DESCRIBES AN AFTERNOON ON THE LAKE AND A GALLANT RESCUE
The Chicora was a trim-looking steam-launch, thirty feet in length, and
with a comfortable beam. And when she steamed away from the landing, at
three o’clock, she held sixteen boys, Mr. Clinton, Mr. Verder, and Mr.
Thorpe. She was pretty well loaded, but there still remained room for
several parents and relatives who were to be picked up at the Inn. Dan,
Nelson, Tom, and Bob were perched on the tiny deck space aft of the
cabin and looked very, very good. When Aunt Louisa appeared, looking
rather doubtful of the enterprise, she was conducted to a seat near-by.
“You needn’t tell me why you didn’t come to dinner,” she said at once.
“I felt pretty certain you’d made yourself sick with that candy, and
now I’m sure of it. I never knew you to look like an angel, Tom, save
when you were sick or getting well.”
Whereupon she was acquainted in whispers of the real reason of their
non-appearance, and wouldn’t believe that “Mr. Hurry” had performed
such a hazardous feat until, the launch having turned its nose across
the lake, the cliff came into sight and the staring blue letters were
quietly pointed out to her.
“Well, I never!” she ejaculated. “If that wasn’t a clever thing to do!
And a very wicked one!” she added quickly and disapprovingly.
“Scenery’s very pretty to-day,” remarked Carter, grinning at Dan. And
Dan, with an apologetic glance at Aunt Louisa, kicked Carter good and
hard. Mr. Clinton, busy at the engine, refused to hear. Neither did he
show that the offensive inscription on the cliff ahead of them was in
existence. Once headed down the lake the launch got the full effect of
the waves, which, under a strong easterly wind, were kicking up quite
a rumpus. Those in the bow received frequent wettings, and there was a
struggle for places there. Aunt Louisa was quite certain she was going
to be seasick, and insisted cheerfully that, in such a contingency, she
must be set ashore at once, no matter where.
“I always say,” she announced, “that it’s a heap better to go ashore,
even if it’s on a desert island, than stay in a boat and be sick. And I
do hope Mr. Clinton will keep near land, for seasickness does come on
so suddenly!”
But the foot of the lake was reached without any signs of illness on
her part other than a slight uneasiness, and when they had passed under
the bridge by the village and began to wind through the little river,
even that was forgotten. In many places the trees almost swept the
boat with their branches, and the channel was so narrow that the most
careful steering was necessary. Half-way through to Hipp’s Pond there
was a shout from the fellows in the bow.
“Look at the duck!” they cried. Those aft struggled for a view. A small
duck, and evidently a young one, was bobbing up and down in the boat’s
waves scarce three yards away. As they passed, it watched them with
staring, beady eyes, but made no move toward flight.
“Gee!” said Tom, his own eyes quite as starey as the duck’s, “if we
only had a gun!” Then the duck came alongside him and the temptation
was too great. With one hand on a stanchion, he leaned far out and made
a wild grab. He didn’t get the duck he expected, but he got one kind;
for he lost his balance and his hold simultaneously, and went overboard
head foremost with a mighty splash. Aunt Louisa gave a shriek of terror
and turned to Dan:
“Go after him, Hurry! Save him!”
“Yes’m,” answered Dan, with a grin. Then over he went just as the
engine was stopped, and just as Tom came up sputtering some twenty
yards away.
“Keep up!” called Dan. “I’ll save you!” And Aunt Louisa, watching
anxiously, couldn’t understand why the fellows laughed so uproariously.
Tom, shaking his head to get the water from his eyes, turned and
started toward the boat. But Dan wasn’t a life-saver for nothing.
“Don’t give up!” he called. “Fight hard! I’ll have you in a moment!”
“You ku-ku-ku-keep away from mu-mu-mu-me!” answered Tom.
“Saved!” shouted Dan, and then rescued and rescuer disappeared from
sight.
“Oh!” shrieked Aunt Louisa, “they’re both drowning!”
