to the long sand-bank that lies submerged
between Tryn yr Wylfa and Puffin Island. The gale still lasted, and the
steamer was in momentary danger of becoming a complete wreck.

There is no lifeboat service at Tryn yr Wylfa. It was impossible to
launch an ordinary boat in such a sea.

Colonel Denbigh, the owner of the quarry and local magnate, who had been
superintending what feeble efforts had been made to effect a rescue,
answered gloomily when Betty Lardner asked him if there were any hope.

"It's a terrible thing," he jerked. "First time there has been a wreck
hereabouts. It's hopeless trying to launch a boat----"

"Suppose a fellow were to swim out to the wreck with a life-line in
tow?"

It was young Cargill who spoke.

The Colonel glared at him contemptuously.

"He would need to be a pretty fine swimmer," he returned.

"I don't want to blow my own trumpet, but I am considered to be one of
the best amateur swimmers in the country," replied Cargill calmly. "If
you will tell your men to get the line ready, I will borrow a bathing
suit from somewhere."

They both stared at him in amazement.

"But you are still an invalid," cried Betty Lardner. "You----"

She stopped short and regarded him with fresh wonder. Somehow he no
longer looked an invalid.

Mechanically she walked by his side to the little bathing office.
Suddenly she clutched his arm.

"Jack," she said, "have you forgotten the--the legend?"

"Betty," he replied, "have you forgotten the crew?"

While he was undressing the attendant asked him some trivial question.
He did not hear the man. His thoughts were far away. He was thinking of
a group of children playing on the bank of a canal.

To the accompaniment of the Colonel's protests they fixed a belt on him,
to which was attached the life-line.

He walked along the sloping wooden projection that is used as a landing
stage for pleasure skiffs, walked until the water splashed over him.
Then he dived into the boiling surf.

Thus it was that he earned Betty Lardner's forgiveness.

VII

THE LAST ASCENT

The extraordinary rapidity with which a successful airman may achieve
fame was well shown in the case of my friend, Radcliffe Thorpe. One week
known merely to a few friends as a clever young engineer, the next his
name was on the lips of the civilised world. His first success was
followed by a series of remarkable feats, of which his flight above the
Atlantic, his race with the torpe