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Code Schofield lay with his eyes closed, pale as wax, and seemingly dead. In his right hand he still gripped convulsively the bailing-can he had used until consciousness left him. Man, boat, and all, the dory was hauled up and let gently down on the deck. Then the eager hands lifted Schofield from the water and laid him on the oiled boards. "Take him into my cabin," ordered Tanner.
I'll take you, but not for your fifty dollars. You pay the regulation price, and that's all." A gust of the gale caught the light shell and swept it broadside for a score of feet. The spray drove inboard in a continuous stinging shower, and Frona at once fell to work with the bailing-can. "I hope we're blown ashore," he shouted, stooping forward to the oars. "It would be embarrassing for you."
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