TOM TO THE RESCUE
"We've only got one oar," answered a desperate voice.
"Put it over the stern and scull it," directed someone on the float.
There was a splash in reply, and Innes, who had promptly vacated his
seat, crawled dripping to the landing. Hatherton, Williams, Norton and
Marvin were already swimming desperately toward the mouth of the cove,
while several fellows on land were running hard to the point, following
the curving shore. The rowboat was at last under way, but making slow
progress. Norton was the best swimmer of the trio, or, at least, the
fastest, and Williams and Marvin were soon hopelessly in the rear. But
Norton, if he could distance the other two, found that he was gaining
but slowly on Tom, who, swimming as he had never swam before, as he
didn't know he could swim, was already well out toward the mouth of the
cove.
His limbs were aching already, and his lungs were hurting as he fought
his way through the water and against a slow-coming tide. But the only
thought that possessed him was that Steve was in trouble out there,
perhaps drowning, and that he must get to him. The water splashed into
his eyes and blinded him, for Tom was not an adept swimmer, and not once
could he so much as sight Steve. Neither was the appeal for help
repeated and Tom's heart sank. Behind him, as he was dimly aware, others
were following, and he wished they would hurry. Once, when he was
opposite the points, he tried to call, but his lungs were too tired to
respond in more than a whisper. Then he was past the gloom of the cove,
the water was alight with the afterglow and little choppy waves dashed
against him. Gasping, he paused an instant, brushed one arm against his
dripping face and looked about him. For a moment nothing met his anxious
gaze. Then a darker spot on the darkening water appeared a dozen yards
away and Tom went on desperately, panic-stricken for fear that when he
reached it it would prove to be only a bit of driftwood.
[Illustration: It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and
shoulders above the water]
But it wasn't. It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and
shoulders above the water, eyes closed in a dead-white face and his arms
weakly moving now and then as though in an unconscious endeavour to keep
the helpless body afloat. A great wave of relief and joy almost stopped
Tom's heart for an instant. Then his hand went out and caught one of
Steve's wrists.
"It's all right, Steve," he gasped weakly. "Don't grab me. They're
coming with the boat."
There was no reply from Steve, and Tom, pulling the arm over his
shoulder, as he had seen Steve himself do so many times in the tank when
illustrating the way to rescue a drowning person, felt the weight of the
inert form on his back as he turned and strove to swim slowly back
toward the cove. To swim with one arm, even to keep himself afloat so,
was no light task for Tom, and now, with the weight of Steve's body
bearing him down, he found the struggle too much for him. He
relinquished all attempts to swim and centred his efforts in keeping
afloat. If only Norton and the rest would come! He listened. There was a
splashing somewhere nearby, but it was too dark now to see a dozen feet
away. Tom drew all the breath he could find into his lungs and let it
out in a weak shout.
"Help!" he gasped. "Here!"
Then there was an answering hail from close by, a mighty churning of the
water and a dim form plunged alongside.
"Have you got him?" cried Norton. "Give him to me, Hall. Hath! Over
here!"
Tom didn't relinquish quite all his burden, though. He still had one of
Steve's arms around his neck when, a minute later, Marvin and Williams
having reached them meanwhile, the rowboat appeared out of the darkness.
It was no light task to get Steve into the boat, but it was accomplished
somehow, and then, Tom dragging astern, hands clutching the gunwale
grimly, and the others, too, claiming at least partial support from the
boat, the rescuers turned shoreward. Wisely, Churchill, who handled the
oar, headed the boat toward the nearer point, and when the keel
grounded, eager hands were waiting to lift Steve out and hurry him back
to the hotel. Tom crawled out of the water and subsided on the bank,
still fighting for breath and feeling rather sick at his stomach.
Between Fowler and Milton he was lifted and half carried, weakly
protesting that he could walk all right and promptly crumpling up when
they allowed him to try.
Steve had been taken up to the room he was occupying, and Danny Moore
was administering to him when Tom was brought in and laid on his bed.
Steve was already talking weakly and Danny was telling him to keep
still.
"Don't be talking," he said. "Fit that bottle to your back and keep
covered up. You'll be fine in an hour. An' who've you got there? Well,
if it ain't my old friend Jim Hall!"
Tom smiled faintly as Danny bent over him.
"An' so you been tryin' to drown yourself too, have you?" continued
Danny. "Well, well,'tis queer tastes you have, the two of you! Drink a
bit o' this, Jim, and lie still."
Mr. Robey came in and Danny nodded reassuringly to him. "They'll be fine
as fiddles in an hour, Coach. Now you boys scatter out o' here an' leave
them have a bit nap."
Tom didn't remember much for awhile after that, for he must have fallen
promptly to sleep. When he awoke, the light was turned low and Steve was
sitting on the edge of the bed. On a chair beside him was a tray from
which appetizing odours curled toward him. Tom blinked sleepily.
"Hello," he murmured. "What's up?"
"I am and you're not," answered Steve. "I've brought you some supper.
Are you hungry?"
Recollection returned then and Tom observed his chum anxiously.
"Are you all right!" he demanded. "Did they say you could get up?"
"Of course. You can too after you eat. But you were asleep and Danny
said you might as well have it out. How are you feeling?"
Tom sat up experimentally and took a deep breath. "All right," he
answered stoutly, although as a matter of fact he was full of stiff
spots and queer aches. "And--and I'm hungry."
