Lance Darby, with a perfectly solemn face, set Pretty Sweet to work thumping an oak tree with a huge club to “rattle off the nuts;” and he might have been whaling away at the trunk of the tree until luncheon had not Chet taken pity on him and showed him that neither chestnuts or shell-barks grew on oak trees, and that that particular oak didn’t even have an acorn on it!
Suddenly, just as the girls had the good things spread on the seats of the two cars, a chorus of screams arose from the fishermen. There were three of them, and when our friends’ gaze was attracted by the shouts they saw that the bigger one was down in the water and the other two were leaping about on the sands.
“Guess they’ve caught a whale,” said Chet.
“They are in trouble—serious trouble,” declared his sister, leaving the car herself to start for the scene of the difficulty.
“That’s little Mike Pocock,” said Eve, grabbing her arm. “And I believe the fellow in the water is Hebe.”
“Never mind. He’s in some difficulty. See! he can’t stand up,” cried Laura.
“But weally!” gasped Prettyman Sweet. “The lunch is just weady——”
“Come on, you cannibal!” ejaculated Lance. “Let’s see what’s wanted over there.”
The whole party, girls as well as boys, trooped along the shore of the pond toward the rock where the fishermen had been standing. They saw in a moment that this boulder had rolled over—probably while Hebe Pocock was standing upon it to make a cast—and that Hebe was caught by the rock and held down to the bottom of the pond. He was barely able to keep his head out of water as the boys and girls of Central High approached.