“Them as is born to be hanged.”
It might have been presumed that Bob Dimsted would either have tried to render some assistance or else have raised an alarm.
Bob Dimsted did nothing of the kind.
For certain reasons of his own, and as one who had too frequently been in the hot water of trouble, Master Bob thought only of himself, and catching his line in his hand as he quickly drew it from the water, he hastily gathered up his fishing paraphernalia, and ran off as hard as he could go.
He had time, however, to see Dexter’s wet head rise to the surface and then go down again, for the unwilling bather had one leg hooked in the bough, which took him down once more, as it yielded to the current, and the consequence was that when Dexter rose, breathless and half-strangled, he was fifty yards down the stream.
But he was now free, and giving his head a shake, he trod the water for a few moments, and then struck out for the shore, swimming as easily as a frog.
A few sturdy strokes took him out of the sharp current and into an eddy near the bank, by whose help he soon reached the deep still water, swimming so vigorously that before long he was abreast of the doctor’s garden, where a group beneath the trees startled him more than his involuntary plunge.
For there, in a state of the greatest excitement, were the doctor and Helen, with Peter Cribb, with a clothes-prop to be used for a different purpose now.
Further behind was Dan’l Copestake, who came panting up with the longest handled rake just as Dexter was nearing the bank.
“Will he be drowned?” whispered Helen, as she held tightly by her father’s arm.