The Cutwater was put on a different track, and they began to move across the lake, it being Jerry’s idea to cross and recross at a distance of every six or seven hundred feet.
Twice did they come close to each shore without seeing anything of Harry.
“Gone down, suah’s you’re born!” said Blumpo, and the tears started out of his big, honest eyes.
“I am afraid so,” returned Jerry, “and yet—hark!”
He put up his hand and all were instantly on the alert. The wind had gone down somewhat, and from a distance came a low cry. “It’s Harry’s!” said Jerry. “Hullo, Harry!” he yelled, with all the power of his lungs.
He waited, and an answering cry came back from toward the center of the lake. It was very weak, showing that Harry was almost exhausted.
The course of the sloop was instantly changed, and they strove to reach the spot before the boy should go down.
Jerry was the first to see the form floating about amid the whitecaps.
“Keep up, Harry!” he called encouragingly. “We will soon have you on board.”
“I can’t keep up any longer,” gasped his chum. “I am played out.” And throwing up his arms, Harry disappeared.