That was all.

The peril passed and was forgotten.

Nor did he connect the rifle-shots with the passing of the peril.

He did not know, and he was never to know, that one, known to men as Harley Kennan, but known as "Husband-Man" by the woman he called "Wife-Woman," who owned the three-topmast schooner yacht _Ariel_, had saved his life by sending a thirty-thirty Marlin bullet through the base of a shark's fin.
But Jerry was to know Harley Kennan, and quickly, for it was Harley Kennan, a bowline around his body under his arm-pits, lowered by a couple of seamen down the generous freeboard of the _Ariel_, who gathered in by the nape of the neck the smooth-coated Irish terrier that, treading water perpendicularly, had no eyes for him so eagerly did he gaze at the line of faces along the rail in quest of the one face.
No pause for thanks did he make when he was dropped down upon the deck.
Instead, shaking himself instinctively as he ran, he scurried along the deck for Skipper.

The man and his wife laughed at the spectacle.
"He acts as if he were demented with delight at being rescued," Mrs.
Kennan observed.
And Mr.Kennan: "It's not that.