Bud was floundering and thrashing about weakly. He
seemed dazed by the sudden shock of his plight.
"Or maybe the impact of the projectile stunned him!" Tom surmised.
Bud began groping his way upward just as Tom came alongside of him. Tom
grabbed him as best he could, hooking onto his belt. At the same time,
the young inventor inhaled deeply, yanked out Bud's useless mouthpiece,
and inserted his own in its place.
Bud's eyes glowed with gratitude.
"We'll have to get topside fast," Tom thought, "even though it means
risking the bends."
He stroked upward and they shot toward the surface. Bud assisted to some
extent, partly revived by the gulp of air.
As they rose, fathom by fathom, their progress seemed to grow
maddeningly slower. Tom had to let air bubbles escape constantly from
his mouth. As the pressure decreased, due to the lessening depth of the
water, the air in his lungs expanded and he was forced to breathe out.
Tom noticed with dismay that Bud was not responding very well, his
feeble strokes were jerky and uncoordinated. "Must've lost pressure too
fast when his tank was hit," Tom realized.
The water was growing greener and brighter now as they neared the
sunshine. The _Sea Hound_'s shadowy outline loomed just above. With a
last desperate burst of strength, Tom lunged upward and they broke
water.
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