id. He waved, and the
Fort dipped her wings. She went roaring on toward the thin black line
which was the coast.

That meant rescue unless the high waves battered him and pulled him
under before a boat located him. He was struggling to stay afloat on the
rough sea when a Spitfire began circling overhead. The Spit dropped down
lower and lower. It wove back and forth and finally it dived toward him.
Stan waved some more.

The Spit stayed with Stan until an orange-snouted speedboat appeared
over the foam-rimmed horizon. The boat came roaring toward him, guided
by the Spit. Stan grinned eagerly. Nice teamwork. Allison had radioed,
the Spitfire pilot had picked up the message, and he had been rescued.

The speedboat pulled alongside and strong hands caught hold of Stan.

"Up you come, me hearty," a seaman shouted.

Stan was so chilled he had to hang on to the arm of the sailor to keep
his knees from buckling.

"A bit chilly, eh?" a young officer asked. "Come along. We'll wrap you
in a newfangled blanket your Uncle Sam just furnished us."

"It wasn't exactly a Turkish bath," Stan admitted.

"I'll radio in for an ambulance," the officer said as he helped Stan
wiggle out of his soggy clothes and into the electrically heated
blanket.

"No ambulance," Stan said. "I'll catch a ride over to my base with
someone."

"The ambulance is the fastest way," the officer said.

"They'd take me to a hospital, and that's the last place I want to see.
Just dry my outfit if you can."

"Glad to, old fellow, and we'll have a spot of hot tea ready for you in
a jiffy." The officer turned away.

Stan drank hot tea and toasted himself inside the blanket until they
were near the port where they were to put in. By that time his clothing
had been dried by one of the machinist mate's men in the engine room.

Getting dressed Stan went on deck. They were edging in beside a pier.
Stan was the first over the side. He shook hands with the British
officer and waved to the crew, then he headed for a row of cars parked
along the street near the wharf. Picking out a car with a uniformed girl
at the wheel he walked over to it.

"Hi, Yank," the girl greeted him. "You look a bit wrinkled."

"I just had my daily bath in the channel." Stan grinned at the girl. "My
butler forgot to pack my bathing suit so I went in as is. How about a
lift?"

"This is Sir Eaton Pelham's car. I'm afraid it isn't available." She
smiled sweetly when she said it.

Sta