Clarence sat huddled up in the rowboat, a picture of varying emotions. He did not look at Tom.
By this time, however, several other boats on the river had come up, some of them being motor craft. One was well supplied with chemical extinguishers, and, at considerable risk, the men aboard it began to fight the fire in Clarence’s boat.
Tom, his chums, and the other cadets helped, but Clarence himself remained as far away from danger as he could.
Finally the fire was put out, without great damage having been done, though the burned boat was unable to run under its own power.
“Will you let us have the honor of putting you ashore?” asked Tom, of the cadet who seemed to be the leader of the little party with Clarence, “or do you—”
“Thanks very much, old man. If you’ll row us over to the Point we’ll appreciate it. It’s about time we reported back. What do you want done with this boat of yours, anyhow, Hawkesbury?” he asked of Clarence, a bit sharply.
“Oh, I don’t care,” was the sullen answer.
“This gentleman says he’ll tow it to a repair dock if you say so.”
“Yes, I suppose that will be best,” Clarence said. He did not seem to have sense enough to express his thanks. But the cadets did this for him, apologizing for the condition of the youth.
Then, when the disabled boat was being towed up the river, Tom and his chums rowed the upper classmen and Clarence to the West Point shore of the Hudson.