CHAPTER XXII THE RESCUE

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then twenty voices broke into ejaculations of surprise and dismay, and the bearer of the tidings was surrounded by a questioning group.

Dan sat an instant sick and faint. Then he leaped to his feet and thrust his way through the cluster of questioning fellows.

“I don’t believe it,” he said forcibly. “Where’d you hear it?”

“It’s all over school,” answered the boy. “They brought them back just now, and they’re in Merle. And Arthur Thompson was with them, and—”

“Thompson!” cried Dan. “Was he there?”

“Look here, Billy,” said Millener sternly, “did you see the—the bodies?”

“No, I was in the village. Joe Dexter told me just now in front of Oxford.”

“Did he see them?”

“I think so. Anyhow, it’s true, Millener.”

Dan felt a clutch on his arm and looked around into the anxious face of Alf.

[261]

“Come,” he said gruffly, “and let’s find out the truth about this. Where’s your jacket?”

“I don’t know; I don’t need it. Come on.” As they ran across to the entrance of Merle Hall, Dan turned fiercely to Alf. “If it’s true,” he said, “and that chap Thompson had anything to do with it, I’ll wring his neck! I’ll half kill him!”

“And I’ll help,” answered Alf grimly.

The corridor of the building was filled with an excited throng of fellows, attracted by the wild rumors which had spread about the school. Alf seized on the first fellow he met.

“Here,” he demanded, “what’s the truth about this? Has any one been drowned?”

“They don’t know yet,” was the reply. “They’re working over him now. They say—”

“Working over who?” interrupted Dan.

“Harry Merrow. They say he was under the water almost five minutes, and—”

“And Pennimore?” gasped Dan.

“He’s all right. And Thompson, too. They were here a minute ago.” Their informant glanced eagerly around in the hope of being able to exhibit them. “They had an awful time getting him up. He was stuck in the mud. Look, here comes the doctor now!”

It was the physician from Greenburg, and with[262] him was Mr. Collins. The crowd in the corridor stopped talking and made way for them. The doctor viewed the anxious faces around him and paused.

“Now, I’m going to ask you boys to be very quiet this evening,” he announced. “Your friend is doing very nicely, but I want him to have a good long sleep. So just as little noise as possible, please!”

He passed on, and a murmur of relief grew and spread in the hall. Then by ones and twos the fellows withdrew from the building or crept tip-toeing to their rooms. Dan and Alf were already hurrying across the Yard to Clarke.

“Gee,” said Dan, taking a long breath, “I was scared!”

“So was I,” replied Alf soberly.

When they opened the door of Number 28, Gerald, attired in his dressing-gown, was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking ruefully at a pair of water-soaked white buckskin shoes. He dropped them when he saw Dan and Alf, and cried anxiously:

“How is he now?” Then he saw Dan’s white face, faltered, and sank down heavily on the bed. “He’s not—not dead?” he whispered.

“No, the doctor says he will be all right,” answered Dan hurriedly.

[263]

“Oh! You looked so—so white that I was afraid—”

“Why shouldn’t he look white?” demanded Alf gruffly. “We heard you were both drowned, you and Merrow. Some silly fool came over to the gym and told us.”

“Me? Oh, I—I’m sorry,” answered Gerald troubledly. “I didn’t know—”

“Well, you needn’t look so sad about it,” said Dan, with a little laugh as he sat down. “All’s well that ends well, but you certainly had us pretty well scared. Look here, Gerald, how about your father? Do you suppose he’s heard the yarn?”

“No.” Gerald reached over to the table and looked at his watch. “He isn’t home yet. I was going over there, but the doctor says I must go to bed. I am kind of played out. We had to paddle pretty fast coming back.”

“Who was with you?” asked Alf.

“Thompson. That was funny, wasn’t it? I guess if he hadn’t come just when he did Harry would have drowned.” He stopped and shivered.

“Here, you lie down there and pull the covers over you,” said Dan. “You’d better go to sleep, too.”

“No, I couldn’t go to sleep, really!” cried Gerald. “I’d rather talk.” But he followed Dan’s advice and snuggled down under a blanket.

[264]

“How did it happen?” asked Alf. “I can’t make heads nor tails of it.”

So Gerald told his story. Part of it we already know. The rest Gerald told as follows:

“When I went down I kept my eyes open and saw him almost at once. I thought he was drowned already, for he didn’t seem to be struggling at all, just lying down there in the mud on top of a lot of sunken branches and rubbish. He was only three or four yards from the bank, but the pond is real deep there. There’s a sort of channel where the water has cut along the side. Well, I grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to bring him up. He came about a foot and then held. I pulled and tugged, but couldn’t raise him. I stayed down until I thought my head was going to burst open, and then I came up. And as I got my head out of water and took a breath I heard a splash and saw some one dive by me. It was all terribly confused. I didn’t even wonder who the other fellow was. I just filled up with air and went down again. It was hard to see now, for the water was all roiled up with mud and sediment from the bottom, but I could make out that the other fellow had his arms around Harry and was pulling. So I got hold, too, and pulled, and all of a sudden he came away in our arms, and we came up with him and managed to get him up[265] on the bank. Then I saw that the other fellow was Thompson.”

“How did he happen to be there?” asked Dan.

“Just by accident. He was in his canoe by himself, coming down the river, when he heard our voices across on the lake, and thought he’d paddle in and see who we were. Just before he got through the channel he heard the splash when our canoe dumped us out, and then he heard me yell. He got there just as I dived, and he went over as soon as he could.”

