CHAPTER II
A Gallant Rescue
The occupants of the ill-fated craft were thrown clear of it just as the wreck broke into a mass of flames.
"They went down over there, Bill!" cried Garry, pointing to the spot where the strangers had disappeared. "Better slow down and I'll dive for them."
"I'm with you," declared Rooster, who was almost as expert a swimmer as Garry Grayson.
Bill nodded and brought the boat sharply about. Garry poised on the edge of the deck for a moment and then dived into the transparent water, closely followed by Rooster Long.
As Garry came up he saw one of the victims of the wreck struggling in the water and trying to keep his head above the surface.
The owner of the head was evidently in a frenzy of fear.
"Save me! Help! I'm drowning!"
The words came in sputtering yelps, and Garry struck out for the imperiled youth. In a moment he was at the boy's side.
"Put your hand on my shoulder," he directed. "Easy now. You're all right. We've got a boat right here."
What was Garry's surprise to feel the arms of the other boy close about him in a grip that seemed to be made of steel!
Garry's arms were pinioned close to his sides. He was powerless to make a move to save either himself or the fear-crazed lad who seemed determined to drown them both.
Garry heard a cry from Bill Sherwood and knew by the sound that the motorboat was being turned around and headed toward the spot where he struggled vainly to rid himself of that iron clutch around his shoulders.
Garry Grayson had been born and brought up in the thriving town of Lenox, a place of about fifteen thousand inhabitants, situated on the Sheldon River about two miles from Bass Lake. He was now about thirteen years old, a frank, likable, courageous boy, a leader in the sports of his age, and extremely popular with his mates.
His father was Joseph Grayson, a prominent lawyer of the town and active in its civic life. His mother was a refined, gracious woman, to whom her son was devoted. Garry had a twin sister, Ella, a pretty, merry girl, who teased her brother unmercifully, though in fact she was very fond and proud of him.
Among Garry's closest friends were Ted Dillingham and Nick Danter, whose fathers were partners in the largest department store in town. Others with whom he was on the most friendly terms included Tom Long, otherwise Rooster, and Bill Sherwood. All of them had been on the football team of the Hill Street grammar school, which had won the championship from similar schools in the town, and their enthusiasm for the game had still further cemented their friendship. Now they had graduated from the intermediate school and were preparing to enter the Lenox high school in the fall.
They had found the road to the championship no easy one. There had been traitors in their own school who had done their best to have Hill Street lose. Chief among these had been Chatwood Johns and Bud Warding who were disgruntled and envious because they had been put off the scrub team for playing dirty football. There was, too, another enemy, Sandy Podder, a vicious, dissipated pupil of the Lenox high school, who had caused Garry and his chums no end of trouble.
How Garry Grayson and his teammates overcame all obstacles; how, with the aid of a gypsy girl, they exposed a mystifying conspiracy—these and other exciting incidents are narrated in the first volume of this series, entitled: "Garry Grayson's Hill Street Eleven; or, The Football Boys of Lenox."
And now to return to Garry in his desperate plight as he was seeking to rescue the boy who had been thrown into the lake from the wrecked motorboat.
As the water closed over Garry's head he put all his strength into a straining, outward movement of his imprisoned arms. He felt the grip of his companion relax a little. He tried again with still better results. He kicked downward desperately with his feet to bring them both to the surface for the air his lungs demanded. He felt the grip of the other boy definitely relax. The latter had either fainted from fright or had drawn so much water into his lungs as to become unconscious.
With a feeling of immense thankfulness, Garry drew his arms free, seized the boy by the hair and brought him to the surface.
Garry was terribly weak himself by this time from muscular and mental strain. He gulped in the air, the while treading water. He shifted his grip to the strange boy's shoulders, keeping his head well above the surface.
"Safe, old boy? I was beginning to get mighty scared."
It was Bill Sherwood's voice, and, looking up, Garry saw the motorboat looming above him.
"Take this fellow, will you, Bill?" he gasped. "I'm all in."
It was the work of a moment for the boys in the boat to relieve Garry of his unconscious burden, then reach a hand to their chum and help him scramble over the side of the boat.
Rooster had reached the dripping deck only a moment before with the second inmate of the wrecked craft. He had had no such close call as Garry, however, for the other lad, though temporarily dazed, could himself swim and required only a little of Rooster's assistance.
The second boy shook the water from his clothes and regarded his unconscious friend without much concern.
"Seems pretty well done up," he remarked unemotionally. "Seems as though he'd tried to get the whole lake down his windpipe."
