“Here,” he demanded, “what’s the truth about this? Has any one been drowned?”
“They don’t know yet,” was the reply. “They’re working over him now. They say—”
“Working over who?” interrupted Dan.
“Harry Merrow. They say he was under the water almost five minutes, and—”
“And Pennimore?” gasped Dan.
“He’s all right. And Thompson, too. They were here a minute ago.” Their informant glanced eagerly around in the hope of being able to exhibit them. “They had an awful time getting him up. He was stuck in the mud. Look, here comes the doctor now!”
It was the physician from Greenburg, and with him was Mr. Collins. The crowd in the corridor stopped talking and made way for them. The doctor viewed the anxious faces around him and paused.
“Now, I’m going to ask you boys to be very quiet this evening,” he announced. “Your friend is doing very nicely, but I want him to have a good long sleep. So just as little noise as possible, please!”
He passed on, and a murmur of relief grew and spread in the hall. Then by ones and twos the fellows withdrew from the building or crept tip-toeing to their rooms. Dan and Alf were already hurrying across the Yard to Clarke.
“Gee,” said Dan, taking a long breath, “I was scared!”