She saw the chauffeur spring down the path toward the bank of the pond and she ran to meet him. For a second time the boy’s head appeared above the surface. The hand gripping the great bunch of lilies beat the air; but Nancy saw that his eyes were wide open and that he seemed to have recovered his courage.
Although he could not fight the current, he was trying to get his breath without swallowing any more water.
“The boy’ll drown!” gasped the chauffeur, white-faced and helpless.
Nancy could see the side of the automobile more clearly now. Lashed to the running-board was an extra tire, fully inflated. She seized the shaking man by the hand.
“Get a knife! get a knife!” she commanded. “Haven’t you a knife?”
“Ye-yes,” he gasped, fumbling in his pocket.
“Come on!” she ordered, and ran up the path to the road where the automobile stood.
He came, opening the knife as he ran. The girls in the car were shrieking now. Nancy did not even look at them; it is doubtful if they saw her. She pointed to the tire and the chauffeur understood.
He started to cut the lashings recklessly; but she stopped him with a cry. The stout cord was what she wanted. Quickly she looped it around the tire and he seized it and ran back to the pond’s edge.
The imperiled boy was half-way through the race; the brown current curled about him, trying to bear him down.