"He has got a good part of it, and it's up to us to get it out of him in a hurry," replied Bill. "Pitch in, you fellows, and take turns in doing as I do."
Bill Sherwood knelt down by the side of the pallid-faced youth and, with the help of some of his comrades, began to work the unconscious lad's arms over his head and back again and apply other first aid principles with which they were all familiar.
The wreck of the motorboat had been witnessed by many others on the lake, and various craft gathered quickly at the scene of the disaster, some from mere curiosity, others with a laudable desire to extend help, should help be needed.
Some of them were of service in extinguishing the flames of the wrecked vessel before it was wholly destroyed. Most of the upper part was burned, but there was still enough of the hull left to warrant the belief that the boat might be rebuilt.
One boat that swung alongside happened to have a doctor aboard.
"Can I be of any help?" the doctor called out.
"You might come aboard and take a look at him, though I think he's coming to all right," replied Garry.
"Right you are," pronounced the doctor, after a brief examination. "He's opening his eyes now. Luckily, he missed the rocks and only hit the water. And you fellows have done a good job in getting that out of him. All he needs is rest, but it will be just as well to get him home as soon as possible."
"We'll do that," promised Bill, and with a friendly wave of his hand to the doctor stepped again into his own boat and departed.
The prostrate lad opened his eyes and looked around with a frown on his face. He did not speak, nor did the Lenox boys urge him to, but waited for him to get his strength back.
The other lad from the wrecked craft had watched their efforts with more or less interest, but had not volunteered to take part in them. There was evidently no love lost between him and his companion.
There had been a gleam of recognition in Bill's eyes when the less injured lad had scrambled on board, and now that Bill had a moment of respite he introduced the newcomer to his companions.
"This is Jerry Cox, fellows," Bill said informally. "My brother Frank knows him. Jerry, let me introduce Garry Grayson, Rooster Long, Ted Dillingham and Nick Danter. Perhaps you know some of them already."
"Only by name," returned Jerry Cox, as he seated himself on a box near by with a cheerful grin on his face. "Garry Grayson sure led a wicked team for Hill Street last year and Rooster Long did some classy work as back. Gee, I wish I could play the kind of football you fellows put up!"
Both Garry and Rooster warmed to the genuine enthusiasm of their new acquaintance. Here was a football fan like themselves. Garry wondered at the dislike that was evident in Bill's tone as he made the introductions, and made a mental note that he would ask him about it the first time he had an opportunity.
"I should think you would be satisfied with your own special game," Bill said now in the same cold, unfriendly tone. "I hear from Frank that you play a wicked game of pool."
"Wicked is right," agreed Jerry amiably. "I don't need much advice when I have a cue in my hand."
They were interrupted by a fretful voice.
"Why are you keeping me out here?" queried Jerry's companion. "Why don't you take me to shore?"
"We'll do that in a jiffy," responded Bill, with a cheerful grin. "I guess this old bus can get us that far."
The eyes of the rescued boy turned toward him, and the frown on his face deepened.
Garry and his chums had a chance to study that face now, and what they saw did not appeal to them. It was a good-looking face in a rather weak way, but the forehead looked as though it had the habit of scowling and the mouth had a peevish, downward droop that seemed to indicate an habitually sullen state of mind.
The uninvited guest proceeded to act in such a way as to leave little doubt in his auditors' minds that they had judged correctly.
"Take it easy," counseled Garry, as he put his arm beneath the other's shoulder. "Better rest until you get your breath and feel stronger."
The young fellow brushed away Garry's arm impatiently, and after a brief struggle managed to lift himself to a sitting posture. His sullen eyes swept the lake.
"Where's my motorboat?" he asked sharply.
"Gone, Lent," Jerry answered, with an airy snap of his fingers. "Burned up."
"Burned up?" said the other boy, looking incredulously at Jerry. "Why, the boat was brand new! I just bought it. Burned up! I don't believe it!"
"I don't suppose it makes much difference whether you believe it or not," Jerry replied. "There's a fragment of it left, as you can see by looking on the other side. Maybe it can be rebuilt and maybe not. For myself, I should say it wasn't worth towing home. Sorry, but you can't get away from facts."
Garry, who had been listening to the dialogue with interest, now spoke.
"Your boat struck a rock and something exploded," he explained. "We saw that you were in trouble and came as quickly as we could. But the boat burned fast, and, as your friend says, there isn't much of it left."
