Part 35 (1/2)

”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 a.s.s. What the d.i.c.kens 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 grat.i.tude. ”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 a.s.s 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.