"What for?" pursued the sergeant, in triumph. "Be reasonable, Mr.
Turnbull. Where's the reason in pushing you overboard and then nearly
losing his life saving you? That would be a fool's trick. It was as
fine a thing as ever I saw."

"What you 'ad, Mr. Turnbull," said the stout fisherman, tapping him on
the arm, "was a little touch o' the sun."

"What felt to you like a push," said another man, "and over you went."

"As easy as easy," said a third.

"You're red in the face now," said the stout fisherman, regarding him
critically, "and your eyes are starting. You take my advice and get 'ome
and get to bed, and the first thing you'll do when you get your senses
back will be to go round and thank Mr. Blundell for all 'e's done for
you."

[Illustration: "You take my advice and get 'ome and get to bed."]

Mr. Turnbull looked at them, and the circle of intelligent faces grew
misty before his angry eyes. One man, ignoring his sodden condition,
recommended a wet handkerchief tied round his brow.

"I don't want any thanks, Mr. Turnbull," said Blundell, feebly, as he was
assisted to his feet. "I'd do as much for you again."

The stout fisherman patted him admiringly on the back, and Mr. Turnbull
felt like a prophet beholding a realised vision as the spectators