“Quick! We must hurry him to a doctor!” exclaimed Ruth, as she bent down over Fenn. “Will he die, daddy?”
“I think not. He’ll be all right in a little while. But we’ll take him to our house. Lucky the auto is not far away.”
“I’m—I’m all right,” gasped Fenn, faintly. “I was just tired out, that’s all. I didn’t swallow any water. There—there seemed to be some sort of a current setting against the shore, and—I couldn’t make any headway.”
He sat up, looking rather woe-begone, soaking wet as he was, and with some of the red clay still clinging to his clothes. Mr. Hayward was hastily donning his outer garments over his wet things.
“I’ll have the auto around in a jiffy!” he exclaimed. “Lucky it’s summer, and you’ll not take cold. Just rest yourself, Fenn, until I come back, and we’ll have you all right again.”
“But how in the world did you ever get into the lake?” asked Ruth, as her father hurried away.
“I jumped in.”
“Jumped in!” repeated Bart. “How was that?”
“Now we mustn’t ask him too many questions,” interrupted Ruth. “He’s not able to answer.”
“Oh yes I am,” replied the lad who had been through rather strenuous times in the last few hours. Thereupon he briefly related what had happened since his chums left him to go hunting, ending up with his unexpected plunge into the lake. In turn Bart told how they had searched for him, and how, having met Mr. Hayward and his daughter, the hunt was brought to such a timely ending.