TWO HEROES.
One afternoon a week later Outfield West and Joel March were seated on
the ledge where, nearly two months before, they had begun their
friendship. The sun beat warmly down and the hill at their backs kept
off the east wind. Below them the river was brightly blue, and a skiff
dipping its way up stream caught the sunlight on sail and hull until, as
it danced from sight around the headland, it looked like a white gull
hovering over the water. Above, on the campus, the football field was
noisy with voices and the pipe of the referee's whistle; and farther up
the river at the boathouse moving figures showed that some of the boys
were about to take advantage of the pleasant afternoon.
"Some one's going rowing," observed Outfield. "Can you row, Joel?"
"I guess so; I never tried." West laughed.
"Then I guess you can't. I've tried. It's like trying to write with both
hands. While you're looking after one the other has fits and runs all
over the paper. If you pull with the left oar the right oar goes up in
the air or tries to throw you out of the boat by getting caught in the
water. Paddling suits me better. Say, you'll see a bully race next
spring when we meet Eustace. Last spring they walked away from us. But
the crew is to have a new boat next year. Look! those two fellows row
well, don't they? Remsen says a chap can never learn to row unless he
has been born near the water. That lets me out. In Iowa we haven't any
water nearer than the Mississippi--except the Red Cedar, and that
doesn't count. By the way, Joel, what did Remsen say to you last night
about playing again?"
"He said to keep in condition, so that in case I got off probation I
could go right back to work. He says he'll do all he can to help me, and
I know he will. But it won't do any good. 'Wheels' won't let me play
until he's found out who did that trick. It's bad enough, Out, to be
blamed for the thing when I didn't do it, but to lose the football team
like this is a hundred times worse. I almost wish I _had_ cut that old
rope!" continued Joel savagely; "then I'd at least have the satisfaction
of knowing that I was only getting what I deserved." West looked
properly sympathetic.
"It's a beastly shame, that's what I think. What's the good of
'believing you innocent,' as 'Wheels' says, if he goes ahead and
punishes you for the affair? What? Why, there isn't any, of course! If
it was me I'd cut the pesky rope every chance I got until they let up on
me!" Joel smiled despite his ill humor.
"And I've lost half my interest in lessons, Out. I try not to, but I
can't help it. I guess my chance at the scholarship is gone higher
than a kite."
"Oh, hang the scholarship!" exclaimed West. "But there's the St. Eustace
game in three weeks. If you don't play in that, Joel, I'll go to
'Wheels' and tell him what I think about it!"
"It's awfully rough on a fellow, Out, but Professor Wheeler is only
doing what is right, I suppose. He can't let the thing go unnoticed, you
see, and as long as I can't prove my innocence I guess he's right to
hold me to blame for it."
"Tommyrot!" answered West explosively. "The faculty's just trying to
have us beaten! Why--Say, don't tell a soul, Joel, but Blair's worried
half crazy. They had him up yesterday, and 'Wheels' told him that if he
didn't get better marks from now on he couldn't play. What do you think
of that? They're not _decent_ about it. They're trying to put us _all_
on probation. Why, how do I know but what they'll put _me_ on?"
Outfield hit his shoe violently with the driver he held until it hurt
him. For although Joel was debarred from playing golf there was nothing
to keep him from watching West play, and this afternoon the two had been
half over the course together, West explaining the game, and Joel
listening intently, and all the while longing to take a club in hand and
have a whack at the ball himself.
"That's bad," answered Joel thoughtfully. "It would be all up with us
if Blair shouldn't play."
"And that's just what's going to happen if 'Wheels' keeps up his present
game," responded Outfield. "Who are those chaps in that shell, Joel? One
looks like Cloud, the fellow in front." Joel watched the approaching
craft for a moment.
"It is Cloud," he answered. "And that looks like Clausen with him. Why
isn't he practicing, I wonder?"
"Haven't you heard? He was dropped from the team yesterday. Wills has
his place. Post says, by the way, that he's sorry you're in such a fix,
but he's mighty glad to get back on the first. He's an awfully decent
chap, is Post. Did you see that thing he has in this month's Hilltonian
about Cooke? Says the Fac's going to establish a class in bakery and put
Cooke in as teacher because he's such a fine _loafer_! Say, what's the
matter down there?"
The shell containing Cloud and Clausen had reached a point almost
opposite to where West and Joel were perched, and as the latter looked
toward it at West's exclamation he saw Cloud throw aside his oars and
stand upright in the boat. Clausen had turned and was looking at his
friend, but still held his oars.
