CHAPTER VIII.
A RESCUE, AND A GRAND GOOD TIME.
Dab Kinzer and his friend were prompt enough coming to the rescue of their unfortunate fellow-lubber; but to get him out of the queer wreck he had made of that punt looked like a tough task to both of them, and they said as much.
"I isn't drownin'," exclaimed Dick heroically, as the other boat was pulled alongside of him.

"Jest you take your scoop-net, and save dem crabs." "They won't drown," said Ford.
"But they'll get away," said Dab, as he snatched up the scoop.

"Dick's head is perfectly level on that point." The side-boards of the old punt were under water half the time, but the crabs were pretty well penned in.

Even a couple of them, that had mistaken Dick's wool for another sheep's-head, were secured without difficulty, in spite of the firmness with which they clung to their prize.
"What luck he'd been having!" said Ford.
"He always does," said Dab.

"I say, Dick, how'll I scoop you in ?" "Has you done got all de crabs ?" "Every pinner of 'em." "Den you jest wait a minute." Waiting was all that was left them to do, for the shining black face and woolly head disappeared almost instantly.
"He's sunk," exclaimed Ford.
"There he comes," replied Dab: "he'd swum ashore from here, and not half try.