Chapter 6

AN ACCIDENT.

Dr. DeLancey, sitting under the awning of the after deck of "The Idlesse," and gazing out upon the sound where Jack Schuyler, Tom Blake and Kathryn Blair were defying the laws of nature in a thirty foot knockabout, much to the unspoken anxiety of two fathers and the spoken fear of three mothers, again voiced this thought on the following evening.

"The prettiest, sweetest, finest, loveliest child I ever knew, by Jove," he declared; then, bowing, "present company, of course, excepted.... Yes, sir. If you two old ninnies don't force your sons to marry her, I'll take it into my own hands, damme if I don't, by Jove!"

"But they can't both marry her," protested the widow of Jimmy Blair, placing her arm about the baby brother that had turned out to be a sister.

The Doctor waved his hand, loftily.

"A mere detail," he asserted. "As long as one of 'em marries her, that fixes it, doesn't it? And it doesn't make any difference which one; they're equally fine boys, both of 'em. Look at 'em. Did you ever see better shoulders--better shaped heads--better carriages? Mighty dashed handsome boys, too, they are--get it from their mothers," he bowed elaborately to Mrs. Jon Stuyvesant Schuyler and to Mrs. Thomas Cathcart Blake, then added a look of contempt for, and at their husbands. "Yes, sir," he went on, "they're fine boys, two of 'em--no denying that. And she--she's the right sort--no frills, or airs, or bluffs. Sensible, natural. If I'd have had a few more patients like them, I'd have starved to death long ago. Why, they didn't have even a single measle--not one whooping cough out of the lot. Disgraceful!"

In the meanwhile, far out on the sound, the little knockabout was heeling far over in the playful breath of the summer breeze. Tom Blake, bare- headed, bare-armed, was at the tiller. Jack Schuyler, also bare-headed and bare-armed, sat on the after overhang, tending the sheet, and bracing muscular legs against the swirling seas that, leaping over the low freeboard, tried to swirl him off among them. Kathryn Blair, leaned lithely against the weather rail, little, white--canvas-shod feet braced, skirts whipping about her slender body, rounded arms gripping the wet edge of the cockpit rail. The gold-brown hair, in loosened strands, whipped across her tanned cheek; her gown, open at the throat, revealed a glimpse of straight, perfectly-poised throat; her lips were parted and her breath came fast in the excitement of it.

Blake held the knockabout to its course, with the confidence of youth in his prowess, against them. The little boat leaped forward from crest to crest, stopping between to shake the water from its deck. Above was the blue sky--all about them the blue water, white crested.

The girl, bracing herself against a particularly hard pitch of the boat, balancing herself lightly, as the craft recovered and again leaped forward, cried:

"Isn't this fine!"

Blake nodded. Schuyler, waist deep in a swooping sea, did not hear... The Long Island shore was close at hand now.

Suddenly Blake shouted: "Hard a lee!" and jammed the tiller over; Schuyler, on the after overhang, scrambled fast to take in the slack of the sheet. Kathryn Blair bent, to avoid the swinging boom.

The little boat swung about as though on a pivot. The wind filled the sail; she sped forward like a hawk unhooded.

Then something happened. A stay parted; there was a great, grinding crack, followed by the snapping and whipping of canvas. And the mast fell.

Schuyler was knocked over into the water by the boom. It struck him fair upon the brow. Kathryn, springing to catch him, was hit by the flapping canvas. She went overboard, too, and under the sail.

Blake, on the weather side, was free from the wreck. Without even stopping to turn, he dove backward from the cockpit. Under the cold, green water he went. He struck out, blindly, frenziedly. His hand felt something that was not canvas and yet was cloth--struck, and gripped. Then, holding his breath still until he thought his lungs would burst, he felt his way out from under the sail. The rail of the boat was at hand; he gripped it. And he dragged Kathryn to it.

"Hold on!" he cried in her ear. "Jack's gone!"

Though but half conscious, she understood. Her firm, white fingers gripped the cutting edge of the cockpit rail; she nodded.

Blake struck out again. He had tried to remember where he had seen Schuyler disappear. Four strokes brought him to the spot; and then he dove.

Again his hand struck something. Again he pulled, and tugged, and fought. At length he was at the surface. It was Schuyler. His eyes were closed.

The tide, setting down the sound, was carrying the boat from him; he set his teeth. He caught Schuyler by the neck of his jersey, over his own shoulder, bringing his head out of water.

And he struck out, with his free arm, desperately.

It seemed as though he would never make progress. A dead weight, in the water, is hard to drag. Every ounce of strength that was in his strong, young body he threw into those long, quivering strokes. He must get to the boat! He _must_! The shore was too far away.... He stopped for a minute, treading water. There was no sail in sight. He flattened out in the water again, breasting it with all his power.

Stroke after stroke he took--stroke after stroke--reaching with strong right arm, thrusting with strong legs. The boat was no nearer.... He kept on, doggedly.... He could feel that his strokes were getting weaker; his mouth was under water more than half the time; he had to raise up to breathe.... But he fought on.... He began to grow dizzy--there was a ringing in his ears....

Suddenly he thought he saw, right before him, the face of Kathryn Blair. He knew that he did not; he thought he did; that was all. Then, suddenly, his fingers caught a rope; the face was still there; and the rope that he held led to where it was caught between white, even teeth.

A great wave hit him a buffet, full in the face; it cleared his senses, for a moment; yet perhaps it was more due to the feel of the rope in his fingers.... Then he knew that it was she--that the face was real, and the rope.... Went surging through his mind that she, taking the end of the sheet in her teeth, had swum to him, and to Schuyler--and that to her they both owed their lives.

She was beside him, now, swimming strongly. She gripped an arm of the unconscious Schuyler.... Together, she and Blake, dividing the weight, slowly, inch by inch, fought their way along the rope. At length they reached the side of the swamped knockabout.... Blake crawled upon its slippery deck. He lay for a moment, helpless; she supported Schuyler. Then he essayed to aid her again; and together they began to lift him out of the water, and to safety.

Dr. DeLancey, from the after deck of "The Idlesse," had seen the accident. A minute later, he, John Stuyvesant Schuyler, Thomas Cathcart Blake, the captain of "The Idlesse," and two sailors were in the launch.... They reached the side of the knockabout as Blake and Kathryn were dragging Jack Schuyler from the water; and they took him into the other boat. Blake, in his father's clutch, followed. At the same time, Dr. DeLancey leaned over to grasp Kathryn. But she shook her head, and smiled, weakly:

"No," she said. "I--I had to--to take off part of my clothes. I--"

Dr. DeLancey was an old man; some assert that he fell overboard. However, be that as it may, when he came to the surface, he had his arm around Kathryn Blair, and she had his long coat draped around her slender figure.... And, as they lifted her to the deck, she fainted.