“Hellup!” squawked Hans.
“Help!” howled Ephraim.
They splashed about wildly, clutched each other again, and sank once more, while the boys in the boat-house screamed with laughter.
“They are frightened enough to hang onto each other and drown right there,” said Frank. “We must help them out.”
So Merriwell and Rattleton each secured a boathook, and as soon as possible hooked it into the clothes of the boys, who were floundering about in the water.
“Pull, Harry!” Frank shouted.
They were on opposite sides of the slip, and so they succeeded in dragging Hans and Ephraim apart, for all that the Dutch boy made a frantic effort to hang fast to the Vermonter.
Harry had fastened into a convenient part of the Dutch lad’s trousers, while Frank had hooked onto Ephraim’s belt. The latter was pulled out easily, but the fat boy’s head and feet hung down, and Rattleton was forced to call for assistance. Fortunately, Hans’ pants were stout in that particular spot, and did not give way.
When the boxers were brought out, they sat on opposite sides of the slip, water running in streams from their clothes, and stared across at each other in ludicrous disgust and rage.
“Gol darn ye!” Ephraim gurgled, weakly shaking his fist at Hans. “Yeou was to blame fer that! Ef I could reach ye, I’d swat ye right plumb on the smeller, b’gosh!”