"By Jove, Joel, she's sinking!" cried Outfield. "Look! Why doesn't
Clausen get out? There goes Cloud over. I wonder if Clausen can swim?
swim? Come on!"
And half tumbling, half climbing, West sped down the bank on to the
tiny strip of rocks and gravel that lay along the water. Joel followed.
Cloud now was in the water at a little distance from the shell, which
had settled to the gunwales. Clausen, plainly in a state of terror, was
kneeling in the sinking boat and crying to the other lad for help. The
next moment he was in the water, and his shouts reached the two lads on
the beach. Cloud swam toward him, but before he could reach him Clausen
had gone from sight.
"What shall we do?" cried West. "He's drowning! Can you swim?" For Joel
had already divested himself of his coat and vest, and was cutting the
lacings of his shoes. West hesitated an instant only, then
followed suit.
"Yes." Off went the last shoe, and Joel ran into the water. West, pale
of face, but with a determined look in his blue eyes, followed a moment
later, a yard or two behind, and the two set out with desperate strokes
to reach the scene of the disaster. As he had taken the water Joel had
cast a hurried glance toward the spot where Clausen had sunk, and had
seen nothing of that youth; only Cloud was in sight, and he seemed to be
swimming hurriedly toward shore.
Joel went at the task hand over hand and heard behind him West, laboring
greatly at his swimming. Presently Joel heard his name cried in an
exhausted voice.
"I--can't make--it--Joel!" shouted West. "I'll--have to--turn--back."
"All right," Joel called. "Go up to the field and send some one for
help." Then he turned his attention again to his strokes, and raising
his head once, saw an open river before him with nothing in sight
between him and the opposite bank save, farther down stream, a floating
oar. He had made some allowance for the current, and when in another
moment he had reached what seemed to him to be near the scene of the
catastrophe, yet a little farther down stream, he trod water and looked
about. Under the bluff to the right Cloud was crawling from the river.
West was gone from sight. About him ran the stream, and save for its
noise no sound came to him, and nothing rewarded his eager, searching
gaze save a branch that floated slowly by. With despair at his heart, he
threw up his arms and sank with wide-open eyes, peering about him in the
hazy depths. Above him the surface water bubbled and eddied; below him
was darkness; around him was only green twilight. For a moment he
tarried there, and then arose to the surface and dashed the water from
his eyes and face. And suddenly, some thirty feet away, an arm clad in a
white sweater sleeve came slowly into sight.
With a frantic leap through the water Joel sped toward it. A bare head
followed the upstretched arm; two wild, terror-stricken eyes opened and
looked despairingly at the peaceful blue heavens; the white lips moved,
but no sound came from them. And then, just as the eyes closed and just
as the body began to sink, as slowly as it had arisen, and for the last
time, Joel reached it.
There was no time left in which to pause and select a hold of the
drowning boy, and Joel caught savagely at his arm and struck toward the
bank, and the inert body came to the surface like a water-logged plank.
"Clausen!" shouted Joel. "Clausen! Can you hear? Brace up! Strike out
with your right hand, and don't grab me! Do you hear?"
But there was no answer. Clausen was like stone in the water. Joel cast
a despairing glance toward the bluff. Then his eyes brightened, for
there sliding down the bank he saw a crowd of boys, and as he looked
another on the bluff threw down a coil of new rope that shone in the
afternoon sunlight as it fell and was seized by some one in the
throng below.
Nerved afresh, Joel took a firm grasp on Clausen's elbow and struck out
manfully for shore. It was hard going, and when a bare dozen long
strokes had been made his burden so dragged him down that he was obliged
to stop, and, floundering desperately to keep the white face above
water, take a fresh store of breath into his aching lungs. Then drawing
the other boy to him so that his weight fell on his back, he brought one
limp arm about his shoulder, and holding it there with his left hand
started swimming once more. A dozen more strokes were accomplished
slowly, painfully, and then, as encouraging shouts came from shore, he
felt the body above him stir into life, heard a low cry of terror in his
ear, and then--they were sinking together, Clausen and he, struggling
there beneath the surface! Clausen had his arm about Joel's neck and was
pulling him down--down! And just as his lungs seemed upon the point of
bursting the grasp relaxed around his neck, the body began to sink and
Joel to rise!
