“My foot must have been caught in one of the roots,” said Tom breathing relief. “I guess I got struck too. It was a grand mix-up. You saved me. If that had fallen on me—”
“Well it didn’t,” said Whalen.
Tom climbed over the prone tree to where his friend waited. The storm was abating, the rain returning to its sullen habit. The pervasive gloom of the steady drizzle and the sodden sky was returning.
Whalen was drenched, his clothing torn, and he was breathing heavily. Despite his abounding gratitude which transcended every other thought, Tom was impelled to give a sudden, quizzical, puzzled look at his rescuer. Not that he expected to find any hint of the resemblance he had seen before.
He wanted to make sure of himself, to reassure himself that he had not been fully conscious before. He believed that he had been “seeing things” and he wished to check up this conviction. Surely a resemblance, however striking, noticed amid such conditions, was not worth thinking twice about.
Yet there was something in Whalen’s face which for the moment startled Tom. Perhaps he only fancied a resemblance now. But it was not this which startled him. It was a certain troubled look in his friend’s face, a look as of fear and apprehension. Whalen always had a weary look and it was his weary manner of utterance which made him what Audry Ferris called sarcastic. He had that look now and it was pitiable, for added to it was a troubled look. A suggestion of anxiety.
“Who did you think I was?” he asked.
Tom, like the good scout he was, answered cautiously and cheerily, “I guess I don’t know what I thought or what I said. I know you saved my life, that’s sure.”
Whalen seemed about to ask another question but refrained, apparently relieved and satisfied. And so they started for the hotel.
“I’ve seen stunts,” said Tom, “but I never saw anything like that. You saved my life. And you’re a wonder. Were you holding the whole business up or was I dreaming?”