CHAPTER XIV

TOM SWIMS IN THE OCEAN AND DIPS INTO POETRY

They were sitting on the big broad veranda of the hotel reading their letters. It was eleven o’clock of an ideal September day, and the guests, of whom there were many left despite the fact that the season was almost at its close, were strolling or lounging in the sunlight and making the most of what was likely to be summer’s last appearance. Beyond the road and the broad crescent of dazzling white beach lay Great South Bay blue and tranquil, the points of the little waves touched with gold. Three miles away, a line of gleaming yellow dunes, Fire Island stretched athwart the horizon.

The boys had donned clean clothes and, in their Sunday attire, looked quite respectable. After breakfast they had inquired the way to the post office and had reached it just in time to get their mail before it closed. Then, having purchased Sunday papers, they returned to the hotel veranda and settled down to read. Presently Nelson glanced up from the letter in his hand.

“Look here, fellows, this doesn’t sound very promising, does it?”

“What’s that?” asked Bob, looking up from his own epistle.

“Why, it’s a letter from dad. You know I wrote him about Jerry, and here’s what he says. Let me see.... Oh!... ‘Now, about that _protégé_ you tell of. The matter of seventy-five or a hundred dollars doesn’t scare me, Nelson, but do you think your plan is feasible? Three hundred would probably carry the boy through one year at school, supposing he was able to pass the examinations, but what’s going to happen the next year? Of course he might get a scholarship to help him along, and it’s possible he might make some money doing some sort of work in the village, but he couldn’t count on these things. We might do the boy more harm than good, it seems to me. Presumably he is fairly content with his present lot, and it is a question in my mind whether it would not be advisable to let him go his own gait. If it was certain that he would not have to give up after a year or two and return to the farm and the life he is leading now, it would be different. But I don’t suppose the fathers of your friends would care to undertake to provide for him for the next four years. Certainly a good deal depends on the boy. You’ve seen him and I haven’t. Perhaps he’s got it in him to get the better of difficulties and work out his own salvation after the first year or two. That would make a difference. Supposing you think this over and let me hear from you again. Or we might talk it over after you return. And let me know what the other gentlemen say. Mind, this isn’t a refusal, and I shall be glad to donate a hundred or two if I can be sure that it is going to accomplish some good; but I don’t think it wise to go into anything of this sort without looking over it pretty thoroughly. There is a great deal of harm done by ill-advised charity.’”

“That’s just about what my father says,” said Tom.

“You’d almost think they’d got together and talked it over,” said Dan ruefully. “My dad gives me just about the same song and dance. How about yours, Bob?”

“He says: ‘Would advise placing the sum, say four hundred dollars, in the hands of some one, perhaps Mr. Speede, for disbursement on the lad’s account. Don’t believe it would be wise to pay the money over to him or his relatives. If you decide to go ahead with the proposition think I can interest Warren Chase, who is one of the trustees at Hillton. He might be able to afford assistance to the lad. Am taking it for granted that the lad is worthy of the assistance you propose; am willing to trust your judgment in this. One hundred is all I can afford at present, though it is possible that I might be able to help put Hinkley through a second year when the time came. Let me know when you want the money and I will forward check.’”

“Now, I call that businesslike,” said Dan approvingly. “My dad seems to think it’s all a bally joke; wants to know if Jerry had _his_ money stolen too!”

“Well, let’s talk it over,” Nelson proposed. “Now, supposing we get enough money to pay one year’s expenses at Hillton, can Jerry pass the exams? He’s had no languages at all except one year’s Latin in a village school.”

“He ought to go to school this winter,” said Bob, “and take Math and Latin--hard.”

“Of course he ought! And he ought to have some coaching next summer. How’s he going to do it?”

“We need more money,” said Tom.

“Look here,” said Dan. “Talk sense. What’s to keep Jerry from going to school this winter? If we provide the money for the first year at that bum school of yours, why can’t he spend this winter and next summer studying?”

“That’s so,” said Nelson. “But how about the second year, and the third and the fourth?”

