But as soon as he tried to work, he was in trouble. The log commenced to
roll; he to struggle for his balance. It always ended with a mighty
splash and a shout of joy from every one in sight, as the unfortunate
youth soused in all over. Then, after many efforts, he dragged himself
out, his garments heavy and dripping, and cautiously tried to gain the
perpendicular. This ordinarily required several attempts, each of which
meant another ducking as the treacherous log rolled at just the wrong
instant. The boy was game, though, and kept at it earnestly in spite of
repeated failure.
Welton watched two repetitions of this performance.
"Dick!" he roared across the tumult of sound.
Roaring Dick, whose light, active figure had been seen everywhere across
the logs, looked up, recognized Welton, and zigzagged skilfully ashore.
He stamped the water from his shoes.
"Why don't you fire that kid ashore?" demanded Welton. "Do you want to
drown him? He's so cold now he don't know where's his feet?"
Roaring Dick glanced carelessly at the boy. The latter had succeeded in
gaining the shallows, where he was trying to roll over a stranded log.
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