“You get out!” cried the badgered one. “I can save girls as well as anyone, only I never get the chance.”
“You’re not quick enough,” suggested Dutch. “You should be on the lookout to get a life-saving medal. But, all joking aside, Tom, was it at all serious?”
“It sure was,” came the reply. “It looked to be touch and go for a few minutes.”
On his way to the library that evening, to get a book he needed in preparing his lessons, Tom met Shambler. The athlete looked at our hero, half shamefacedly, and asked:
“Are the—the girls all right?”
“Yes,” answered Tom shortly.
“I say, Parsons,” and Shambler’s voice had a note of pleading in it. “I—I lost my head, I guess. I was a coward, I know it. I—er—are you going to tell?”
“Of course not!” snapped Tom. “We—we don’t tell—at Randall.”
He hurried on, not stopping to hear what Shambler had to say—if anything—in the way of thanks.