“What’s the use of troubling about that now?” asked Dan cheerfully. “Let’s get him started and I’ll bet you anything he’ll pretty nearly look after himself. As for next summer, it wouldn’t cost much to find a tutor for him. Why, we could see to that ourselves. I know two or three fellows in New York who would be mighty glad to coach him and do it cheap.”

“That’s the stuff!” cried Tom.

“What do you think, Bob?” Nelson asked.

“I think what Dan says is sense. Education never hurt any chap, and even if Jerry didn’t get more than two years at Hillton--and I guess we could see that he got that much--it would make a difference to him all his life. But I think, as Dan does, that if we give Jerry a start he’ll be able to find his own way after the first year. Could he get anything to do at Hillton that would bring him in some money?”

“Yes,” answered Nelson, “he could. There are lots of fellows there now who are almost putting themselves through. Look at Ted Rollins! Ted came there three years ago with three dollars in his pocket and a hand satchel. And he’s going to graduate next spring. I know for a fact that his folks have never sent him a penny; they can’t; they’re poor as church mice.”

“Well, as far as I can see,” answered Bob, “our dads are ready to give the money as soon as we can convince them that we are in earnest and that Jerry deserves it. And I vote that we go ahead. You ask your father, Dan, if he’s willing to take the money and pay it out for Jerry as it’s required. We’ll all write home this evening and tell just how the matter stands and ask to have the money sent to Mr. Speede about the fifteenth of this month. Have you got Jerry’s address, Nel?”

“Yes; and I think the best thing to do, after we’re certain that everything’s all right, is to see him on the way back and tell him all about it, just what we propose to do, and all. He said he’d probably be there by the fifteenth.”

“That’s right,” said Dan.

“But, look here,” exclaimed Tom, “if we don’t need the money until next fall, what’s the good of having it sent to your father now?”

“Because,” Bob answered, “four hundred dollars put in the savings bank or invested at four per cent means sixteen dollars a year from now. And that will be enough to pay his railway fare to Hillton and back again.”

“That’s so,” acknowledged Tom. “Bob, you’re a regular Rothschild.”

“He’s a regular Yankee!” said Dan.

“Besides,” continued Bob, unheeding of compliments, “if Dan’s father has the money we’ll know where it is, and so will Jerry. There’s nothing like being certain, you know. It beats promises.”

“Right again, O Solomon!” said Dan. “I’ll ask dad about it. I guess he will be glad to look after the Jeremiah Hinkley Fund and see that it is well and safely invested. That’s settled, then. We’ll each of us write to-night and get the thing all finished up ship-shape, eh? Now who’s going for a swim?”

There was no dissentient voice, even Barry proclaiming loudly and enthusiastically in favor of the suggestion. And a quarter of an hour later they met in front of the bath houses ready for the plunge. They found the water surprisingly warm. Barry splashed and leaped, biting at the tiny breakers and then running away from them as though for his very life. For a long while there was scarcely a breaker fortunate enough to reach the beach without first having a hole bitten in it! After some twenty minutes of diving and swimming the Four returned to the warm sand and stretched themselves out. By this time the beach had become well peopled, and from the surf came the shrieks and laughter of the women and children. Some of the larger boys had started a game of scrub baseball and were having an exciting and hilarious time. The Four sat up and looked on for a while. Then, after the ball had taken Dan in various parts of his anatomy three times, he arose disgustedly.

“Those fellows think I’m a backstop,” he said. “Maybe I am, but I don’t work for nothing. Come on, and let’s go in again.”

So back to the water they went and mingled with the throng of bathers. A group of men and older boys were arranging a swimming race out to a sloop anchored about a quarter of a mile offshore and back. One of the number, a muscular-looking fellow of about twenty-two with a Mercury’s foot on the breast of his jersey, was evidently the best performer, for the others were calling on him for handicaps.

“You?” he asked of an inquiring youth. “Oh, I’ll give you halfway to the yacht.”

“I don’t want that much,” objected the other.

“Oh, very well, don’t take it,” laughed the crack. “It isn’t compulsory, you know.”

“Is this an open race?” asked Dan smilingly.

The crack turned.

