The Crimson Sweater

by Ralph Henry Barbour

"You said you had, you idiot! It doesn't sound so now, though."

"I said I had a cold? When did I say so?" demanded Jim.

"Why, in the boat, coming back. I said—"

Then they passed out of hearing and Roy smiled all to himself there in the darkness. Finally the last of the footfalls ceased sounding on the path and Roy stretched his cramped limbs and eased his position. It wouldn't do to return to the landing yet, though; he must allow them at least an hour to get to bed and asleep. To be sure, the dormitories were not, he believed, in view of the landing, but it wouldn't do to take chances. So he made himself as comfortable as he could and waited. He was shivering now and his teeth chattered every time he opened his mouth to yawn. He wondered what time it might be; perhaps one o'clock, perhaps four. At any rate, he must wait an hour longer and he mustn't go to sleep while he waited.

That was the hardest part of it, to keep awake. It seemed to him that he had never been sleepier in his life. The minutes passed while he strove to keep his eyes open. Time and again he caught himself drowsing and threw off the temptation just in time. But the minutes went by, as they must even when a chap is sitting in a thicket in a suit of damp clothes, and minutes make hours. After a while he assured himself that the hour had passed, yet resolutely held his place for a while longer to be on the safe side. Finally, shivering and cramped, he crawled out and picked his way back to the landing. If only he had matches! he thought ruefully. And the next moment his bare foot trod on something and stooping he picked up what he wanted! It felt like a good one, but he decided to find the lantern before he tested it. He didn't have to search long for the lantern, for he fell over it almost the next step he took. Finding a sheltered place, he opened the lantern and tried the match. It lighted, flickered uncertainly a moment and then burned steadily. He held it to the wick, closed the door and raising the light looked about him.

There were seven rowboats and Chub's canoe made fast to the end of the float. It was a little difficult to tell which were Ferry Hill and which Hammond craft, but Roy didn't let that trouble him. For the next ten minutes he was so busy that he forgot his coldness. Once the moon came out for a moment or two, but for the most part it was so dark that the lantern's rays seemed very feeble. Finally, however, the last knot was tied and Roy, blowing out the lantern, slid into one of the Ferry Hill boats and slipped oars into oarlocks. Then, slowly, he headed away in the darkness, and one by one went each of the seven other boats, the canoe dipping along in the rear. For, thought Roy with a chuckle, "what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."

I'm not going to dwell on the next hour. Fortunately there was no wind, and the slight tide was in his favor. There were one or two lights on the opposite shore, but as Roy didn't know where they were they didn't help much, and it was more by good-luck than good management that he reached it at all.

When the boat did grate on the shore he leaped out with painter in hand and made fast to a rock. Then he returned to the boat and waited as patiently as he could for dawn. But he didn't have to do that, as it proved. He had been nodding here only half an hour perhaps when the moon, which all the night had been trying its best to elude the clouds, positively leaped into view with an effect so startling that Roy almost fell out of the boat. The moon was floating across a little pond of purple-gray sky, the banks of which were piles of fluffy white clouds like snow. But he didn't waste much time in admiring the scene. Swiftly he looked about him. He would have yelled with joy if he hadn't been so tired and sleepy, for there, not a dozen yards away along the bank was the boat-house.

At first he decided to pull the boats out where they were and return to the island without them. Then he determined to see the thing through if it took all the rest of the night. So he pushed off and headed up-stream. By keeping well in toward shore he was soon in the lee of the island where no breeze could reach him. After that, it was simple work. The moon stayed out long enough to guide him to shore and then retired again. A few minutes' work on the beach sufficed to bring all the boats out of the water. He worked quietly, for he had no wish to explain the night's happenings then; he wanted only to tumble into bed and go to sleep. Softly he felt his way through the brush—it was too dark to find the path—crossed the clearing and at length found his tent and crept quietly into bed. The next thing he knew the canvas overhead was a moving pattern of sunlight and shadow and Chub was pulling him out of bed by one foot.