was just the silly, contrary way things always happened. Why should it
be he who was perishing like this? Why not Eustace Hignett? Now there was
a fellow whom this sort of thing would just have suited. Broken-hearted
Eustace Hignett would have looked on all this as a merciful release.

He paused in his reflections to try to disentangle the more prominent
of Mr. Swenson's limbs from about him. By this time he was sure that he
had never met anyone he disliked so intensely as Mr. Swenson--not even
his Aunt Adeline. The man was a human octopus. Sam could count seven
distinct legs twined round him and at least as many arms. It seemed to
him that he was being done to death in his prime by a solid platoon of
Swedes. He put his whole soul into one last effort ... something seemed
to give ... he was free. Pausing only to try to kick Mr. Swenson in the
face Sam shot to the surface. Something hard and sharp prodded him in
the head. Then something caught the collar of his coat; and, finally,
spouting like a whale, he found himself dragged upwards and over the
side of a boat.

* * * * *

The time which Sam had spent with Mr. Swenson below the surface had
been brief, but it had been long enough to enable the whole floating
population of the North River to converge on the scene in scows,
skiffs, launches, tugs and other vessels. The fact that the water in
that vicinity was crested with currency had not escaped the notice of
these navigators and they had gone to it as one man. First in the race
came the tug _Reuben S. Watson_, the skipper of which, following a
famous precedent, had taken his little daughter to bear him company. It
was to this fact that Marlowe really owed his rescue. Women have often
a vein of sentiment in them where men can only see the hard business