“Surely,” he answered heartily. “Come on. Want a handicap?”

“Want to give me one?”

The other looked him over carefully and pursed his lips in a doubtful smile.

“You look sort o’ good, my friend. What’s your record for the quarter?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been timed for two or three years. Give me a couple of hundred yards.”

“All right, but I don’t like your looks.”

“How about me?” asked Tom, joining them. He looked like a good-natured, pink-and-white barrel, and the crack smiled as he looked him over.

“Well, how much do you want?” he asked.

“Three hundred yards,” was the prompt reply.

“I’ll give it to you!”

“All right, put my name down,” said Tom.

The youth with the Mercury’s foot gravely wrote in the water with his finger, and the onlookers laughed. Then the contestants, of whom there were about a dozen, set off to their places. There was a good deal of good-natured argument as to the distances taken up by those receiving handicaps, but at last all were in position. Some one shouted “_Go!_” at the top of his lungs, and the race began. They were to swim to the sloop, pass around it, and return to the beach. Dan, who had no hope of winning, since he conceived the Mercury’s foot chap to be unusually good at the work, took things leisurely enough. But Tom, quite unawed by the crack, set off as though he meant to win the race. As a result he was the first to reach the sloop, having passed three competitors on the way out to it, and turned toward home still swimming strongly.

The sea was quite smooth, and what tide there was was setting toward shore. Some eighty or a hundred yards back from the sloop he passed the crack swimming almost under water with long deliberate strokes of his powerful arms. He smiled across at Tom in a brief moment when his head was out of water, and that smile, at once amused and confident, gave Tom a foretaste of defeat. Still, he was, perhaps, two hundred yards ahead of the other, and if he could only keep his present speed up for the rest of the distance he thought he might win. Tom wasn’t a sprinter, but in a half mile or even a quarter he was no mean antagonist. In spite of his rotundity of build he was strong of muscle and, moreover, had learned the science of making every ounce of effort tell. Presently Dan passed, fighting hard with another contestant. Then, back of them, came the tag end of the procession. But Tom was paying strict attention to business now and had no time for watching others. Only once, while still halfway between sloop and finish, did he let up for a moment and strive to see his principal rival, and then he saw enough to set him frantically at work again. For the crack had rounded the sloop and was hot on Tom’s trail and scarcely a hundred yards in the rear. Tom struck out again with long, even strokes, swimming hand over hand and pushing the water back from him with every bit of strength in his body.

Among the breakers and just beyond them the spectators were watching eagerly. Some few swam out to speed the winner over the line. Two men and a young lady in a rowboat, which had mysteriously appeared on the scene, shouted encouragingly to Tom.

“Go it, kid!” cried one of the men. “You can beat him! You’re holding him!”

“Kid, eh?” thought Tom disgustedly. “I’ll show them!”

And now, with a little more than a hundred yards to go, Tom eased his stroke a bit, for his muscles were aching terribly and his breath threatened every instant to fail him and leave him rolling helplessly about out there like a plump porpoise. And behind him, perhaps forty or fifty yards back, the crack was coming along hard and fast, still swimming with practically the same stroke he had started with.

Well, it was no disgrace to be beaten by a chap six or seven years your senior, even if you had been given three hundred yards out of nine hundred, thought Tom, in an effort to console himself. But the argument didn’t satisfy him, and he took a deep breath of the good salt air and forgot for a moment that his arms and legs felt as though they belonged to some one else. Then the breakers were forming about him in little hillocks of green water, the encouraging cries of the watchers reached him when his head came dripping above the surface, and--and, almost upon him, sounded the quick and regular splash of the pursuer! Tom closed his eyes tight and tried to forget everything save the man in the blue bathing suit, who, just where the breakers paused before the curve, stood to indicate the finish line. A long swell shot him forward for an instant. Then the returning undertow made it hard fighting.

