CHAPTER XIV

A BIG SPLASH

Bert Bobbsey was speaking his piece so well that his teacher and the other boys and girls did not see what Sam Todd was trying to do. The eyes of all in the room were fixed on Bert—that is, the eyes of all but Sam and his chum Joe. Bert had practiced his recitation many times at home, his mother helping and correcting him, until he could do it very well.

All this mattered nothing to Sam, however, if he could spoil Bert’s recitation by playing the trick. With all that, Sam did not intend to be mean. It was all just a “good joke” to him and Joe.

But, as was said, something went wrong.

When Sam pulled on the string it seemed to be caught on something outside the window. The football with its feathers, making it look like the head of an Indian, did not bounce in through the open window, as Sam hoped it would.

There was no time to lose. Bert was just beginning the startling line—

“What is this fearful thing I see?”

If the football did not pop in now the joke would be spoiled. As all eyes were on Bert, Sam felt it would be safe to leave his seat to look and find out what the trouble was. He had a little time, as Bert had to say this line three times—slowly.

Bert gave the line once. He paused. He repeated it. Sam was now leaning over the edge of the window sill, looking down to see what was holding the string of the feather-decorated football.

Then Bert exclaimed, very loudly:

“What is this fearful thing I see?”

As he did so, Sam Todd lost his balance and fell out of the window. But that was not all! Just under the window was a big barrel of water, that had been used by masons when they had done some work on the school foundation.

With a splash and a cry of surprise, Sam Todd toppled into this barrel of water, his shout of alarm mingling with Bert’s dramatic demand to know what fearful thing it was that he saw.

“Oh, dear, look at that!”

“Sammie’s out of the window!”

“He’s in the water!”

“He’ll be drowned!”

“What was he doing anyway?”

And so the cries of the children ran on.

Well, of course that brought Bert’s recitation to a sudden end. No boy could speak a piece with another lad falling out of the window into a barrel of water and yelling at the same time.

“What is it? What has happened?” exclaimed Miss Riker, leaping to her feet.

“Sammie Todd fell out of the window,” answered Sadie Moore, who was a quick little thing.

“What in the world was he doing? Why was he leaning out of the window in that way?” demanded Miss Riker, for she had seen Sam at the sill just before he fell.

“He wanted to—he was going to—” began Joe Norton. Then Joe happened to think it was hardly the fair thing to tell on Sam—to let the teacher know about the joke. She might find out, anyhow—very likely she would—but Joe could not tell.

“What was Sam going to do?” demanded Miss Riker. But no one answered her, and from outside the window sounded the splashing in the barrel of water and the voice of Sam begging for help.

“We must go to him. Maybe he is hurt,” the teacher said, starting for the door.

But Bert was ahead of her. He did not much mind having his recitation broken up in this queer way. As a matter of fact, Bert only laughed about it afterward.

But now Sam might be in danger, through his own foolishness, and might need help. So Bert and some of the other boys rushed out of school ahead of the teacher. These boys, too, rather welcomed the interruption. They did not care much about “speaking pieces.”

As Bert and his chums reached the school yard under the open window, they saw Sam, dripping wet and covered with bits of lime and plaster, climbing from the barrel of water.

“I—I—now—I fell in!” spluttered Sam, as if there was any need of an explanation. “I—I—now—fell right in!”

“I should say you did!” laughed Bert. He could laugh now, and so could the other boys, for Sam was not in the least hurt.

Sam balanced himself for a moment on the edge of the barrel and then slipped down and out, over the edge. The water ran from him and made little puddles around his feet.

“How did it happen? Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” asked Miss Riker.

Sam did not answer the first question, but to the second he replied.

“Oh, no’m—thank you—I’m not hurt. I—I’m just—wet!”

“Yes, we see you are,” observed Miss Riker, trying not to smile, for by this time she began to suspect that something was wrong. No boy sitting in his seat in a quiet schoolroom, where “speaking pieces” is going on, can fall out of the window and into a barrel of water without having done something himself to bring it about.

Once it was certain that Sam had suffered no more than a wetting, the teacher began to cast about to find an explanation. Her quick eye caught sight of the string running in through the open window to the schoolroom. Stepping to the window she looked inside and saw that the string was fastened to Sam’s desk.

