“It was a close shave for all hands,” said Captain Jeb, permitting himself a long-drawn sigh of relief, as Dan, after shaking himself like a water-dog, sank down, a little pale and breathless, at his side. “And you were what most folk would call a consarned fool, matey. Didn’t you hear me say these ’ere waters had sharks in ’em?”
“Yes,” said Dan, whose eyes were fixed upon a drift of sunlit cloud in the distance.
“Then what the deuce did you do it for?” said Captain Jeb, severely.
“Couldn’t let a fellow drown,” was the brief answer.
“Warn’t nothing special to you, was he?” growled the old sailor, who was still fiercely resentful of his “scare.” “Ain’t ever been perticular nice or soft spoken as I ever heard to you. And you jumping in to be gobbled by sharks, for him, like he was your own twin brother! You’re a fool, matey,—a durn young fool!”
And Dan, who understood his old sailor friend, only laughed,—laughed while his eyes still followed the drift of swinging cloud fringing the deep blue of the sky. They were like the robe of the only Mother he had ever known,—the sweet Mother on whom Brother Bart had called to save Dud. And Dan had heard and obeyed and he felt with a happy heart his Mother was smiling on him now.
But to Dud this thrilling adventure left no pleasant memories. He was sick for several days from his overdose of salt water, weak and nervous from fright and shock: there was a bruise over his eye from the saving impact of Dan’s sturdy fist, which he resented unreasonably. More than all, he resented the chorus that went up from all at Killykinick in praise of Dan’s heroism.
Jim testified openly and honestly that the cry of “Sharks” got him, and he couldn’t have dared a plunge in those waters to save his own brother.
“I saw a nigger cut in half by one of those man-eaters once, and it makes my flesh creep to think of it.”
Even dull-witted old Neb rose to show appreciation of Dan’s bold plunge, and said he “reckoned all boys wuth anything did sech fool tricks some times.”