"Hold 'em!" Ted shouted over and over again, just as the Brighton lads
had been wont to yell in unison at their football games when the
opposing eleven was smashing its way toward Brighton's goal. Once
again the coil was ready; once again it was flung outward from the
deck of the _Dewey_. This time it fairly lashed Jack's face. The
sting of the hemp seethed to whip new courage into him. Making one
last frantic effort he clutched and held the precious rope, just as
Ted sprang from the submarine and dived to the rescue.
Jack remembered no more. When he came to he was stretched in his bunk
in the hold of the _Dewey_. Ted was bending over him.
"Thank God you are alive, Jack, old chum!" Ted was murmuring, with
glad tears brimming from his eyes.
Jack strove to raise himself on one elbow but fell back limply, weak
from the terrible struggle through which he had passed.
"How about 'Little Mack'?" he managed finally to ask faintly.
"Alive but yet unconscious," replied Ted, "They have gotten most of
the water out of his lungs and are using the pulmotor.
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