Another look, on the ground near the barrel, disclosed the football and the feathers on it. Then she understood.

“Oh, I see,” she murmured. “This was a sort of—joke, Sam? Was that it?”

“Ye—ye—yes’m,” faltered the dripping lad.

“Very well. You may go back to your seats, children—that is, all but Sam. You had better go home and change into dry clothes,” she added, and this time she smiled broadly.

“Shall I—now—shall I come back?” asked Sam. All the joking spirit had departed.

“No, you don’t need to come back,” said Miss Riker. “School will be out for the term by the time you could return.” And as Sam, rather shame-faced, made his dripping way toward his home, the teacher remarked: “I hardly think it worth while to go on with the closing exercises. They were almost finished, anyhow. Unless, Bert, you wish to conclude your recitation?” she added, turning to the Bobbsey twin questioningly.

“Oh, no’m—thank you—I don’t mind quitting!” Bert made haste to say. He did not exactly object to “speaking pieces,” but if there was a good excuse to get out of it, he was glad of that excuse. “I can recite it next term,” he added.

“Yes, I suppose so,” returned Miss Riker, with a laugh. “Well, boys and girls, you may go now. School is over for the term. I hope you’ll all have a happy vacation.”

“Thank you! Thank you! The same to you!” chorused the boys and girls.

There were murmurs, talks, laughter and a general movement of relief. No more books or studies for more than two months—oh, joy!

Some of the pupils returned to the classroom to get things from their desks. Charlie Mason was beside Bert as the two boys walked over to the water barrel to look more closely at the “joke.”

“Say, Bert, I’m glad you said you didn’t care about going on with your piece,” said Charlie.

“Why?” asked Bert.

“’Cause I was after you, and I didn’t know my piece very well. There’s one verse I never can remember, and I know I’d have broken down up on the platform. So I’m glad I didn’t have to speak.”

“So’m I,” murmured Bert. “Say, what is that thing, anyhow?” he asked, as Joe Norton pulled into view the “joke” Sam Todd had prepared with such care.

“Looks like a scalped Indian,” remarked Danny Rugg.

“That’s what Sam made it for,” chuckled Joe. “He was going to pull it in when you said that line, Bert, about what a fearful thing you saw.”

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Bert. “He was going to pull it in, was he? Well, he pulled himself _out_ instead! It was a good joke all right!”

And so it was, only it turned just the other way from what Sam intended. But very often jokes do turn that way.

However, nothing much now mattered except that school was out for the long vacation.

“Where are you going for your vacation?” asked May Miller of Nan Bobbsey, as she walked home with Flossie and Freddie. Bert had gone on ahead with some of the boys.

“We don’t exactly know,” Nan replied. “Since we have Baby May with us, mother and daddy haven’t made up their minds. I guess we’ll go away somewhere.”

“We’re going to the seashore,” said May.

“We’ve been there—lots of times,” Nan said.

“I like the seashore!” murmured Flossie. “We went there and played in the sand.”

“And Flossie fell into the water!” added Freddie, anxious to tell all the news.

“So did you fall in, too!” countered Flossie.

“Yes, we both fell in!” laughed her twin brother, shaking his head of golden hair. “It was lots of fun.”

“Well, I want to go swimming in the ocean,” said May, laughing at the smaller Bobbsey twins, “but I don’t exactly want to fall in. I suppose Baby May is too young to be taken to the seashore,” she added, for by this time every one in Lakeport knew about the little foundling who had been left on the Bobbsey doorstep.

“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed Nan. “But we’ll go away somewhere, I’m sure. Good-bye, May!”

“Good-bye,” May answered, as she turned down her street.

“I’m going to ask mother if I can wheel Baby May out in the baby carriage,” said Flossie, as she and her sister and brother neared home.

“You’ll have to be very careful, and stay right in front of the house,” cautioned Nan. “We don’t want any more runaways.”

“I’ll be careful,” promised Flossie.

But when they reached the house and went clattering up the steps, Mrs. Bobbsey came softly out of the door with a hand raised to stop them.

“Hush!” she whispered. “Don’t make any noise!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Nan, in a low voice.

“Baby May is sick,” Mrs. Bobbsey replied. “The doctor has been here, and the poor little thing has just gone to sleep. Don’t make any noise!”