“Never mind; I can get it,” was the reply. Harry stood up gingerly in the canoe, and gave a mighty tug at the paddle. It came up so quickly that he lost his balance, the paddle flew over his head, and the canoe rocked dangerously. Making a frantic effort to recover his balance, Harry fell with one knee against the opposite edge of the craft, and in the next moment both boys were in the water.
Gerald came up sputtering and laughing. “You’re a nice one!” he cried. He had kept hold of his own paddle, but the one which had caused the catastrophe was floating a good ten feet away, while the canoe, which had promptly righted itself, was rocking sluggishly, half full of water, just beyond reach. Gerald thought he could touch bottom, but when he tried it, he found that in spite of the fact that he was hardly a dozen feet from shore, he was still over his depth. Then he looked for Harry. That youth was nowhere to be seen, and Gerald, with one hand on the canoe, stared about him in perplexity and a growing uneasiness.
“Harry!” he called.
There was no answer. The surface of the pond was still and untroubled. For an instant he thought that perhaps his companion had waded ashore, and was hiding in the bushes and reeds. But there hadn’t been time for that. With growing horror, Gerald realized that Harry had not come to the surface after he had sunk; that he was down there—somewhere—caught, perhaps, in the mud—drowning!
A wild desire for flight almost overpowered him. For a moment longer he clung desperately to the canoe, white of face and with staring eyes fixed in terror on the calm surface of the treacherous pond. Then, with an inarticulate cry and an awful fear clutching at his heart, he tore himself loose from the canoe and dove.
Baseball practice had been longer to-day, and a five-inning game with the Second Nine had brought it to a close at a few minutes before five. Up in the gymnasium there was a merry babel of voices, mingled with the rushing of water in the shower baths. Dan had played at third for a part of the time, and now, glowing from his work and the subsequent shower, he was dressing himself leisurely and happily in the locker-room, listening to the talk about him, and now and then throwing in a word. The windows were open and the steam was writhing out into the sunlight. Payson had taken his departure and the discussion of the day’s work was free and untrammelled. To be sure, Andy Ryan was still present, but every one knew that Andy never carried tales. And so Lawrence, who played rightfield, and was in the First Class, wasn’t mincing matters in his loud criticism of Payson. Millener was trying to “call him down,” but every one was talking at once, and his efforts were not very successful. The discussion was waxing vehement when the swinging door at the foot of the stair was thrown open and an excited youth stumbled in.
[“Have you fellows heard the news?” he cried.]
