THE THANKSGIVING MASQUE
Of course, both Jennie and Nancy could swim; but swimming with one’s clothes on, from the middle of Clinton River to the shore, would be no small feat.
And there wasn’t time to throw off much of their clothing, for the skiff was sinking under them. Once the bunch of rags had been forced out of the hole where the plug had been, the water spurted in like a miniature fountain.
The boat began to swing in the current, too. They had both drawn their oars inboard and the craft drifted at the mercy of the river.
“What shall we do?” gasped Jennie, again. “We’re go-ing-right-do-own!”
“Not yet!” cried her chum, tearing off the little coat she wore.
In a moment Nancy doubled up the sleeve and thrust it into the hole in the bottom of the boat. She forced it in tightly, and as it became wet and more plastic, she rammed it home hard.
“But that won’t last long,” objected Jennie.
“The water’ll force it out again. And what will we do with the water that is already in here?”
Indeed, the girls were barely out of the wash of the water, and their feet and ankles were soaking wet.
They dared not move suddenly, either; the gunwales of the boat were so low that, if it pitched at all, the river would flow over the sides.
“Why! it will sink any minute and leave us sitting here in the water!” groaned Jennie, again.
“Take off one of your shoes—careful, now,” commanded Nancy. “We can bail with them,” putting into practice her own advice.
They managed each to remove one of the low, rubber-soled shoes they wore. But these took up so small an amount of water, although they bailed vigorously, that Jennie began to chuckle:
“Might as well try to dip the sea out with a pail, Nance! What a ridiculous position we’re in!”
But it was really more serious than that. It was fast growing dark, and no matter how loudly they shouted, their voices would not reach to the landing. The wind was against them.
On the other side of Clinton River, opposite the scene of their accident, were open fields and woods. Few people lived within sight; indeed, only two twinkling lights from house windows could they now see on that side, and both of those were far away.
“Do you suppose we could slip overboard without swamping the boat, and so lighten it?” demanded Nancy.
“What good would that do?”
“Then it wouldn’t sink and we could cling to the gunwales. It would keep us afloat.”
“Oh, that plug’s come out!” gasped Jennie.
It had. Nancy stooped and forced the cloth into the hole again; but her motion rocked the boat dangerously. A ripple came along and lapped right in, and the girls were almost waist deep!
“Oh, dear me!” wailed Jennie. “We might just as well be drowned as be like this. We are drowned from our waists down.”
“Nev—er—say—die!” gasped Nancy, struggling with the jacket-sleeve to make it stay in the hole.
“We’ve got to get out!” cried Jennie. “This is where we get off—even if it is a wet landing. If we’re out of the boat, it will only sink so that the gunwales are level with the water. Isn’t that so?”
“I believe so,” admitted Nancy.
“Then out we go,” said Jennie, working her way toward the bow.
“What you going to do?”
“Lighten the boat. You slide out over the stern. We’ve got to do it, Nance.”
“I guess that’s so,” admitted her chum. “Do be careful, Jennie. And if the boat does sink, don’t lose your head. We can swim.”
“Well, I can’t swim to shore in all these clothes. I wish I had loosened my skirts at the start. Oh, dear!”
The daylight had drifted out of the sky and there was no moon. The stars shone palely and it seemed as though a mist had suddenly been drawn over the surface of the river.
The lights of the steamboat had long since disappeared around the bend. There didn’t seem to be another pleasure boat on the river this evening. And yet there must have been a lot of the girls out, somewhere.
Jennie and Nancy got their feet over the ends of the boat and slid carefully down into the water. Their skirts buoyed them up a bit; but they knew that once the garments were saturated, they would bear them down instead.
“Are—are you all—all right, Nance?” gasped Jennie, from the bow, as the water rose about her. “Oh, oh! Isn’t it wet?”
“Cling to the boat, Jen!” begged Nancy, from the stern. “I—I don’t believe it will sink.”
And even as she spoke the skiff, lurching first one side and then the other, sank slowly down into the depths of the river.
Both girls screamed. They came together with a shock and clung to each other in something like panic. And, so struggling, both dipped under water for a moment.
But when they came up, Nancy held her chum off, and cried:
“Don’t do that again, Jennie! If you have to dip, hold your nose. Let’s not lose our heads about this. We’ve got to swim for it!”
“Swim!” gasped Jennie Bruce. “I feel as if there was a ton of lead around my legs. I can’t kick any more than the mule could with his legs tied!”
“Get rid of the skirts,” said Nancy, struggling to unfasten her own. “You can do it—if you try. There! mine’s gone.”
“Oh, my—blub! blub! blub!” came from poor Jennie, as she went under.
Nancy reached and caught her by the hair. Both their caps had floated away. She dragged her chum to the surface and held her until she got her breath again.