And every one else laughed harder than before.
Then up came Dan’s head, and up came Tom’s, and a merry struggle took
place. Dan insisted on pulling Tom back to the launch by the back of
his sweater, and Tom refused.
“Lu-lu-lu-let mu-mu-mu-me alone, you, i-i-i-idiot!” he protested.
“You shut up!” answered Dan. “I was asked to save you, and I’m going
to do it if I have to drown you.” He got a fresh grip on Tom and--down
they went again. In the end Mr. Clinton had to take a hand, otherwise
they might have been there yet. Tom, looking sheepish, was helped over
the side, and Dan pulled in after him. Aunt Louisa began a speech of
thanks to the latter, but Nelson, wiping the tears from his eyes, at
last found his voice.
“He didn’t do anything, ma’am,” he explained. “Tom can swim like a
fish; he’s the best swimmer in camp!”
“Do you mean to tell me,” she demanded, “that he wasn’t drowning?”
“No’m--yes’m--I mean he wasn’t.”
“Well!” she said vigorously, “well!” And she looked indignantly at Dan.
But the hero looked so penitent that she said no more; besides, it
wasn’t necessary, for Mr. Clinton was already reproving him for adding
to the lady’s distress, and, even if his eyes twinkled a good deal,
what he said was straight to the mark. Meanwhile the Chicora had taken
up her voyage again. Tom and Dan removed their shoes and sweaters and
hung them near the boiler to dry, and tried to bring warmth into their
chilled bodies by alternately turning faces and backs to the engine.
The incident enlivened the party, and afterward the laughter was never
quite stilled. Coming back “Babe” Fowler, who had lived all his short
life by the salt water, proclaimed himself awfully thirsty and wished
he had a drink.
“Gee,” said a neighbor, “you must be awfully tony if you can’t drink
this water!”
The changing expression of “Babe’s” face was worth seeing. Finally:
“Why, it’s fresh water, isn’t it?” he cried. “I was thinking it was
salt!” And thereupon he had his drink, and was unmercifully teased by
the fellows, one of whom recited, “Water, water everywhere, and not a
drop for ‘Babe,’” all the way back to the landing.
The stay-at-homes were having their evening dip when the launch bumped
up to the pier, and the newcomers joined them in short order. The
guest-table was filled again at supper-time, and Aunt Louisa was one
of those who remained. After the meal was over Bob and Tom took her
over to the village in one of the rowboats and got the Sunday mail. The
wind had died down, and the lake was a great limpid pool in which the
afterglow was reflected in changing hues of steel and copper and dull
gold. Half-way back the bugle’s summons floated down to them and was
echoed back from the farther shore. As they glided past Bear Island the
boys of Wickasaw could be heard singing, and, although Tom pretended to
think such doings beneath contempt, he followed Bob’s example when the
latter rested on his oars.
“Oh, it’s perfectly heavenly!” exclaimed Aunt Louisa softly.
“Huh!” said Tom, “you wait till you hear Joe Carter sing ‘Bluebell’ on
his banjo!”
“That must be quite a stunt,” laughed Bob.
“Oh, well, you know what I mu-mu-mean. I’ll ask him to sing at
camp-fire. I’ll tell him you want to hear him, auntie.”
“But I don’t think--” began Aunt Louisa.
“Oh, he won’t mind; he likes to make a noise!”
And so, when the flames were leaping and dancing under the big trees,
Joe produced his banjo and sang, and every one else helped him. And Mr.
Thorpe got his guitar and sang rag-time melodies in a way that caused
half his audience to laugh until the tears came, while the other half,
composed of the visitors and the more sedate campers, showed a desire
to shuffle their feet or clap their hands in time to the rollicking
tunes. Then came prayers, and a trip down to the Inn landing, where
Aunt Louisa said good-by, and invited each of Tom’s friends to visit
her in Boston. And as “Mr. Hurry” was included in that invitation it is
probable that Aunt Louisa had forgiven him for his too gallant rescue.