With a deafening noise as of rushing water in his ears, Joel reached,
caught a handful of cloth, and struggled, half drowned himself, to the
surface. And then some one caught him by the chin--and he knew no more
until he awoke as from a bad dream to find himself lying in the sun on
the narrow beach, while several faces looked down into his.
"Did you get him?" he asked weakly.
"Yep," answered Outfield West, with something that sounded like a sob
in his voice. "He's over there. He's all right. Don't get up," he
continued, as Joel tried to move. "Stay where you are. The fellows are
bringing a boat, and we'll take you both back in it."
"All right," answered Joel. "But I guess I'll just look around a bit."
And he sat up. At a little distance a group among which Joel recognized
the broad back of Professor Gibbs were still working over Clausen. But
even as he looked Joel was delighted to see Clausen's legs move and hear
his weak voice speaking to the professor. Then the boat was rowed in,
the occupants panting with their hurried pull from the boathouse, and
Joel clambered aboard, disdaining the proffered help of West and
others, and Clausen was lifted to a seat in the bow.
On the way up river Joel told how it happened, West throwing in an eager
word here and there, and Clausen in a low whisper explaining that the
shell had struck on a sunken rock or snag when passing the island, and
had begun to sink almost immediately.
"And Cloud?" asked Professor Gibbs. There was no reply from either Joel
or Clausen or-West. Only one of the rowers answered coldly:
"He's safe. I saw him on the path near the Society Building. He was
running toward Warren." A silence followed. Then--
"You've never learned to swim, Clausen?"
"No, sir."
"But it is the rule that no boy is allowed on the river who can not
swim. How is that?"
"I--I said I could, sir."
"Humph! Your lie came near to costing you dear, Clausen."
Then no more was said in the boat until the float was reached, although
each occupant was busy with his thoughts. Clausen was helped, pale and
shaking, to his room, and West and Joel, accompanied by several of their
schoolmates, trotted away to the gymnasium, where Joel was put through
an invigorating bath and a subsequent rubbing that left him none the
worse for his adventure. The story had to be told over and over to each
new group that came in after practice, and finally the two friends
escaped to West's room, where they discussed the affair from the
view-point of participants.
"When I got back to the bluff with the other fellows you weren't to be
seen, Joel," West was saying, "and I thought it was all up with poor old
Joel March."
"That's just what I thought a bit later," responded Joel, "when that
fellow had me round the neck and was trying to show me the bottom of
the river."
"And then, when they brought you in, Whipple and Christie, and you were
all white and--and ghastly like, you know"--Outfield West whistled long
and expressively--"then I thought you _were_ a goner."
Joel nodded. "And Cloud?" he asked presently.
"Cloud has settled himself," responded West. "When he thought Clausen
was drowning he just cut and ran--I mean swam--to shore. The fellows are
madder than hornets. As Whipple said, you can't insist on a fellow
saving another fellow from drowning, but you can insist on his not
running away. They're planning to show Cloud what they think of him,
somehow. They wouldn't talk about it while I was around. I wonder why?"
Outfield stopped suddenly and frowned perplexedly. "Why, a month or six
weeks ago I would have been one of the first they would have asked to
help! I'm afraid it's associating with you, Joel. You're corrupting me!
Say, didn't I make a mess of it this afternoon? I got about ten yards
off the beach and just had to give up and pull back--and pull hard.
Blessed if I didn't begin to wonder once if I'd make it! The fact is,
Joel, I'm an awful dab at swimming. And I ought to be punched for
letting you go out there all alone."
"Nonsense, Out! You couldn't help getting tired, especially if you
aren't much of a swimmer. And now you speak of it I remember you saying
once that you couldn't--" Joel stopped short and looked at West in
wondering amazement. And West grew red and his eyes sought the floor,
and for almost a minute there was silence in the room. Then Joel arose
and stood over the other lad with shining eyes.
"Out," he muttered huskily, "you're a brick!"
West made no reply, but his feet shuffled nervously on the hearth.
"To think of you starting out there after me! Why, you're the--the hero,
Out; not me at all!"
"Oh, shut up!" muttered West.
"I'll not! I'll tell every one in school!" cried Joel. "I'll--"
"If you do, Joel March, I'll thrash you!" cried West.
"You can't!--you can't, Out!" Then he paused and laid a hand
affectionately on the other's shoulder as he asked softly:
"And it's really so, Out? You can't--" West shook his head.
"I'm afraid it's so, Joel," he answered apologetically. "You see out in
Iowa there isn't much chance for a chap to learn, and--and so before
this afternoon, Joel, I never swam a stroke in my life."