you," suggested Paul. He scarcely believed the fat cadet would do it, but the suggestion came at just the right time, and the fleshy lad called:
"Here, porter, let me sit on top of my trunk. I can't go another step."
"Sure!" assented the man, and, a moment later, he was assisting the late passenger up on top of the baggage. There was a laugh from the crowd on the pier, in which Dick and his chums joined, but Innis Beeby cared little for that. He could breathe easier now, and there was a better chance of him catching the yacht.
The porter broke into a run with his load, and soon was alongside the Albatross. But the vessel was now in the grip of the tide, and, though the engine had been stopped, the yacht was moving. The gang-plank could not be run out, for a snubbing post was right in the way.
"Get off, and I'll throw your baggage on board!" cried the porter, for there was, as yet, but a small space of water between the steamer's rail and the bulkhead.
"Yes—but—how—am—I—going—to—get—on—board?" panted the exhausted cadet.
"We'll pull you up!" yelled Dick, for it would mean a lot of work to stop, and back up to the landing place.
Up over the rail went tumbling the trunk and suit-case. Dick threw Beeby a rope's end. The stout lad grasped it firmly. He was quite muscular, from his athletic practice at the academy.
