"Good for you!" cried one of the pump-men. "Some of us tried to go down, but we couldn't fetch that far, not being able to hold our breath. If you'll try, it will be the only chance poor Tom has, for he can't last much longer, and by the time the other diver gets here—well, it'll be too late, that's all. Go ahead, young man, and try."
Murmurs of appreciation greeted Joe's announcement. There was a hurried consultation among the members of the town water committee, of which Mr. Blair was one.
"Shall I go down?" asked Joe.
"Yes!" cried Mr. Blair. "Go, and we'll all pray that you may be successful," he added solemnly. "It is a terrible thing to stand by and know a fellow being is dying, as Rand may be," and he motioned to the water, still gently agitated by the air bubbles.
Joe Strong lost no time. He was told there were some old clothes in the gate house which he could use, and soon, attired in a pair of trousers cut off short and in an old shirt, he took his place on the reservoir wall just above the spot where the lifeline disappeared in the water.
It was going to be a deep dive, and Joe knew it. And now, if ever, was the time for him to break the record in holding his breath. For he might be able to free the diver in a few seconds, or it might take minutes.
Joe inflated and deflated his lungs several times. The crowd watched him as if fascinated. Helen caught Joe's glance and nodded encouragingly to him, but there was a look of anxiety on her face.
"If Joe should be caught as the diver is," she thought for a flash. And then she dismissed the dreadful idea, for she dared not dwell on it.
"Well, I'm ready," said Joe, after a pause.
"May you succeed!" whispered Mr. Blair.