“Good,” said Harry. “Ever do this one?”
He stood a moment on the end of the board, sprang high, turned a complete backward somersault, and sank into the water feet first and hands high in air.
“That was simply great!” Atwell shouted.
“Try this one,” said Harry, as he clambered off the ladder on to the plank. Placing his feet on the very end of the board, he allowed himself to fall to a horizontal position, rolled in the air like a hoop slightly opened at one side, and pierced the water turning like a wheel.
“Fine! Magnificent!” said Brownell, as Harry clambered up again to take his place beside the others who were sitting along the board with their feet dangling into the butt.
“That fellow over there,” said one of the Hyenas, “makes more noise than a ferry-boat.” He pointed to a canoe out in the lake which was occupied by a young man and a small boy. The boy was waving his handkerchief ecstatically in applause of Harry’s feat, and his companion was splashing the water with his paddle, apparently for the same purpose. As they watched, they saw the young man ship the paddle, rise, step toward the middle of the canoe, lift what appeared to be a red sweater and wave it. Suddenly he staggered, and the next thing the boys saw was an overturned canoe, a lot of paraphernalia, and two figures sprawling desperately in the water.
Harry had risen and without a single word walked across the knees of the other boys and disappeared, before the canoeists were really in the lake and before the other boys had moved. He did not stop to dive or even to jump, he simply walked off the end of the board. Then Brownell, who was at the outer end of the board, dived, but by that time Harry had almost reached the small boy, who was uttering pitiable cries. The young man had managed to get from deep water and stood chest deep near the farther shore, wringing his hands and screaming like a girl.
As Harry neared the boy the floundering figure disappeared and he waited. Presently it rose logily, heavily, the head back. “That’s right,” said Harry, “keep your head back and don’t move.” The only response was a scream and a panic-stricken clutch for Harry’s wrist. He loosened the small hand easily by turning his thumb against its wrist, but the boy’s two hands went convulsively to his neck, clinging desperately. He put his arm around the little fellow’s waist and his other hand, palm upward, under the chin, the tips of his fingers reaching the boy’s nose. Then he pulled and pushed jerkily. In a moment the little hands let go their hold. Like lightning, the boy was turned, almost brutally, as it seemed, and Harry was behind him again, his arms under the little fellow’s armpits, grasping each hand as it tried convulsively to clutch him, and making for the shore.
“Is he all right?” called Brownell, who, with one or two others, was almost across.
“Is he dead? Oh, is he dead?” gasped the young fellow who had been his companion. Harry paid no attention to the question, nor to the excited youth, but helped the boy to get rid of the water he had swallowed and tried to calm him.