Meanwhile Nancy was trying to undo the fastenings of Jennie’s clothes; and she succeeded after a time.
“Oh, dear, me!” she gasped. “I never wished to be a boy so much before.”
“Well, even a boy would find himself somewhat mussed up here in the middle of the river,” sobbed Jennie.
“But he’d have a knife in his pocket, and could cut his clothing off,” returned Nancy, with some vigor.
In these few moments that they had been out of the boat the current, of course, had carried them down stream. But now, partially relieved of their clinging garments, they wanted to strike out for shore. But which shore?
“I believe we’re nearer the westerly side,” said Jennie.
“If we swim over there we won’t know where to go to dry off and get clothes. And there’ll be an awful time at the school,” said Nancy.
Just then the horn at the boathouse sounded mournfully across the water. It was first call for the scattered boats to return—half-past eight. If all the girls were not in by nine they had to explain the reason to Miss Etching.
“Well, then, shall it be the boathouse?” queried Jennie.
“We’ve drifted a long way below it. See! there’s the bend,” said Nancy, rising to look. “Let’s make for the nearest point on that side.”
“Come on, then!” said Jennie, and side by side, but heavily, the two girls struck out.
Neither was quite sure that she could swim that far under the present conditions. Yet they were too plucky to say so to each other.
For at least five minutes they plugged away and then Nancy, rising up again, uttered a startled exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Jennie.
“Why! we’re below the point!”
“The current’s taking us down stream!”
“That’s it!”
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Jennie. “We’ll land somewhere about at the Academy, if we don’t look out.”
At that instant they both heard the swish of oars, or a paddle. In unison they raised their voices in a shout:
“Help! This way!”
They could not see the craft approaching, for the mist on the river had been growing thicker and thicker, all this time. But there was an answering cry:
“I’m coming! Holler again!”
“Oh, it’s a man!” gasped Jennie.
“It’s a boy!” declared Nancy.
“Shout again!” cried the voice in the mist.
“Well, I’m going to be saved if I’m not dressed for company,” declared Jennie, and she raised her voice again:
“This way! We’re in the water!”
“Coming!”
Then into sight flashed a ghostly craft, which came straight for them.
“Oh! it’s only a canoe!” wailed Jennie. “We can’t climb into a canoe.”
“My goodness! It’s two girls!” ejaculated the person paddling the canoe.
“Mr. Endress!” exclaimed Nancy, recognizing the boy from Dr. Dudley’s Academy.
“What?” shouted Bob Endress. “Is it Nancy Nelson?”
“And Jennie Bruce. We lost our boat. It sank,” explained Nancy, breathlessly.
“Each of you grab the gunwale of my canoe. Easy, now!” admonished Bob.
They did so, one on either side, astern.
“Now I can paddle you to shore. Just let your bodies float right out. It’s lucky I came along. The current’s so strong around this bend.”
“I never saw a boy so welcome before!” gasped Jennie, getting back her courage immediately.
“And now I can return your compliment, Nancy,” said Bob, laughing. “You saved me from drowning, and if you hang on long enough I’ll manage to save you, I guess.”
He could not paddle the canoe very swiftly with the weight of the two girls dragging it down; but in ten minutes they were in shore and knew that they were safe.
“We could wade in,” said Nancy, gasping a little for breath.
“Wait,” commanded the boy. “Hadn’t I better take you right up to the landing?”
“Oh, mercy! no!” cried Jennie. “We want to run right home across the fields. The back door won’t be locked.”
“We’d better go to the gym. first and get skirts,” said Nancy, the practical. “Maybe we can slip in then without anybody being the wiser.”
“How under the sun did you manage to sink that skiff of yours?” Bob demanded, showing thereby that he knew more about Nancy and her chum than Nancy had supposed.
“The plug came out,” said Nancy, shortly.
“Why didn’t you put it back?”
“It wasn’t an accident!” exclaimed Jennie. “One of the girls drew the plug and just stuffed the hole with rags. We didn’t know it. Of course, the water forced the rags out when we got half-way across the river.”
“Why, that was criminal!” cried Bob, angrily. “That was no joke.”
“Well, we didn’t laugh ourselves to death about it,” agreed Jennie.
“What girl did it?”
“I’d hate to tell you,” snapped Jennie. “There were two of them in the trick, I’m sure. But I certainly will pay them off!”
“They ought to be punished. You might have been drowned,” declared Bob.
But Nancy said nothing. She did not propose to discuss Grace Montgomery’s shortcomings with her cousin.
The two girls got ashore in the semi-darkness, and thanked their rescuer again.
“I’ll ask after you to-morrow over the ’phone,” declared Bob. “I hope you won’t get cold.”