“Gee, that was—was—”

“Providential,” said Alf soberly, coming to Dan’s assistance. “And then what, Gerald?”

“We tried everything we knew about helping drowned persons, but nothing seemed to do much good. We got a whole lot of water out of his lungs, but he wouldn’t come to. We took turns pumping his arms and chest, and after awhile we could see that he was breathing. But it was awfully hard, for there wasn’t much room on the bank, and he kept slipping back into the water. So Thompson said we’d put him into the canoe and paddle back to school as fast as we could. So finally we got him in and we grabbed the paddles and we just made that canoe fly! It isn’t far, you know, but it seemed an awful long way this afternoon. I was afraid he’d die before we got to the[266] boathouse. We kept shouting all the way down and finally some fellow heard us and came running down to find out what the matter was. We told him and he scooted up to the Office. We got him out of the canoe at the boathouse and started to work on him again. And then some fellows came and helped, and I keeled over in a faint. And the next thing I knew they were carrying Harry and me up the hill. I was all right by that time, though, and I made them put me down. Thompson and I waited around a minute to see how Harry was, but the doctor found us and gave us some stuff to drink and sent us home. Said we must go to bed, and not get up until to-morrow morning. That’s nonsense, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” said Dan dryly, “but I advise you to do it just the same. You won’t feel so chipper after you get over your excitement.”

“But what was the matter with Merrow?” asked Alf. “Why didn’t he come up?”

“I don’t know for certain, but Thompson says he was caught on a big branch down there.”

“But how did he happen to sink? Of course he could swim.”

Gerald hesitated. Then:

“You fellows mustn’t tell Faculty,” he said, “but I have an idea that he can’t swim a stroke. He never actually told me he could, but he gave[267] me to understand it. He said, I remember, that Faculty wouldn’t let any one go in a canoe who couldn’t swim. But afterwards, when we went out together at first, he was awfully nervous if we went more than a few yards from shore, and once when I accidentally rocked the canoe a little, I thought he was going to jump down my throat. He got over that after awhile, though. I think that when he went over he was so scared that he just sort of—of fainted, maybe, and then got so much water in him that he was down and out.”

“Your language, Gerald, is getting more picturesque and breezy every day,” laughed Dan.

“I guess that was the way of it, though,” said Alf. “The little fool! The idea of his paddling around in a canoe and not knowing the first thing about swimming. He ought to be—be spanked!”

“I guess when he gets around again he won’t need any spanking to keep him away from canoes. Canoes are pretty good fun, but fellows ought to understand that they’re about as treacherous a craft as there is made. And if I were you,” added Dan, “I’d keep out of them awhile, too, Gerald.”

“Don’t you worry,” was the reply. “I don’t want to see one of them again for a year. Besides, I guess my father will have something to say, too.”

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“I guess he will,” returned Dan grimly. “And he may have something to say to me, too. I am supposed to watch out for you, and I don’t seem to have been doing it very well. He knew you were going out in a canoe, didn’t he, Gerald?”

Gerald hesitated and colored.

“I—I don’t believe he did,” he answered finally. “I never said anything to him about it.”

“You’re a wonder!” said Dan disgustedly. “Supposing you’d been drowned to-day! A nice pickle I’d have been in, wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I guess I’d have been in a nice pickle myself,” replied Gerald spiritedly. “And it seems to me I’d be worse off than you, Dan!”

“He’s got you there,” laughed Alf.

“Just the same,” said Dan with dignity, “you haven’t played fair, Gerald, and you know it. You’ve got to tell your father all about it the first time you see him.”

“I’m going to,” answered Gerald gravely. “Will you please telephone over after awhile, Dan, and leave word for him to come over here this evening and see me? I promised to go home for dinner, and he will be worried if he doesn’t hear. And—and you might say that I got wet and was sent to bed.”

“All right,” answered Dan. “I’ll telephone. Do you think—” there was an anxious tone in his[269] voice—“do you think he will be very angry with you, Gerald?” Gerald smiled whimsically.

“I rather think he will, Dan. But I deserve it. Don’t you trouble.”

Presently Alf remarked with a chuckle, as he got up to go;

“Well, I suppose you’ll never be able to scrap with Thompson now, Gerald. Another iridescent dream gone glimmering. Such is life!”

“No,” answered Gerald thoughtfully. “I guess we’re really square at last. If Harry had been drowned—” He broke off with an eloquent shake of his head. “Will you find out how he is after supper, Dan, and let me know?”

“Yes. And now, what do you want to eat?”

“I’m not very hungry,” replied Gerald languidly. “In fact, I think I’ll just—take a nap.” He settled down on the pillow with a contented smile and closed his eyes. Dan and Alf went out quietly, and quietly closed the door behind them.

“He will probably sleep for an hour or two,” said Alf. “We’d better tell them not to send his supper up until seven. The poor kid might as well have all the rest he can get.”

“Yes,” said Dan, “for he will probably need it. I don’t think he will have a very pleasant time explaining things to his father.”

“Think John T. will cut up rough, do you?”

[270]

“Yes, he’s awfully fond of Gerald, but—”

“But!” laughed Alf. Then, seriously: “Well, I hope he won’t be too hard on little Geraldine. He’s not a bad sort of a kid, Dan.”