Tom was attiring himself in his Sunday best. It was almost six o'clock and one of Hoskins' barges was to leave Main Hall at half-past with the members of the second team, for this was the evening of the banquet in the village. Tom didn't feel unduly hilarious, however. He was sorry that the football season was over, for one thing, for he loved the game. And then existence of late had been fairly wearing and mighty unsatisfactory. His quarrel with Steve was a tiresome affair and he didn't see just how it was to end. For his part, in spite of the fact that his chum had hurt him a good deal by his mean suspicion of him, he was ready to make up, only—well, he had some pride, after all, and it did seem as if the first overtures should come from Steve. No, on the whole, Tom wasn't looking forward to the banquet with any great amount of enjoyment. If Steve was going to be there, too–

Someone came hurrying down the corridor, the room door flew open and there stood Steve himself, a radiant and embarrassed look on his face, his gaze searching the room for Tom. His face fell a little as he found the room apparently empty, and then lighted again as his glance discovered Tom at the closet door, Tom half-dressed and with a pair of trousers dangling over his arm. Out went Steve's hand as he turned.

"I'm sorry, Tom," he said simply. "I was a beast."

Tom took the hand that was offered and squeezed it hard.

"That's all right," he stammered. "So was I."

"No, you were right, Tom," answered Steve convincedly. "I hadn't any business suspecting you of a thing like that. And—and I want to tell you first that I knew I was wrong a long time ago, before this happened. You believe that, don't you?"

"Yes, Steve, but—what is it that's happened?"

"It's all clear as daylight," said Steve, grinning happily as he seated himself on the bed and tossing his cap toward the table. "It was Sawyer did it. He put up the whole job. He fessed up when 'Horace' got at him. Durkin met him coming out and–"

"Hold on!" begged Tom. "I don't quite get you, Steve!"

Steve laughed. "Sort of confused narrative, eh? Well, listen, then. Drop those trousers and sit down a minute."

"All right, but the barge leaves at half-past–"

"Never you mind the barge, old man! You're not going in it. I'll come to that later, though."

"Take your time," said Tom, dropping into a chair. "I love to hear your innocent prattle."

"Shut up! It's like this, Tom. I met Durkin awhile ago and he got to talking about that shoe-blacking stand. Remember the note he left here that night?" Tom nodded. "Well, it came out that while he was putting it under our door Eric Sawyer walked out and fell over him."

"Out of here?"

"Right-o! Sawyer said he'd been waiting to see me. Now you remember I'd seen him coming out of Daley's room earlier, eh? Well, it seems that Sawyer saw a chance to put up a game on me. So after I'd gone upstairs again, he sneaked back to 'Horace's' room, got that confounded blue-book of Upton's and waited his chance. After we'd left the room he came up here and slid the thing among some books on the table there. While he was in here Durkin came along and knocked and Sawyer slipped over and locked the door. Then he waited until he thought Durkin had gone and unlocked the door again and came out. But old Durkin had written a note to us down under the light and come back with it and he was putting it under the door when Sawyer came out and fell over him. Of course, when Durkin told me that I had a hunch what had happened and I hot-footed it to 'Horace.' He confessed that it was Sawyer who had told him he'd seen me carrying off the book. So he streaked off after Sawyer, found him somewhere and took him to Durkin's room. Sawyer–"

"Were you there too?" asked Tom excitedly.

"No, he told me to wait in his study for him. He was back in about a half-hour looking sort of worried. Of course Sawyer had to own up. He told 'Horace' that he'd just done it for a joke, but 'Horace' didn't believe him for a cent. And there you are!" Steve ended in breathless triumph. Tom viewed him round-eyed.

"What—what about Sawyer?" he asked.

"I don't know for certain, but I think Sawyer's on pro. Anyway, Tom, I know this much: You don't go to any old banquet to-night."

"I don't? Why don't I?"

"Because I met Lawrence downstairs a few minutes ago. He was looking for you."

"Wh-what for?" asked Tom faintly.

"Robey says you're not to break training, Tom! You're to report at the 'varsity table to-night for supper!" Whereupon Steve, his eyes dancing, jumped from the bed and pulled Tom to his feet. "What do you say to that, old Tommikins?" he exulted.

Tom, dazed, smiled weakly. "Do you mean—do you mean they want me to play?" he murmured.

