Little can be done for
the poor fellow now."

"Oh, lots can be done," returned Patsy; "but perhaps it won't bring him
back to life. Anyhow, it's right to make every attempt, as promptly as
possible, and certainly Uncle John didn't waste any time."

Beth and Florence now joined them and Louise came running up to ask eager
questions.

"Who was it, Patsy?"

"We don't know. Some poor fellow who got too far out and had a cramp,
perhaps. Or his strength may have given out. He didn't seem very rugged."

"He was struggling when first I saw him," said Maud. "It seemed dreadful
to watch the poor boy drowning when hundreds of people were laughing and
playing in the water within earshot of him."

"That was the trouble," declared Arthur Weldon. "All those people were
intent on themselves and made so much noise that his cries for help could
not be heard."

The tragedy, now generally known, had the effect of sobering the bathers
and most of them left the water and trooped to the bathhouses to dress.
Mrs. Montrose advised the girls to get their clothes on, as all were
shivering--partly from nervousness--in their wet bathing suits.

They were ready an hour before Mr. Merrick returned, and his long absence
surprised them until they saw his smiling face as he drove up in his car.
It gave them a thrill of hope as in chorus they cried:

"Well--Uncle John?"

"I think he will live," returned the little man, with an air of great
satisfaction. "Anyway, he's alive and breathing now, and the doctors say
there's every reason to expect a rapid recovery."

"Who is he?" they asked, crowding around him.

"A. Jones."

"A--what?" This from Patsy, in a doubtful tone.

"Jones. A. Jones."

"Why, he must have given you an assumed name!"

"He didn't give us any name. As soon as he recovered consciousness he
fell asleep, and I left him slumbering as peacefully as a baby. But we
went through his clothes, hoping to get a trace of his friends, so they
could be notified. His bathing suit is his own, not rented, and the name
'A. Jones' is embroidered on tape and sewn to each piece. Also the key to
bathhouse number twenty-six was tied to his wrist. The superintendent
sent a man for his clothing and we examined that, too. The letters 'A.J.'
were stamped in gold on his pocketbook, and in his cardcase were a number
of cards engraved: 'A. Jones, Sangoa.' But there were no letters, or any
other papers."

"Where is Sangoa?" inquired Beth.

"No one