Part 34 (1/2)

Steve was already well out in the cove, pursued by Norton. Some of the boys who had failed to find suits had launched a decrepit rowboat and, with one broken oar, were splas.h.i.+ng about near the float. Far out in the Sound a big white steamer pa.s.sed eastward, her lights showing white in the gathering darkness and the strains from her orchestra coming faintly across the quiet water. The boys in the rowboat stopped skylarking to discuss what steamer it was, and Marvin, who had swam up behind and laid hands on the gunwale, told them that it was the _Lusitania_ and that if they didn't agree with him he'd tip them over.

Discussion ceased at once. The four mariners instantly declared that he was right. Churchill even went so far as to say that he had known it was the _Lusitania_ all the time; that he could always tell her by her funnels. Innes, who was seated in the stern and filling his position to the limit, acknowledged that for an instant--oh, the merest fraction of a second!--he had thought the steamer was the _Ne'er-do-well_, Berlin to Kansas City, but that he had seen his mistake almost instantly! By which time, the _Priscilla_, New York to Fall River, had pa.s.sed out of sight, and Marvin, merely tipping the boat until the water ran in a bit over one side, just as a mark of esteem, swam off before Guild could reach him with the broken oar.

Tom and Williams were paddling about not far off the landing, Tom floating on his back most of the time and complaining about the temperature of the water, when Norton swam up, puffing and blowing.

”Where's Steve?” asked Tom. Norton nodded toward the Long Island sh.o.r.e.

”Somewhere out there,” he answered. ”He was too much for me. I had to quit. The chump swims like a--a dolphin. I'm going in, fellows. I'm getting cold.”

”I guess we'd all better,” agreed Williams. ”h.e.l.lo! What's that?”

”_Help!_” From somewhere beyond the mouth of the little cove the cry came, sharp, imperative, and was repeated again while they listened.

”It's Edwards,” muttered Norton uneasily. ”I suppose he's only trying to get a rise out of us. He can swim like----”

”Must be,” agreed Williams. ”Can you see him?”

The cove was dim now and the surface of the water beyond held a sheen of light that confused the vision.

”I'm not sure,” muttered Norton. ”I thought I did--for a minute.”

”Who was that yelling out there?” shouted one of the fellows in the boat.

”Must be Edwards,” answered Williams. ”Can you see him?”

”No. Do you suppose----”

”_Help!_ This way!” The cry came again, fainter now, and someone in the boat seized the broken oar and began to churn the water with it, sending the crazy craft circling about in its length.

”He's in trouble!” cried Norton. ”Cramps, probably. I'm off, Hath. Will you come? Where's Hall?”

”He started a minute ago,” answered Williams, striking out with long hard sweeps of legs and arms. ”There he is, ahead.”

”Come on with that boat, you fellows!” shouted Norton. ”And hurry it up!”

CHAPTER XXV

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 sh.o.r.e. 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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.”