“It’s no use, I can’t help it. Here, Prescott, take my coat and waistcoat, I must go in for it.”
“Nonsense, Frank. My dear fellow, it would be madness!”
Frank paid no attention to his friend’s remonstrances, but sat down on the gravel, and began to unlace his boots. He was however anticipated. There was a movement among the crowd near, and a lad of about fourteen, without jacket or boots, stepped into the water, breaking the ice as he did so, amidst a general cheer and some few expostulations from the crowd. Frank Maynard pushed forward impetuously to the spot.
“Can you swim well, my boy?” he asked.
“Ay,” the boy answered; “I bathe in the Serpentine every morning, winter and summer, except when it’s frozen.”
“They’re gone to fetch the ropes,” a man said; “you had better wait till they come back.”
“No, no,” the lad said, “it will be too late—he’s pretty nigh done already;” and he went deeper into the water.
“That’s right, my lad,” Frank called out; “lose no time, or you will get numbed by the cold; and don’t be afraid: if you want help, sing out, and I will come in for you.”
Frank unlaced his boots ready to kick them off in a moment, unbuttoned his waistcoat, handed his watch to Prescott, and stood with the rest watching the boy’s progress.
He was swimming now. It was slow work; for as he advanced he had to break the ice, sometimes by strokes of his arm, sometimes by trying to get on it and breaking it with his weight. At last he reached the thin ice. It gave way readily enough before him; he gained the little open piece of water which the dog had made, and then turned to come back. It had not been far, not more than twenty yards, but it had taken a long time, and he was evidently exhausted.