And now he was in a wide lane formed by the splashing audience and there was but another dozen yards to go. For a moment he began to hope. But for a moment only. The steady strokes of his opponent were loud in his ears now, and as he looked for an instant a brown hand reached forward almost beside him and disappeared, burying itself in the green, froth-streaked water. It was all up! thought Tom. He hated to be beaten, did Tom, and for an instant he felt rather bad. And in that instant two things happened: the crack swimmer drew abreast of him and Tom had an idea. He suddenly remembered that he had always been able to swim faster under water for a short distance than on top, and like a flash he acted on that knowledge. Down went his head and shoulders, his heels kicked in air for a moment like a steamer’s propeller out of water, and then he vanished from the gaze of the laughing, shouting watchers.

One, two, three, four, five strokes he took down there with the pale green, sunlit waters about him; then up he came, thrashing desperately. His foot struck the knee of his opponent, for a moment he had a glimpse of a drawn, set face seen across the surface of the little wavelets, and then it was all over, and he was struggling to his feet and gasping painfully for breath.

“Who won?” was the cry.

The man in the blue bathing suit shook his head ruefully.

“No one,” he answered. “It was the deadest kind of a dead heat. They were side by side. We’ll have to divide first money, I guess,” he added, with a laugh.

The youth with the Mercury’s foot on his jersey came up to Tom with outstretched hand.

“We finished together,” he said smilingly. “But don’t you ever talk to me again about a three-hundred-yards handicap! That was the hardest race ever I was in. My boy, you can certainly swim, and if you’ll keep at it and train off some of that flesh of yours, you’ll have us all beaten by the time you get to college. What’s your name?”

Tom struggled for breath. His heart was beating like a sledge hammer and his lungs were doing what he called afterwards “a double shuffle.”

“Tu-tu-tu-tu--” he began. But for the life of him he couldn’t get any farther. The audience tried hard not to laugh, and the crack smiled in spite of himself. He might never have received an answer to his question if Nelson hadn’t come to the rescue.

“His name’s Ferris, Tom Ferris,” said Nelson. “He’s a pretty good swimmer for a fatty, isn’t he?”

That insult summoned Tom’s lost breath.

“Hope you ch-ch-ch-choke!” he stammered.

“Well, you’re all right, my boy,” said the crack admiringly. “We’ll have a talk after dinner, if you like.”

Nodding, he moved off to the beach and disappeared into his bath house. Nelson took Tom by the arm and led him in the same direction. Bob and Dan, the latter having just finished fifth in the race, joined them.

“You were a cheeky beggar, Tommy,” said Bob, “to try and beat that fellow!”

“Why?” gasped Tom, stretching his arms in the hope that they would stop paining.

“Why, because he’s Woodbury, of”--here Bob mentioned a well-known New York athletic club--“and he holds the quarter-mile and half-mile amateur records, my boy.”

“Well, I could beat him next time,” said Tom stoutly.

“Yes, with three hundred yards,” said Dan derisively.

“Huh! You had two hundred yourself,” said Tom scathingly, “and you came near not finishing at all!”

“You kicked up such a sea I couldn’t get my bearings,” answered Dan gravely. “Swam straight out to sea for half a mile or so before I discovered my mistake.”

“If you could swim as well as you can lie--” began Tom.

“Tommy! Tommy!” warned Bob.

“Well, wha-wha-what’s he tu-tu-tu-talk that way for?” asked Tom aggrievedly. “I can swim better than he can, anyway. I’d be ashamed if I couldn’t!”

Dan accepted the gibe in smiling silence, and the Four retired to their two bath houses with chattering teeth. For a while nothing was to be heard but hoarse breathing and the tread of scurrying feet as bath towels were fiercely applied. Then, warmth returning to the chilled bodies, the Four began to whistle and sing at the top of their lungs. Dan went through everything he knew and then began on his own compositions:

“Tom, Tom, the Piper’s son, Swam a half a mile, by gum!”

It was necessary to sing it very loudly and several times over in order that the subject of the song should hear it. When satisfied by the howls of derision which came from next door that Tom and Bob had heard, he gave his attention to the latter:

“Mr. Bob, of Portland, Maine, Wouldn’t he give you a pain?”

