h of the
steamer, I guess," for he had been around the lake front so constantly
that he was a regular water-rat, and he knew what every whistle signal
meant.

As the boy glanced out to where the steamer was he saw the rowboat,
almost in the path of the big vessel, for the pilot of the freighter
had shifted his wheel to avoid a collision, though changing his course
meant that he could not make as good a landing as he had expected.

"Why, that rowboat's going to be smashed!" the boy exclaimed,
repeating the general opinion of the crowd. "The steamer can't get up
to the bulkhead without grinding it to pieces. There! He's reversing!"

As he spoke there came across the narrow expanse of water the sound of
bells from the engine-room--bells that indicated, to the practiced ear
of the lad, the signal for the engineer to back the freight steamer.

"That boat's worth saving," the boy murmured as he jumped off the box
and went closer to the end of the pier. "I'm going to do it, too.
Maybe I'll get a reward."

He lost no time in useless thinking, but, throwing off his coat with
one motion and divesting himself of his trousers by another, he poised
himself for an instant on the stringpiece of the pier, clad in his
undergarments.

"Here! What you going to do?" yelled a special officer who was
detailed on the pier. "Nobody allowed to commit suicide here!"

"Who's going to commit suicide?" demanded the boy. "I'm going after
that rowboat."

"The steamer'll run you down!"

"Not much! Didn't you hear the reverse signal?"

The officer had, but he did not know as much about boats and their
signals as did Nat Morton, which was the name of the lad about to leap
into the lake.

In fact, the big steamer, which had slackened speed on approaching the
pier, was now slowly backing away. The action of the wind, however,
and the waves created by the propeller, operated to send the rowboat
nearer to the large vessel.

With a splash Nat Morton dived into the lake, cleaving the water
cleanly. When he shot up to the surface a few seconds later he was
considerably nearer the boat, for he had swum under water as far as he
could, as it was easier and he could go faster. Few tricks in the
swimming or diving line were unknown to Nat Morton.

"That's a plucky lad," observed one man to another.

"Indeed he is," was the reply. "Who is he?"

"I don't know much about him, except I see him along the lake and
river front every time a steamer come