"Oh, no," scoffed Steve, pushing him toward the bed on which he subsided in a heap. "They want you to carry the footballs and sweep the gridiron! Of course they want you to play, you old sobersides! Don't you see that with Sawyer on pro there's a big hole in the line? I suppose they'll give Churchill the first chance at it, but he won't last the game through. Think of both you and I making the 'varsity, Tom! How's that for luck, eh? Not bad for the old Tannersville High School, is it? I guess we've gone and put Tannersville on the map, Tom!"

"Gee, I'm scared!" muttered Tom, looking up at Steve with wide eyes. "I—I don't believe I'll do it!"

"You don't, eh? Well, you're going to do it! Get your old duds on and hurry up. It's after six."

"I'll have to tell Brownell I'm not going to the feast." Tom gazed fascinatedly at his best trousers draped across the chair back. "Anyway, I wasn't keen on going—without you," he murmured.

"There's only one drawback," said Steve a few minutes later, when they were on their way to supper. "And that is that I promised Durkin to buy a rug from him."

"A rug? We don't need any rug, do we?" asked Tom.

"Not a bit. But this is a genuine Begorra; Durkin says so himself. And I agreed to buy it if he'd tell 'Horace' about Sawyer. Unless—unless you'd rather have the shoe-blacking stand, Tom?"

"I would. If we had that, perhaps you'd keep your shoes decent!"

Steve tipped Tom's cap over his eyes. "Rude ruffian!" he growled affectionately.

There was no practice at Brimfield Friday, for as soon as the last recitation of the day was over the 'varsity team and substitutes piled into two of Hoskins' barges in front of Main Hall to be driven over to Oakdale, some five miles distant. The school assembled to see them off, and there was much hilarity and noise. Joe Lawrence, note-book in hand, flustered and anxious, mounted the steps and called the names of the squad members.

"Benson!"

"Here," responded Benson from where, at the far end of one of the barges, he sat, crutches in hand, looking a bit disconsolate.

"Churchill, Corcoran, Edwards, Fowler, Gleason, Guild, Hall, Harris, Innes—Innes?"

"Coming fast!" shouted a voice from the edge of the throng, and the big centre, suit-case in hand, pushed his way toward the barges.

"Right through!" laughed the fellows. "Hit the line, Innes! A-a-ay!"

"Kendall," continued Lawrence. "Lacey, Marvin, Miller, Milton, McClure, Norton, Roberts, Still, Thursby, Williams!"

"All present and accounted for," announced a voice in the crowd. "Home, James!"

Coach Robey and "Boots" appeared. Danny Moore, who with Gus, the rubber, sat on the driver's seat surrounded with suit-cases, took the bags, Joe Lawrence and Tracey Black, assistant manager, squeezed into the already overcrowded barges, Blaisdell, baseball captain, called for a cheer and, amidst a thunderous farewell, the squad, grinning and waving, disappeared down the drive, through the gate and out on to the road.

Oakdale was fairly deserted at this time of year. Most of the summer cottages were closed, but the little hotel kept open the year around, and when, at four o'clock, the barges pulled up in front of it, fires were snapping in the open fireplaces and everything was in readiness for the squad's reception. Followed a very merry and rather boisterous time while the fellows, bags in hand, sought their rooms to don their togs and report for light practice on the lawn. There was only signal drill to-day, and that was brief. Afterwards the centres practised passing and the kickers limbered up a little, but by five the work was over and the fellows were free to do what they liked. Some gathered around the two big fireplaces in the hotel, others went for strolls along the road, and still others, Steve and Tom amongst the number, sought the little cove nearby where a diminutive and rather pebbly beach curved from point to point and a boat-landing stuck out into the quiet water. The trees and grass went almost to the edge and there were comfortable benches along the bank from which one might look across the Sound to the Long Island shore or watch the boats pass. It had been a fair, mild day and the light still held. Steve and Tom sauntered down to the float and Steve dipped an inquiring hand into the water.

"Say, that isn't a bit cold," he announced. "What do you say to a swim, Tom?"

"Fine, only we haven't any suits."

"Maybe they've got some at the hotel. Let's ask." On the way up they met Norton, Williams and Marvin. "Come on in swimming, fellows," called Steve.

"Can we?" asked Norton. "Who says so?"

"Why not? We're going to see if we can find some trunks or something."

