CHAPTER IX

A GALLANT RESCUE

"Say, fellows, what have you got on hand for to-day?" asked Tom, as he burst into the "sanctum-sanctorum," as Bert and Dick called their room, and sank into an easy chair.

"Nothing," said Bert, turning from a not too promising survey of the surrounding country, "absolutely and emphatically nothing! This promises to be one of the slowest days in my short and brilliant career----"

"Hear, hear!" cried Tom from the depths of his chair. "That's fine for a starter, old top. Keep it up and perhaps you can actually persuade us that you amount to something. It's rather a hopeless task, but it wouldn't do any harm to try."

"You're such a bonehead that you don't recognize real worth when you see it," Bert retorted, good-naturedly. "There's another one," he added, pointing to Dick, who was trying to figure out a calculus problem. "He prefers grinding in calculus to listening to an interesting tale of my trials and tribulations."

"It isn't a question of preference, it's a case of dire necessity," Dick sighed, despondently. "If only I hadn't cut class the other day I would be all right, but as it is I'll have to cram to make up for it. Oh, if I only had the fellow who invented calculus here, I'd----" and in the absence of anything better Dick pulled his own mop of tangled hair and applied himself furiously to the solving of what he called "an unsolvable problem."

"Poor old chap, never mind," consoled Tom. "When I come back to-night with old Pete under my arm I'll tell you just how I caught him."

"Do you mean to say that you are going fishing for old Pete to-day?" Dick asked, forgetting all about calculus in his excitement.

"Sure," Tom replied, placidly. "Didn't we agree that the first clear Saturday we had off we'd take for our fishing trip?"

"So we did, but that was so long ago that I'd clean forgotten it. Why didn't you remind us of it sooner, Tom? You would have spared me a lot of useless worry as to how I was going to spend a baseball-less day."

"I didn't think of it myself until I came into the room," Tom admitted, "but I suppose Dick can't go with us now. It's too bad he cut the other day," he added, with a sly glance at the discarded calculus.

"Don't let it worry you," Dick retorted. "Do you suppose that anything in earth could keep me from hunting Old Pete to-day, now that you have brought him so forcibly to my mind? Go on down and get your tackle, Tom. Bert and I will join you in no time."

"But, really, Dick," Tom protested, with mock severity, "don't you realize that duty----"

"Get out before I put you out," roared Dick, making a dash for Tom, who promptly disappeared through the door.

"Since you insist," laughed the fugitive through the keyhole, "meet me on the campus in half an hour."

"We'll be there with bells on," said Bert and Dick with one voice, and at once began their preparations for the trip.

As Dick put the calculus back on the shelf, he said, half apologetically, "I'll see you to-night, old fellow."

* * * * *

Half an hour later, the trio were swinging rapidly down the road, carrying their fishing poles and tackle. This was an outing that they had planned for early in the season, but up to this time they had had no opportunity to carry it out. Nearly every Saturday they had had extra baseball practice, or something unexpected had come up, but now at last they had their chance and were only too anxious to take advantage of it. Besides them was Pete.

Old Pete was a huge pickerel who was sly and wary beyond the general run of fishes. Many a confident angler had come to the lake, absolutely certain of his ability to land the big fellow, only to return, sheepish and crestfallen, to acknowledge his defeat.

So it was no wonder that our fellows were excited at the prospect of a game of hide-and-seek with the biggest and most cunning of the pickerel family.

"Just think," Bert was saying, "what it will mean if we land him. Almost all the other fellows in college have tried it without success, and if we could manage to bring back Old Pete we would be popular heroes."

"I know, but there's not much chance of that," Tom sighed. "If old Si Perkins couldn't catch him napping, I'm afraid we can't."

"Never say die, Tom," Dick said, gaily. "A day like this makes you feel equal to anything."

"So say I," Bert added, heartily. "Say, do you see that mill in front of us? Well, that belongs to Herr Hoffmeyer, and it's one of the classiest little mills I ever saw."

"It sure is working some, but where do they get the power?" Dick asked.

"Why, there's a dam right back of the mill. You can't see it from here, but when we get a little nearer I'll point it out to you. See," he added, as they neared the mill, "isn't that a great arrangement. Alongside the mill there is a narrow, deep sluice. In this is arranged a large paddle wheel and, as the water rushes through, it acts on the paddles and turns the wheel. By a system of cogs the power is then transmitted to the grinding stone."

"That sure is fine," said Tom. "I don't know that I have ever had a chance to see a working mill at such close range. Just look how the water rushes through that sluice. I wouldn't like to get in the way."

"Nor I," said Dick. "The current must be very strong the other side of the dam."

"You bet your life it is. If anybody should get caught in it, I wouldn't give that," snapping his fingers, "for his chance of life."

At this moment a bald-headed, red-faced man appeared at the door of the mill. He regarded the boys with a broad smile on his face as he carefully dusted his hands on his white apron.

"Goot morning, young shentlemens," he said, affably. "Fine morning, fine morning, fine morning," and after each repetition of this sentiment he shook his head vigorously and his smile became broader.

"It is, indeed, sir," Bert said. "We stopped for a moment to see your mill in operation. It's a very fine mill," he added.

"Yah, yah," the big miller assented, cheerfully, "it's a very goot mill. For over five year now by me it has worked. Von't you step on the insides for a minute, young shentlemens?"

"Sure thing," said Tom. "Come on, fellows. It isn't often you get a chance to see a real mill working. Old Pete can wait, I guess," and so, led by the good-natured Herr Hoffmeyer, the trio entered the mill.

For the better part of an hour they wandered around to their hearts' content. The miller showed the working of the mill wheels, and led the way into every nook and cranny, explaining as they went.

At last, when they had seen everything there was to be seen, the boys thanked their host heartily, and started on their way once more. Before they rounded a bend in the road, they turned for a last look at the