"Never confuse the unusual with the impossible." - Quote by Psmith.
This sums my defense against any possible quibbles made by readers who might complain about certain unrealistic aspects of my story. Keep in mind that the tale is a fictional one and even a bit silly. I claim artistic license. All characters are over eighteen and are fictional.
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It would be a cruel trick to play on readers, to introduce a character and kill him off before he has even said a word. Never fear, it won't happen here, as eagle-eyed readers of the previous chapter might have guessed. For there was a loophole given, big enough to drive a moving lorry through.
His own power, having proved insufficient for James Wheatley, there remained the fleeting possibility of an auxiliary source of propulsion. If such was to be, it behooves us to supply the necessary means reasonably quickly. Fortunately for authors, time in stories need not run linearly.
The question is where to begin the introduction of the savior of our poor hero. While it is true that the reason for Mary Carpenter's presence aboard the yacht started six years ago, it might be possible to shorten the tale.
Mary was a friend of the only daughter of the American Soap tycoon J. Peter Waters, Karen Waters. As Karen's friend, she was privileged to be invited to accompany Karen on a European Tour. For a child of middle-class parents, the chance was too good to miss. So, and here the tale has been edited drastically, we find her Johnny-on-the-spot in that instant James found himself in need.
The girl was feeling blue. Mary was unhappy to be left behind aboard the yacht from her friend's beach picnic. Because Karen's stepmother was expecting that Karen's current suitor would be popping the question, she suggested that Mary be absent from the scene. Not that it would do much good for that poor chump.
Mary looked over the side of the boat to see what the dickens was making noise. She saw a man who seemed to be in distress. She might have hesitated before diving in if his eyes didn't meet hers. The brief silent appeal forced her to put aside her ill-feeling towards men. His head disappeared beneath the surface, but she knew she'd dream about that look forever if she did nothing. After all, he was human, so she dove in.
Mary was one of those females who have something against men. Women had the vote now for all the good that did, but men were still men, and most she'd met were very sorry specimens. There was one particular man who was the cause of this feeling in her. It seems to be a rule that there is, and he was her friend's older brother Arthur.
She happened to be attired for a swim at the critical moment. Her smashing figure was revealed in her black and white bathing costume. It was by far the most daring outfit she had ever worn, perfect for a dip in the Mediterranean. Her legs were exposed to the extent that it would be shocking back home in the States. The suit ended well above her lovely knees. This gave her the freedom to dive in and kick out forcefully for the unfortunate flounder.
Such was her zeal, James had not been below the surface more than a few seconds before she arrived on the scene. She dove down and grasped Wheatley by the arms and hauled him up to the air. Once there, Mary got behind him, wrapped her arms under his and around his chest. Then it was a simple matter for the girl, for she was a strapping lass, to lean back and carry the man towards the anchor line. She used those lovely unencumbered legs to propel them.
She noticed the man lacked something found on almost all men most of the time. Clothing was what was missing. He didn't seem to be wearing even the most rudimentary bathing suit. She tried not to think about it, but the more she tried not to, the more she did. Isn't that always the way?
She grabbed hold of the line to hold them up and then thought about how to get them up on the boat. Try as she might, she could think of no way to do it. She concluded that the only thing to do was to get the attention of someone already aboard.
By what she'd already done, you can tell she wasn't one of those shrinking violet types of girls. When she shouted, she did it as if she meant for someone to hear her. "Help! Woman Overboard! Help," she called boisterously.
The first and second calls brought no reaction. Mary knew why. It was because Karen's Stepmother was making a spectacle of herself. The warm southern sun and the comfortable breeze had provided the retired chorus girl the opportunity to show more of herself than was strictly decent. Like some former chorus girls, Mrs. Waters sometimes missed being the center of attention. She didn't miss the work, the rehearsals, or the hours, but did miss the adulation of admirers.
The Captain and the deckhand remaining on the boat were no doubt still engaged in ogling her breathtaking figure. Mary had ignored their eyeballing as much as it was possible to while aboard the yacht. She'd moved to the other end of the boat to escape the scene. It was disgusting to see them rubbing not subtle enough on the fronts of their trousers. Men had barely evolved when it came to their penises. It was just one more mark against men as far as she was concerned.
Finally, after the third call, the deckhand appeared at the bow staring stupidly far out to sea. Tom or Jerry, it was impossible to know which of the identical twin deckhands this one was, called out loudly, "Say what? Anyone out there?"
Mary spoke up at once, "Hello, down here."
Tom or Jerry dropped his gaze to the anchor line and spotted the damsel and her catch. "I say. Nice day for a swim, isn't it? Who's the gentleman with you?"
Evidently, he was using the term gentleman in its loosest sense. No true gentleman would swim around naked, and if he did, he wouldn't go drowning where a lady would have to save him. Or so Mary believed, and who can blame her?
"Hurry up and throw me a rope. I need you to haul this man aboard. He nearly drowned," said Mary quite sure of what she wanted.
Given an order he was happy to obey, it was best that way, it was the Navy way. Near at hand, there was a line as if it was there for that very purpose. It is amazing how on a shipshape vessel, things like that happen. In sailor-like fashion, he tied a loop in the rope and tossed that end of the line to Mary.
Mary got the loop around the man. Not around the neck as one might suppose a man-hater would do it, but under his arms around his surprisingly hairy chest. Now that her burden was secured, she let go and called out, "Haul away ho." She'd heard the phrase shouted when the Captain wanted the sails raised and thought it might be applicable.
Hauling on ropes was Tom or Jerry's forte, so it's not surprising he did it with gusto. Even though James was no lightweight, and nearly was dead weight, he was soon lifted clear of the water. This exposed Wheatley to Mary's view.
Sometimes one's first sight causes love to come in with a rush, stealing the beholder's reason away in the throes of rapture. This was not one of those times. Instead, Mary shuddered to the core of her being. Her horror may not have been so extreme if James had been facing the other way; unfortunately, he was facing towards her.
James wasn't in an aroused state, far from it. It had shrunk to the size of a button. In fact, his member was in survival mode. When the blood is needed elsewhere, like the old gray matter, it tends to vacate the less critical regions. For some reason, this includes the sexual organ. This goes to show that even nature finds intellect more desirable than mere procreation. So the Philosophers have taught through the ages to the unthinking public.
