“Confound it all!” fumed Sam. “Why won’t people think of Safety First? Why won’t——”
There he broke off, aghast at the catastrophe he beheld, but Step’s voice rose shrilly:
“Great Scott! it’s happened! They’re in—both in!”
With appalling swiftness the ice had yielded beneath the weight of the two, and Little Perrine, vanishing as if through a trap-door in a stage, had been followed almost instantly by Orkney.
Step started to the rescue, striking out wildly and shouting as he raced down the pond at top speed. Sam, about to join in the dash, checked himself. He knew well enough how the thin ice near the dam, once broken, would crack and crumble under even slight pressure. “Safety First!” was the thought which flashed upon his brain; safety not so much for himself as for the pair struggling in the water.
Other skaters were speeding after Step: but Sam, turning, hurried to the heap of boards near the fire. He caught up the longest plank on which he could lay hands, and skated down the pond with all the speed his burden permitted. Before him other would-be rescuers, halted by the widening circle of open water, were moving about aimlessly, if pluckily, getting in one another’s way, and risking a general break-up of the ice under their weight. One youth, indeed, had slipped over the edge, but luckily had been dragged back, suffering no more serious consequences than a drenching to the waist.
Orkney was clutching desperately with one hand at the crumbling edge of the ice. At first Sam saw nothing of Little Perrine, but as he dropped his board and thrust its end over the water, he had a glimpse of the boy’s head, pressed close to Orkney’s breast. So Tom, having caused the disaster, was doing what he could to save an innocent victim! Such was Sam’s belief, and the belief of Step and the rest.
The long plank swung nearer and nearer to Orkney. He grasped it, drew himself forward, threw an arm over it; his other arm was still about Little Perrine. Sam, kneeling on the board with Step anchoring its end to the thicker ice, got a firm grip on Orkney’s coat collar. Then came the tug of war. It lasted for thrilling seconds, of which Sam was to have only confused memories, in which were mingled the ominous cracking of the ice, the shouting of the spectators, his own cries of warning to the crowd to move back, Orkney’s struggles, the ghastly pallor of Little Perrine’s face. Slowly, by inches, they gained. Then with a report as sharp as that of a pistol a foot or two of the edge gave way; Orkney dropped back till his shoulders were submerged; Sam’s arms were plunged in water to the elbows. Then Tom made a mighty effort. Sam exerted all his strength. What had been lost was recovered and retained. Then there was another clear gain; and, in an instant more, Orkney and Little Perrine had been dragged to safety.
Tom was able to raise himself on an elbow, but Little Perrine lay unconscious and motionless.