g at a good clip. The wave at her nose was
foam-streaked and spreading broadly. The water in her wake boiled.

The sudden thrust Purt gave the dog cast the surprised brute
overboard; with a yelp of amazement he sank beneath the foam-streaked
surface as the motorboat rushed on.

But another yelp echoed the dog's; when Reddy Butts swerved the boat's
nose, the move was quite unexpected by Purt.

He dove forward, yelled loudly, and was cast over the edge of the deck
just as sprawlingly as the Barnacle himself!

"Man overboard!" yelled Reddy, scarcely able to say it for laughter.

The crowd on the other powerboat heard the shout, if they had not all
seen Purt's exhibition of diving. The dude went under just as deep as
the dog, and did not come to the surface anywhere near as quickly.

The Barnacle, whether he was a water-dog, or not, was a good swimmer.
When his head shot above the stream he yelped, started to paddle after
the _Duchess_ and her tow, saw that that was useless, and turned
toward the southerly bank of the stream.

The river was half a mile wide at this place, and the Barnacle left a
wake like a motorboat behind him. He was going to reach the shore all
right.

How about the master he had adopted? Purt came to the surface more
slowly, but when he got there he emitted a shriek like a steam
whistle.

The _Duchess_ had gone ahead of him. Arthur Hobbs was poised to leap
overboard; but there swept close to the dude one of the trailing
canoes, and just by raising an arm Purt reached it.

He clung to the gunwale and was dragged on behind the _Duchess_. At
first the canoe tipped and threatened to turn over; Purt slipped along
to the stern, and there got a grip on both sides, and so trailed on
behind, getting his breath.

"He's all right," said Reddy, chuckling. "Let him cool off a little,
Art."

The girls aboard the _Bonnie Lass_ were somewhat worried over Purt
Sweet's predicament. "He'll be drowned!" Lily Pendeton declared, first
of all.

"I'm not afraid of that," Bobby said. "But if that suit of his
shrinks, what a sight he'll be!"

"This is no time for light talk," declared Jess Morse. "Purt isn't a
very good swimmer."

"Well!" exclaimed Nellie, rather tartly for her, "how did he know
whether that poor dog could swim, or not?"

"Looks as though he had finally gotten rid of the Barnacle, just the
same," laughed Laura.

"We'll see about that," responded her brother, darkly. "That dog has
the stic