework—it looked as slender as a spider’s web—bear the weight of the two boys?

Tom thought it would. He knew the care with which every section of the Electric Monarch had been constructed. Every rivet and bolt in her had been tested and retested to three times the strain that would be placed upon it.

“I’ll risk it,” decided Tom. “Here, Heiny, hold my coat.”

He stripped off his khaki Norfolk swiftly and handed it to the German who, too stupefied by the sight of Ned’s perilous position to say anything, stood gaping, open-mouthed, powerless to speak or move. He took Tom’s coat mechanically. Then speech came to him.

“Vot you do, hein?”

“Can’t you see I’m going out there to get Ned on board again?”

“Himmel! You preak your neg.”

“I don’t think so.”

So saying Tom cautiously got astride of the framework, and began worming his way toward Ned’s still form. It was terrible work, but Tom knew that the return trip would be still more accompanied by peril. Steeling himself to the task in hand, he worked slowly forward while Heiny stood petrified watching him.

Foot by foot, or inch by inch, as it seemed to Tom, he drew closer to the form of the boy he had come to rescue. At last he could touch him and look into his white face.

The boy lay as limp as a bundle, and in Tom’s eyes it was better so. It made his task so much the easier. He extended his hands and got a firm grip on Ned’s body.

Then he began to work his way backwards. It was agonizing work. In order to keep Ned balanced on the narrow strut, he was compelled to use only his feet to steady himself. Both hands were required to hold Ned on the perilous perch. Tom dared not look downward. The thought of the profundity of space that lay beneath them made him sick and dizzy.

Tom could never tell just how that journey was made. It was only a few feet, but it seemed like so many miles. Ever present in his mind, too, was the danger of Ned’s regaining consciousness and making some sudden move. In such a case they might both be doomed to death.

The wind from the propellers blew against Tom with vicious intensity. His legs ached as if they would drop off, for he had them alone to depend on both for balance and motion. But at last, somehow or other, he came within reach of Heiny Dill’s grasp.

The German lad was ready. As Tom felt the last ounce of his strength oozing from him he felt, too, a strong grasp on his shoulders.

“Stetty! Stetty!” came a voice in his ears.

“I’m all right,” muttered Tom thickly. He helped Heiny drag Ned in to safety and then he, too, almost gave out. But he knew that Jack in the pilot house would be eagerly awaiting news. So putting aside his weariness he seized the stern speaking tube and sent the good news to the young commander. This done, Ned was taken to the cabin and restoratives administered from the Electric Monarch’s medicine chest, with which she had been provided in the anticipation that some day the boys might want to take a long voyage.

Ned, who was naturally full of vitality, was soon himself again and insisted on taking his watch at the motors. As for Tom, his buoyant nature took even less time in recovering from the strain that had been put upon it. We will leave it to the imagination what the boys had to say to each other when Ned learned that it was Tom who had saved his life at the risk of his own.

Not long after this Jack, who had taken the craft quite a distance out to sea, determined to turn back landward and make a swift flight home. He judged they had done quite enough to prove the Electric Monarch’s worth and in this the others agreed with him.

They were perhaps a mile off the shore when Joyce, on the lookout forward, gave a sudden sharp hail through the speaking tube.

“Ship below us, sir.”

“What is she?” hailed back Jack.

“Looks like a steamer. Passenger boat, I guess.”

“I reckon I’ll give her a call,” said Jack to himself as he hung up the tube. “My! won’t her passengers be surprised, though.”

He took out the binoculars and had a look at the steamer Joyce had made out. She was a fair-sized vessel with one black funnel amidships. Her white upperworks showed she was a passenger craft.

Jack hailed Ned Nevins on the engine platform.

“Put on your best bib and tucker, Ned, we’re going calling.”

“Calling!” came back the astonished exclamation.

“Yes, deep sea calling. Hail Tom and tell him to look his prettiest. Too bad we didn’t bring any cards.”