"Good stuff!" laughed Steve. He lifted the tray to Tom's lap and took
the covers from the dishes. "There isn't an awful lot here," he added
apologetically, "but Danny said you'd be better if you didn't eat such a
big supper. Do you mind?"
"No, I guess there's enough. That soup smells good. What's that there?
Roast beef? Fine!" And Tom fell diligently to work.
Steve watched in silence a moment. Then,
"I say, Tom," he said.
"Huh?" asked the other, his mouth full.
"You know I--I'm much obliged."
Tom nodded carelessly. "All right," he said in a gruff voice. "It wasn't
anything. Norton and Williams and those others did it."
"You got there first," said Steve. "I guess if you hadn't I--I wouldn't
have waited for the rest. It was mighty plucky, and--and I----"
"Oh, cut it," growled Tom. "It wasn't anything, you ass. What the
dickens did you go away out there for anyway?" Tom became indignant.
"Haven't you got any sense?"
"Not much," laughed Steve. Then, soberly, "It's the first time I ever
had cramps, and I don't ever want them again! I thought I was a goner
there for a while, Tom. They caught me right across the small of my back
and I couldn't any more move my legs than I could fly. All I could do
was shout and wiggle my arms a bit, and the pain was just as though
something--say a swordfish--was cutting me in two!" Steve shook his head
soberly. "It--it was fierce, Tom!"
"Serves you right! You had no business swimming way out there in water
like that and scaring us all to pieces!" Tom was very severe as to
language, but the effect was somewhat marred by the fact that he had
filled his mouth with food. Nevertheless, Steve took the rebuke quite
meekly. All he said was:
"And think of you rescuing me, Tom! Why, you aren't any sort of a
swimmer! But it certainly was mighty pluck----"
Tom pointed a fork at Steve and interrupted indignantly. It was
necessary to head Steve off from further expressions of gratitude. "I
like your cheek!" said Tom. "Can't swim! How do you suppose I got out
there to you, you silly chump? You didn't see any water-wings or
life-preservers floating around, did you? Or do you think I walked?
Can't swim! Well, of all the----"
"You know what I mean, Tom. I meant you couldn't swim--er--well, that
you weren't a wonder at it!"
"Huh!" grunted Tom. "Don't you talk about swimming after this. You
weren't doing much of it when I got to you!"
"No one can swim when he has cramps," responded Steve meekly. "How was
the supper?"
Tom gazed at the empty dishes. "All right--as far as it went. I'm going
to get up. What time is it and what's going on downstairs?"
"Nothing much just now. We just got through supper. They're taking the
chairs and tables out of the dining-room so we can have signal drill at
eight. Mr. Robey said you were to get into it if you felt all right.
There's someone else downstairs who wants to see you too." And Steve
grinned wickedly. "I told him I'd try to arrange an interview."
"Who is it?" asked Tom suspiciously.
"His name is Murray."
"I don't know any Murray. What is this, a joke?"
"Far from it, Tom. Mr. Murray is a newspaper man. He came over to get
the line-up for to-morrow's game from Mr. Robey and got here just as
they were talking about that silly stunt of mine. He laid around and
waited for me and got it all out before I knew he was a newspaper chap.
Now he wants to see you. I _think_ he wants your photograph, Tom!"
"You were a silly ass to talk to him, Steve. He will go and put it in
the paper, I suppose."
"Wouldn't be surprised," agreed Steve, smiling. "He seemed to think he
had a fine yarn. Of course I laid it on pretty thick about your heroism
and all that."
Tom viewed him darkly as he got into his coat. "If you did
I'll--I'll----"
"Take me back to the Sound and drop me in again! No, I didn't, Tom, but
he does know all about it and of course he will put it in the papers.
'Boots' says the--the Something-or-Other Press will get hold of it and
send it all over the country. I've been wondering whether we ought to
telegraph the folks so they won't have a fit if they read about it
to-morrow."
"What's the use? They'll know you're all right. Bet you that Mr.
Newspaper Man doesn't catch me, though! Who's that hitting the ivories?"
"Gleason, I guess. He was playing before supper. He's fine, too. Knows a
whole bunch of college songs and stuff from the musical shows. We're
going to have a concert after practice. They say Danny Moore can sing
like a bird. Andy was telling me that last year they had a regular
vaudeville show here. Everybody did something, you know; sang or danced
or spoke a piece. It must have been lots of fun. I wish----"
Steve, who had been wandering around the room, hands in pockets, paused
as he caught the expression on Tom's face. "What's the matter?" he
asked.
"That's what I want to know," replied Tom. "Seems to me you're mighty
chatty all of a sudden. Is it the effect of the bath?"
Steve smiled, sighed and shook his head. "Tom," he said, "I've just got
to talk or do something this evening. I--I'm as nervous as a--a cat!
Ever feel that way?"
Tom viewed him scornfully as he patted his tie into place. "Have I? Why,
you silly chump, I'm scared to death this minute! Whenever I think
about--about to-morrow I want to run down to the ocean and swim straight
across to Africa!"
"Honest?" Steve brightened perceptibly. "But you don't show it, Tom."
"What's the good of showing it? All I hope is that the barge will make
so much noise going back to-morrow that you won't hear my knees knocking
together!"