For a fraction of a second he stood poised on the edge of the pool, then in a beautiful deep dive he plunged under and with strong strokes swept down to the bottom and seized Pell by the hair. The tank was seven feet deep where Pell had been diving and so it was impossible for Jeff to stand on bottom. He did however plant his feet firmly on the tiles and shoved himself toward the surface, dragging Pell after him and bringing his head above water, too.
But the half-conscious drowning Pell never knew what was taking place. Instinct, however, moved his arms, and his grasping hands closed around Jeff in a death grip, and before Thatcher realized it, he was being strangled in a deadly grasp. Jeff had expected this, and as they both went under again, he forced Pell’s head around, pushed his own hands and arms up between the arms that were entwined about his neck, and with a superhuman effort, broke the grip. And when they came to the surface again Pell was so far gone that he made no further resistance.
On his back and holding Pell’s dragging body under the chin, Jeff swam toward the brass ladder and climbed drippingly out. He dragged Pell up onto the marble coping and then gathered his limp form into his arms and hurried toward the locker room.
His appearance at the doorway of the locker room in dripping underclothes with the white and bloodless form of the little Sophomore in his arms caused consternation for a moment. The fellows who saw him rushed toward him, exclaiming.
[“I—I—think he’s still alive,” Jeff answered] to the hasty questions that were put to him, “but for Pete’s sake lend a hand here and hurry up or he will pass out. He’s full of water.”
[“I—I—think he’s still alive,” Jeff answered]
“Right,” exclaimed Buck Hart, lifting Pell out of Jeff’s arms and laying him on a bench. “Here, fellows, a little pep now. Take hold.”
Eager hands grasped Pell and followed Buck’s directions.
First they stood the unconscious boy all but on his head while quarts of water drained out of his nose and mouth.