More howls, dismal and prolonged, from the opposition. Then Tom’s voice, eager, triumphant:

“Du-du-du-Dan, Dan, su-silly old Dan! Eats blue paint out of a can!”

This reference to an episode of the preceding summer when Dan, playing sign painter, had got himself very thoroughly mixed up with a half gallon of bright blue paint, brought laughter from all.

“Let’s have a rhyme on Nelson,” suggested Bob.

“All right; you do it,” said Dan.

“Oh, I’m no poet. And I haven’t got my rhyming dictionary with me.”

“Oh, never mind the rhymes,” said Nelson. “Don’t let those bother you; Dan doesn’t.”

“My rhymes are always faultless,” answered the other.

“Oh, yes; like ‘son’ and ‘gum’!”

“Those rhyme!”

“Get out!”

“Of course they do! Don’t they, Bob?”

“They may to you.”

“Not every one can be a poet, Any more than a sheep can be a go-at,”

quoted Nelson.

“I’ve gu-gu-gu-gu-got it!” stammered Tom.

“You have; bad,” was Dan’s cruel reply.

“Listen!” cried Tom, unheeding.

“There was a young fellow named Nelson--”

“Bet you can’t find a rhyme for it,” jeered Nelson.

“Shut up and let me tell it!

“There was a young fellow named Nelson, Who sometimes got foolish spells on--”

“O-oh!” groaned the rest.

“‘--It’s quite plain to see,’ Said his friends, ‘you would be A clown if you only had bells on!’”

“Tommy, you’re a regular Alfred Austin!” cried Dan. The rest cheered and applauded noisily, and Tom was so pleased with his effort that he repeated it at intervals for the next few days on the slightest provocation.

After dinner they sat for a time on the broad front veranda with Mr. Woodbury, who was quite taken with Tom, and afterwards took boat over to Fire Island on an exploring expedition. They found lots to interest them on that barren expanse of sand dune and beach, not the least of which was the life-saving station which they visited.

It was a square two-story building standing just above high water on the seaward side of the island. A neat white-washed fence inclosed it, and it was fronted by a plot of grass of which the members of the crew were very proud. There were beds of flowers, too, geraniums mostly, bordered with beach stones. The lifeboat and apparatus were kept in a one-story addition to the dwelling house. The boys asked permission to look about and were cordially welcomed. They were shown over the place from top to bottom, inside and out. They saw the big, square dormitory with its white iron beds, each flanked by a chest or trunk containing the member’s clothes, the pleasant living room, the kitchen, and the well-stocked storeroom. Their guide, a big blond-haired Swede, explained that in the winter time communication with the mainland was sometimes cut off for a week or more at a time, and therefore it was necessary to keep a good supply of food on hand.

In the living room were several charts, and Tom in examining one of them made the discovery that there were twenty-nine life-saving stations along the south shore of Long Island, an interesting fact which he brought to the attention of the others. Then they all had to count, and each one got a different result, Dan making it as high as thirty-four. After that they visited the boathouse and saw the big lifeboat, the mortar used for shooting the lifeline out to a wreck, the breeches buoy--which Tom wanted very much to get into--and many other interesting objects. At last, thanking their host, they crossed the island to the landing and returned to the hotel just in time for supper.

After that meal was over--and it took some time to satisfy their appetites, which had been sharpened by the salt breezes--they devoted the evening to letter writing. Even Tom was able to think of something to say without having to call for suggestions from his friends. Before retiring they took up the matter of their route for the next two days.

“I think,” said Tom, “it would be mighty jolly to go over to Fire Island and walk along to the eastern end of it. We could see the life-saving stations and--and there might be a wreck!”

“Tommy, you’re a regular ghoul!” said Bob.

“What’s that?” asked Tom.

“Don’t you know what a ghoul is, you ignoramus?”

“A football goal, do you mean?” asked Tom innocently.

When the laughter had died away, they decided to keep along the south shore until they reached Peconic Bay. Then they would cross the island to the north side and return along the edge of the Sound to Barrington, where they hoped to find Jerry.

During the last five minutes of the conference Tom had been nodding shamelessly. They woke him up, disposed of Barry for the night, and went to bed.