"Grayson seems to have left out the most important part of it," Jerry put in at this point. "He saved your life, Lent, which ought to mean at least as much to you as the loss of your motorboat."
He spoke with a touch of irony which seemed to be lost altogether on his companion.
The boy addressed as Lent looked at Garry with a gleam of interest for a moment.
"You're the Grayson that played quarterback on the Hill Street eleven last year, are you? You made me lose a lot of money that I bet on the Webster Street team."
It was a queer way of expressing gratitude, and Garry was irritated for a moment.
"You ought to have used better judgment in picking the team to bet on," he answered curtly.
But Lent Stewart was not listening. He dragged himself to his feet and, steadying himself, gripped the rail and stared out frowningly over the water.
Then he turned savagely on Jerry Cox, ignoring the other boys.
"If my new motorboat's wrecked it's all your fault, Jerry Cox!" he snarled. "If you hadn't grabbed my arm, I'd have steered clear of the rocks all right."
"Yes, you would!" jeered Jerry. "If I hadn't done my best to stop your crazy piloting, we'd have been at the bottom long before. I warned you that you were going straight into danger, but you wouldn't listen. You always think you know it all."
"It would be queer if I didn't know more about a boat than you do," retorted his companion. "You as much as wrecked that new boat, and you ought to pay for it."
"Watch me," returned Jerry derisively, and there followed what promised to be a long drawn out and acrimonious dispute had not Garry intervened.
"Let's take these boys where they want to go and get back to the house, Bill," he suggested, a glint in his eye. "I'm hungry, and something tells me that I'm going to be hungrier soon. You wouldn't let me die of starvation, would you?"
Bill looked uncertainly at Garry and the others, opened his mouth as though to speak, then shut it again with a look of determination and turned his attention to his engine.
Big Bill was hospitable, as were his father and mother. The obvious and natural thing for him to do under the circumstances would have been to ask the derelicts up to his house, which was not far away, give them dry clothes of some sort, invite them to partake of an early supper, and then send them home in the family car.
Nine times out of ten he would have acted in just that way. But this time he conquered his instinct toward hospitality without apparent effort. Looking at Jerry Cox and Lent Stewart with an expressionless face, he said in a cold voice that caused his chums to look at each other with inquiring glances:
"If you'll tell me where you want to go, I'll see that you get there as soon as possible."
"We came from Lenox," Lent Stewart answered, sullenly enough. "I have a boathouse there and I can get a change of clothes. My father is rich, and he'll see that you get a—"
He was evidently going to add "reward," but the color that came into Garry's face and the flash that came from his eyes daunted him, and he murmured something that was unintelligible.
"I guess I can get you there all right," said Bill, as he coaxed the engine into life. "It's all up to the old tub. We'll hope she's in a good humor."
It appeared that the "old tub" was in exceptionally good humor; so they made the two-mile trip up the Sheldon river in excellent time. Bill had fastened the hull of the wrecked boat to his own craft with a rope and pulled it along after him.
Lent Stewart's evil humor persisted throughout the trip. Not a word of thanks came from his lips. He sat sullenly, looking gloweringly at the wreck of his boat, varied only by the ugly glances he cast at Jerry.
When they reached the boathouse landing, Stewart stepped off, and with a mumbled word that might have been interpreted as reluctant thanks, directed to no one in particular, made for the boathouse. Jerry, on the contrary, thanked the other lads heartily. Then he turned to go to the boathouse, only to be stopped by Stewart.
"You clear out of this!" he growled. "You wrecked my boat and I don't want anything more to do with you."
"All right, you doughhead, that suits me," retorted Jerry Cox, and strode off to the shore, whistling, with his hands in his pockets.
Garry and his friends, who had not yet gotten out of earshot, heard the interchange and grinned. They had all of them taken a strong dislike to Lent Stewart. They heartily hoped that they would never see him again.
On the contrary, they rather liked Jerry Cox. He was a cheerful young fellow, so different from Stewart that they wondered what had brought them together.
"Cute little sunshine, that Lent Stewart," chuckled Garry, as the cranky little motorboat widened the distance from the dock. "He ought to be a pal of Sandy Podder's. Probably each of them could give the other points on how to make himself a general nuisance."
Rooster laughed.
"I don't know about that," he said. "Sandy Podder's in a class by himself. I liked that Jerry Cox, though," he added. "He seems to be a good fellow."
"Good fellow nothing!" grunted Bill, giving the wheel of the motorboat a savage twist that turned it half about. "He's nothing but a bum—that's what he is!"