"It seems a bit unsafe, to me," he said. "How come?"
"Unsafe!" Alan cried. "That's putting it in a mild—Hi!"
For at that moment the baby, suddenly spying and snatching for a floating leaf, capsized her box and disappeared under the muddy water with a small wail. Mark was absolutely unhesitating. With one swift look to gage the distance, he dived off the stern of the Sham-Poo, and reappeared, sputtering, with the ship-wrecked infant clutched under his arm. Alan hauled them both on board the Sham-Poo, which, her helm abandoned, had run herself gently aground on the bank.
"Now what?" said Alan to his brother, who stood wringing the water out of his clothes.
"Well, you couldn't let the thing drown, could you?" Mark demanded. "We'll hand it over to the next old woman we run across on the bank."
"I was afraid you might want to add it to the expedition," Alan said.
"Law!" said Mark. "This boat is in trouble enough without Chink babies crawling around in it."
