“How about that, Smithy; what happened to him?” asked Thad.
“The bank caved in under him, that’s the truth,” replied the other scout. “He was wanting to see just a little further down the river, when all at once he went in. I really couldn’t tell you just how I happened to catch hold of him by the back of his coat, because I don’t know myself; but I thought it my duty to call out, and try to get some help. You see, he was too heavy for me to lift. I almost broke my back trying, as it was.”
“I should think you would!” declared Giraffe; “and it’s a lucky thing we heard you calling. Only for that what would you have done, Smithy?”
“I was trying to think all the while,” replied the other. “You see, I didn’t dare let go my hold, for the current is terribly swift here. I had half an idea that if only I could work along the bank a little, it might shoal some, and then Bumpus would be able to get a footing. But I’m glad you came when you did, for I was rapidly becoming exhausted.”
Smithy generally spoke with great exactness, and used words that few of his comrades ever bothered with in their conversation; that was one thing connected with his previous condition that persisted in clinging to the former dandy of the patrol.
“You did the right thing, and that’s a fact!” commented Allan; “I don’t believe there’s a single fellow who could have raised Bumpus. But, Thad, he’s beginning to shiver in this air; don’t you think we ought to get him over to the fire?”
“Sounds good t-to me; fire’s what I w-want, and l-lots of it too!” stammered the stout scout, trying to get to his feet, in which effort he was ably assisted by willing hands. “As t-to that bank, how’d I k-k-know it was goin’ to c-c-cave in on me, t-t-tell me that, will y-y-you?”
They hurried him along as fast as he could be urged, and all the while he kept shedding little streams of water, as though he carried an almost inexhaustible supply. When finally the camp was reached, with the wondering Step Hen giggling over the comical sight Bumpus presented, they made the late swimmer disrobe, and hung his clothes around so that they would dry in the heat of the fire.
Bumpus himself was wrapped in blankets until he looked like a swathed mummy, and told to just lie there. Under all this manipulation of course his chilled blood regained its normal temperature, and he declared he felt as snug as a “bug in a rug!”
Even this excitement did not cause Giraffe to forget that he had business on his hands, and supper was taken in charge with the customary results; for they presently found themselves sitting down to a “bountiful repast,” Davy called it, to the evident complete satisfaction of the eminent cook.