The blow
sickened him. He clung desperately to Caradoc's hand, his grip
weakening, his senses swimming with the feeling of an awful void beneath
him. The strength in his fingers gave way, and he felt a chill sensation
before the coming downward plunge. But even in his twisted, straining
position, the Englishman's long fingers did not loose Madden's wrist. A
moment later, Leonard had lost consciousness completely, swung in
midair, limp as a bag.
The American had a dim impression of being drawn to the top of the side
wall, and the crew clustering about him. Someone splashed water in his
face and the world cleared up before his eyes. The young fellow called
Greer was whisking on the water, but when Madden opened his eyes, he set
the bucket down and returned silently to his work.
"There, ye're bether now," grinned Hogan stooping over the wounded man.
"That platform caught yez a little love lick in the slats--break any of
'em?"
Leonard reached across and felt his side. "How came the smack there?" he
inquired weakly. "Why didn't I see it?"
"Ye was lookin' astern, an' th' vissil barely turned the bow of th' dock
an' her boom kissed us all th' way down. I yilled at ye, so did
Dashalong an' th' silent man. Thin I got so interested in l'arnin' he
could say a worrd, I quit lookin' at you complately.
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