“Oh, goodness me! don’t ask,” cried Jennie. “Then we will have to explain the whole business. And I don’t want to go before the Madame.”
“That’s right, Jennie,” agreed her chum. “Please don’t ask after us, Mr. Endress.”
“Then let me know how you get along through Grace. I see her a lot,” said Bob. “But you girls are never with her.”
“Aw—well,” drawled Jennie, coming to Nancy’s rescue. “You know, we girls go in bunches. Nancy and I chum together, and it’s a close corporation. We don’t often go about with other girls.”
Then they said “Good-night!” and ran off through the bushes. Their wet garments hampered them somewhat in running; but they came at last breathless to the gym. and Samuel had not yet locked up for the night.
So they got into gym. togs—both blouses and skirts,—and managed to enter the Hall by the rear door of their wing and get up to Number 30 without being caught by any teacher, or the Side captain.
The wet clothes were flung out of the window and, very early in the morning, Nancy arose, slipped out of the house, and carried the garments to the drying yard.
So they got over this adventure without the teachers being the wiser. There was a hue and cry about the lost skiff, however.
“What are we going to say?” demanded Jennie, of her chum. “You won’t let me go at Grace and Cora and make ’em pay for it. What’ll we do?”
“Let folks think the skiff floated away from the landing. What do we care if they say we didn’t tie it?” returned Nancy. “It’s our loss; isn’t it?”
“But those girls ought to be made to pay for the skiff.”
“How would you make them pay? Cora never has any money, anyway,” said Nancy, remembering the sum that her ex-roommate already owed her from the year before. “And they’d both deny touching the plug, anyway. We can’t prove it.”
“Well, I don’t care! I hate to have those girls get the best of us. I’ll think up some trick by which we can pay them back.”
“Nonsense, Jennie!” reproved Nancy. “You wouldn’t be mean just because they are mean.”
“I don’t know but I would—if it wasn’t for you,” admitted her chum, sighing.
But in the end nothing was done about the skiff and the girls’ adventure. The matter blew over. There was so much going on at Pinewood Hall that fall, and the sophomores were so very busy, that the loss of the boat soon ceased to be a topic of conversation—saving between the owners and, possibly, the two other girls who knew all about the incident.
The seniors and juniors promised the school a very lively social season this winter. And of course the sophs. were “in on it,” as Jennie said, to a degree.
As early as October the big girls got permission to plan a dance, with the Academy boys invited, for Thanksgiving Eve. It was to be a masquerade, too, and that gave the girls a delightful time choosing costumes and—in some cases—making them at odd hours themselves.
Those who would, might gather, twice a week, with Jessie Pease and learn to sew. Nancy and Jennie were faithful to this “extra” and both made their own costumes under Jessie’s sharp eye.
Jennie was going to be dressed as an owl, and wear huge spectacles and carry an open book.
“I’d never look wise at any other time,” giggled the irrepressible. “So I will do so now.”
And in her fluffy gray and white garments, with the skirts drawn close around her feet and slit only a little way so that she could barely walk and dance, Jennie really did look too cute for anything.
Nancy was costumed as a “drummer girl”—a brilliant uniform with knee skirt, long boots, a little, round, “Tommy Atkins” cap with chin-strap, and a little snare-drum at her hip that she really learned to beat.
The big hall was cleared for dancing and decorated by the girls themselves with the loot of the autumn woods. No more brilliant affair, everybody declared, had been arranged since Pinewood Hall had become a preparatory school.
Dr. Dudley’s boys marched over at eight o’clock, every one of them fancifully attired. Despite the fact that the tastes of the boys ran a good deal to costumes denoting the Soldier of ’76 and Blackbeard, the Pirate, the novelty and variety shown by the girls made the scene a delightful one.
Nancy Nelson and her mates of the sophomore class were not likely to be wall-flowers this year, or to lack for partners. The former’s striking costume marked her out, too, and after the grand march, she was sought out by Bob Endress.
“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t dance well enough, Mr. Endress,” the girl said in a whisper, and blushing deeply.
“You do everything well, I believe,” declared he. “Now, don’t disappoint me. I’ve been trying ever since that night I found you and your chum in the river, to get a talk with you. But you’re so shy.”
“I—I’m always busy,” replied Nancy. “And—and you know the Madame is very strict about us talking with any of you boys.”
“Wow! we won’t bite you,” laughed Bob. “Besides, I meet Grace and Cora Rathmore often. I tried to pump them about your accident; but they declared they knew nothing about it. I guess you warned them not to tell.”
Nancy had nothing to say to this, but she could, not refuse to go on the floor with Bob, although she saw Grace, dressed to represent a gaudy tulip, glaring at them with blazing eyes from across the room.