CHAPTER X

DESCRIBES AN AFTERNOON ON THE LAKE AND A GALLANT RESCUE

The Chicora was a trim-looking steam-launch, thirty feet in length, and with a comfortable beam. And when she steamed away from the landing, at three o’clock, she held sixteen boys, Mr. Clinton, Mr. Verder, and Mr. Thorpe. She was pretty well loaded, but there still remained room for several parents and relatives who were to be picked up at the Inn. Dan, Nelson, Tom, and Bob were perched on the tiny deck space aft of the cabin and looked very, very good. When Aunt Louisa appeared, looking rather doubtful of the enterprise, she was conducted to a seat near-by.

“You needn’t tell me why you didn’t come to dinner,” she said at once. “I felt pretty certain you’d made yourself sick with that candy, and now I’m sure of it. I never knew you to look like an angel, Tom, save when you were sick or getting well.”

Whereupon she was acquainted in whispers of the real reason of their non-appearance, and wouldn’t believe that “Mr. Hurry” had performed such a hazardous feat until, the launch having turned its nose across the lake, the cliff came into sight and the staring blue letters were quietly pointed out to her.

“Well, I never!” she ejaculated. “If that wasn’t a clever thing to do! And a very wicked one!” she added quickly and disapprovingly.

“Scenery’s very pretty to-day,” remarked Carter, grinning at Dan. And Dan, with an apologetic glance at Aunt Louisa, kicked Carter good and hard. Mr. Clinton, busy at the engine, refused to hear. Neither did he show that the offensive inscription on the cliff ahead of them was in existence. Once headed down the lake the launch got the full effect of the waves, which, under a strong easterly wind, were kicking up quite a rumpus. Those in the bow received frequent wettings, and there was a struggle for places there. Aunt Louisa was quite certain she was going to be seasick, and insisted cheerfully that, in such a contingency, she must be set ashore at once, no matter where.

“I always say,” she announced, “that it’s a heap better to go ashore, even if it’s on a desert island, than stay in a boat and be sick. And I do hope Mr. Clinton will keep near land, for seasickness does come on so suddenly!”

But the foot of the lake was reached without any signs of illness on her part other than a slight uneasiness, and when they had passed under the bridge by the village and began to wind through the little river, even that was forgotten. In many places the trees almost swept the boat with their branches, and the channel was so narrow that the most careful steering was necessary. Half-way through to Hipp’s Pond there was a shout from the fellows in the bow.

“Look at the duck!” they cried. Those aft struggled for a view. A small duck, and evidently a young one, was bobbing up and down in the boat’s waves scarce three yards away. As they passed, it watched them with staring, beady eyes, but made no move toward flight.

“Gee!” said Tom, his own eyes quite as starey as the duck’s, “if we only had a gun!” Then the duck came alongside him and the temptation was too great. With one hand on a stanchion, he leaned far out and made a wild grab. He didn’t get the duck he expected, but he got one kind; for he lost his balance and his hold simultaneously, and went overboard head foremost with a mighty splash. Aunt Louisa gave a shriek of terror and turned to Dan:

“Go after him, Hurry! Save him!”

“Yes’m,” answered Dan, with a grin. Then over he went just as the engine was stopped, and just as Tom came up sputtering some twenty yards away.

“Keep up!” called Dan. “I’ll save you!” And Aunt Louisa, watching anxiously, couldn’t understand why the fellows laughed so uproariously. Tom, shaking his head to get the water from his eyes, turned and started toward the boat. But Dan wasn’t a life-saver for nothing.

“Don’t give up!” he called. “Fight hard! I’ll have you in a moment!”

“You ku-ku-ku-keep away from mu-mu-mu-me!” answered Tom.

“Saved!” shouted Dan, and then rescued and rescuer disappeared from sight.

“Oh!” shrieked Aunt Louisa, “they’re both drowning!”

And every one else laughed harder than before.

Then up came Dan’s head, and up came Tom’s, and a merry struggle took place. Dan insisted on pulling Tom back to the launch by the back of his sweater, and Tom refused.

“Lu-lu-lu-let mu-mu-mu-me alone, you, i-i-i-idiot!” he protested.

“You shut up!” answered Dan. “I was asked to save you, and I’m going to do it if I have to drown you.” He got a fresh grip on Tom and--down they went again. In the end Mr. Clinton had to take a hand, otherwise they might have been there yet. Tom, looking sheepish, was helped over the side, and Dan pulled in after him. Aunt Louisa began a speech of thanks to the latter, but Nelson, wiping the tears from his eyes, at last found his voice.

“He didn’t do anything, ma’am,” he explained. “Tom can swim like a fish; he’s the best swimmer in camp!”

“Do you mean to tell me,” she demanded, “that he wasn’t drowning?”

“No’m--yes’m--I mean he wasn’t.”

“Well!” she said vigorously, “well!” And she looked indignantly at Dan. But the hero looked so penitent that she said no more; besides, it wasn’t necessary, for Mr. Clinton was already reproving him for adding to the lady’s distress, and, even if his eyes twinkled a good deal, what he said was straight to the mark. Meanwhile the Chicora had taken up her voyage again. Tom and Dan removed their shoes and sweaters and hung them near the boiler to dry, and tried to bring warmth into their chilled bodies by alternately turning faces and backs to the engine. The incident enlivened the party, and afterward the laughter was never quite stilled. Coming back “Babe” Fowler, who had lived all his short life by the salt water, proclaimed himself awfully thirsty and wished he had a drink.

“Gee,” said a neighbor, “you must be awfully tony if you can’t drink this water!”

The changing expression of “Babe’s” face was worth seeing. Finally:

“Why, it’s fresh water, isn’t it?” he cried. “I was thinking it was salt!” And thereupon he had his drink, and was unmercifully teased by the fellows, one of whom recited, “Water, water everywhere, and not a drop for ‘Babe,’” all the way back to the landing.

The stay-at-homes were having their evening dip when the launch bumped up to the pier, and the newcomers joined them in short order. The guest-table was filled again at supper-time, and Aunt Louisa was one of those who remained. After the meal was over Bob and Tom took her over to the village in one of the rowboats and got the Sunday mail. The wind had died down, and the lake was a great limpid pool in which the afterglow was reflected in changing hues of steel and copper and dull gold. Half-way back the bugle’s summons floated down to them and was echoed back from the farther shore. As they glided past Bear Island the boys of Wickasaw could be heard singing, and, although Tom pretended to think such doings beneath contempt, he followed Bob’s example when the latter rested on his oars.

“Oh, it’s perfectly heavenly!” exclaimed Aunt Louisa softly.

“Huh!” said Tom, “you wait till you hear Joe Carter sing ‘Bluebell’ on his banjo!”

“That must be quite a stunt,” laughed Bob.

“Oh, well, you know what I mu-mu-mean. I’ll ask him to sing at camp-fire. I’ll tell him you want to hear him, auntie.”

“But I don’t think--” began Aunt Louisa.

“Oh, he won’t mind; he likes to make a noise!”

And so, when the flames were leaping and dancing under the big trees, Joe produced his banjo and sang, and every one else helped him. And Mr. Thorpe got his guitar and sang rag-time melodies in a way that caused half his audience to laugh until the tears came, while the other half, composed of the visitors and the more sedate campers, showed a desire to shuffle their feet or clap their hands in time to the rollicking tunes. Then came prayers, and a trip down to the Inn landing, where Aunt Louisa said good-by, and invited each of Tom’s friends to visit her in Boston. And as “Mr. Hurry” was included in that invitation it is probable that Aunt Louisa had forgiven him for his too gallant rescue.