"All right. You'd better ask the coach, though." This from Marvin. "He's in the office, I think. If you find any trunks bring some for us, Edwards."

The clerk was rather dubious at first, but eventually returned with a miscellaneous collection of bathing togs from which the boys finally evolved three pairs of trunks and two suits. Meanwhile Mr. Robey had given hesitant permission.

"If the water's very cold, Edwards, don't try it, please. And, in any case, don't stay in more than ten minutes. That goes for all of you."

There was a bathing pavilion farther along, reached from the little beach by a flight of wooden steps, and to this the five boys proceeded, examining the attire the clerk had provided with much amusement.

"I won't be able to swim a stroke," declared Norton. "I'll just be doubled up laughing at Hath in that blue-striped thing he has there."

"Huh," growled Williams, "I don't think you'll get any prizes for beauty yourself!"

By this time the news of their exploit had gone out and other fellows were hurrying to the hotel to seek bathing suits. A few secured them and the rest followed down to watch. When they met outside, dressed for the plunge, the five went off into gales of laughter. Hatherton Williams in a blue-and-white-striped suit many sizes too small for him cut a ridiculous figure, while Norton, whose faded red trunks had lost their gathering string, held his attire frantically with one hand and implored a pin! Tom's trunks were strained to the bursting point and Steve's were inches too large for him. Only Marvin had fared well, being dressed in what he called "a real classy two-piece suit." The two pieces didn't match in either colour or material, but they nearly fitted and, unlike Hatherton Williams' regalia, were innocent of holes. Norton declared that he was extremely glad it was getting dark, since otherwise if the pin one of the onlookers had supplied him with gave way, he'd have to stay in the water.

Steve and Marvin led the way to the float and they all plunged in. Tom, shaking the water from his head, faced Steve accusingly when he had regained his breath. "Thought you said it wasn't cold!" he shrieked. "It's freezing! Br-r-r!"

"Move around and get warm," advised Norton, striking out. "It isn't bad when you get used to it."

But Tom, accustomed to the tempered water of the school tank, groaned and refused to be optimistic. "Bet it isn't a bit over forty-five," he muttered.

Steve was already well out in the cove, pursued by Norton. Some of the boys who had failed to find suits had launched a decrepit rowboat and, with one broken oar, were splashing about near the float. Far out in the Sound a big white steamer passed eastward, her lights showing white in the gathering darkness and the strains from her orchestra coming faintly across the quiet water. The boys in the rowboat stopped skylarking to discuss what steamer it was, and Marvin, who had swam up behind and laid hands on the gunwale, told them that it was the Lusitania and that if they didn't agree with him he'd tip them over. Discussion ceased at once. The four mariners instantly declared that he was right. Churchill even went so far as to say that he had known it was the Lusitania all the time; that he could always tell her by her funnels. Innes, who was seated in the stern and filling his position to the limit, acknowledged that for an instant—oh, the merest fraction of a second!—he had thought the steamer was the Ne'er-do-well, Berlin to Kansas City, but that he had seen his mistake almost instantly! By which time, the Priscilla, New York to Fall River, had passed out of sight, and Marvin, merely tipping the boat until the water ran in a bit over one side, just as a mark of esteem, swam off before Guild could reach him with the broken oar.

Tom and Williams were paddling about not far off the landing, Tom floating on his back most of the time and complaining about the temperature of the water, when Norton swam up, puffing and blowing.

"Where's Steve?" asked Tom. Norton nodded toward the Long Island shore.

"Somewhere out there," he answered. "He was too much for me. I had to quit. The chump swims like a—a dolphin. I'm going in, fellows. I'm getting cold."

"I guess we'd all better," agreed Williams. "Hello! What's that?"

"Help!" From somewhere beyond the mouth of the little cove the cry came, sharp, imperative, and was repeated again while they listened.

"It's Edwards," muttered Norton uneasily. "I suppose he's only trying to get a rise out of us. He can swim like–"

"Must be," agreed Williams. "Can you see him?"

The cove was dim now and the surface of the water beyond held a sheen of light that confused the vision.

"I'm not sure," muttered Norton. "I thought I did—for a minute."

"Who was that yelling out there?" shouted one of the fellows in the boat.

"Must be Edwards," answered Williams. "Can you see him?"

"No. Do you suppose–"

"Help! This way!" The cry came again, fainter now, and someone in the boat seized the broken oar and began to churn the water with it, sending the crazy craft circling about in its length.

