“What shall I do?” wailed he, shivering as he sent a glance of terror at the pool.
“Go right into the bath-house and ask the attendant to give you a rub-down and dry your clothes,” advised Mr. Dalken.
But Algy seemed to have had his last bit of sense washed out of him, and he stood shivering without making a move to do as he had been advised. Then Mr. Alexander took a hand in the case.
“Come along there, A. A. A.! If you don’t get off this wet platform, you’ll slip back in the pool again. Now come on!”
As though the threat of more water roused him from sleep, Algy hurried after Mr. Alexander. Then it was seen that he still clutched the Indian basket; and the strand of wool, having so entangled itself through the dive and the rescue, stretched and stretched, and at last it snapped! When Mrs. Alexander saved her daughter’s work-basket, still dangling from Algy’s hand, the scarf had been unravelled, and but one row of stitches remained upon the needles in the basket.
“Why, Ma! Isn’t that my work-basket which A. A. A. has upon his arm?” exclaimed Dodo, astonishment uppermost in her expression.
“I think it is, Dodo. I used it for my work, this morning, but I did not remove your knitting.”
“Your work! What work was that, Ma?” asked Dodo, in amazement.
“Oh! A bit of work that I wanted to do this morning. Something of which you know nothing. I fear it is gone now—in the pool, likely,” and Mrs. Alexander sighed with regret.