“Holy Mary,” she cried aloud, “save your dear child, Clarence. Remember he is not baptized.”
The girl had not yet finished her adjuration when a great shout arose from the men and shrill screams from the children. Far out, fully five yards ahead of Ezra and as many yards further down stream, Clarence came to the surface. The boy had been the best long distance diver of all the youngsters attending Clermont Academy, the eastern boarding school.
A howl of rage arose from the old woman.
“Get up! Get up!” she cried, rushing with outstretched and hooked claws at the kneeling girl. It was only by the quickest of movements that Ben was able to save the child from bodily injury. As it was, the woman dashed into Ben’s rigid and protecting elbow, and, doubled up with pain, retired shrieking and cursing to the genial companionship of her husband.
Meantime the race went on bravely. The two boys for the next ten minutes retained their respective positions, with, however, one point of difference. Ezra was swimming in almost a direct line; Clarence was being carried down the river by the current. As the moments passed, the distance between the two visibly widened.
Ben was wringing his hands and frowning.
“What is it, Ben?” asked Dora. “Is there any danger? Is there anything wrong?”
“I’m afraid,” Ben made answer, “that if Clarence doesn’t fight the current more strongly, he may be carried down below the island. Unless he’s a wonderful swimmer, there will be danger.”
Ben’s forebodings promised, as the moments went on, to be justified. Both boys were nearing the island, Ezra not more than twenty yards below the point from which he had set out. Clarence quite near the clump of southernmost willows.
“Do you think he’ll reach it?” cried the girl.