"He's in trouble!" cried Norton. "Cramps, probably. I'm off, Hath. Will you come? Where's Hall?"

"He started a minute ago," answered Williams, striking out with long hard sweeps of legs and arms. "There he is, ahead."

"Come on with that boat, you fellows!" shouted Norton. "And hurry it up!"

CHAPTER XXV
TOM TO THE RESCUE

"We've only got one oar," answered a desperate voice.

"Put it over the stern and scull it," directed someone on the float. There was a splash in reply, and Innes, who had promptly vacated his seat, crawled dripping to the landing. Hatherton, Williams, Norton and Marvin were already swimming desperately toward the mouth of the cove, while several fellows on land were running hard to the point, following the curving shore. The rowboat was at last under way, but making slow progress. Norton was the best swimmer of the trio, or, at least, the fastest, and Williams and Marvin were soon hopelessly in the rear. But Norton, if he could distance the other two, found that he was gaining but slowly on Tom, who, swimming as he had never swam before, as he didn't know he could swim, was already well out toward the mouth of the cove.

His limbs were aching already, and his lungs were hurting as he fought his way through the water and against a slow-coming tide. But the only thought that possessed him was that Steve was in trouble out there, perhaps drowning, and that he must get to him. The water splashed into his eyes and blinded him, for Tom was not an adept swimmer, and not once could he so much as sight Steve. Neither was the appeal for help repeated and Tom's heart sank. Behind him, as he was dimly aware, others were following, and he wished they would hurry. Once, when he was opposite the points, he tried to call, but his lungs were too tired to respond in more than a whisper. Then he was past the gloom of the cove, the water was alight with the afterglow and little choppy waves dashed against him. Gasping, he paused an instant, brushed one arm against his dripping face and looked about him. For a moment nothing met his anxious gaze. Then a darker spot on the darkening water appeared a dozen yards away and Tom went on desperately, panic-stricken for fear that when he reached it it would prove to be only a bit of driftwood.

It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and shoulders above the water

But it wasn't. It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and shoulders above the water, eyes closed in a dead-white face and his arms weakly moving now and then as though in an unconscious endeavour to keep the helpless body afloat. A great wave of relief and joy almost stopped Tom's heart for an instant. Then his hand went out and caught one of Steve's wrists.

"It's all right, Steve," he gasped weakly. "Don't grab me. They're coming with the boat."

There was no reply from Steve, and Tom, pulling the arm over his shoulder, as he had seen Steve himself do so many times in the tank when illustrating the way to rescue a drowning person, felt the weight of the inert form on his back as he turned and strove to swim slowly back toward the cove. To swim with one arm, even to keep himself afloat so, was no light task for Tom, and now, with the weight of Steve's body bearing him down, he found the struggle too much for him. He relinquished all attempts to swim and centred his efforts in keeping afloat. If only Norton and the rest would come! He listened. There was a splashing somewhere nearby, but it was too dark now to see a dozen feet away. Tom drew all the breath he could find into his lungs and let it out in a weak shout.

"Help!" he gasped. "Here!"

Then there was an answering hail from close by, a mighty churning of the water and a dim form plunged alongside.

"Have you got him?" cried Norton. "Give him to me, Hall. Hath! Over here!"

Tom didn't relinquish quite all his burden, though. He still had one of Steve's arms around his neck when, a minute later, Marvin and Williams having reached them meanwhile, the rowboat appeared out of the darkness. It was no light task to get Steve into the boat, but it was accomplished somehow, and then, Tom dragging astern, hands clutching the gunwale grimly, and the others, too, claiming at least partial support from the boat, the rescuers turned shoreward. Wisely, Churchill, who handled the oar, headed the boat toward the nearer point, and when the keel grounded, eager hands were waiting to lift Steve out and hurry him back to the hotel. Tom crawled out of the water and subsided on the bank, still fighting for breath and feeling rather sick at his stomach. Between Fowler and Milton he was lifted and half carried, weakly protesting that he could walk all right and promptly crumpling up when they allowed him to try.

Steve had been taken up to the room he was occupying, and Danny Moore was administering to him when Tom was brought in and laid on his bed. Steve was already talking weakly and Danny was telling him to keep still.

"Don't be talking," he said. "Fit that bottle to your back and keep covered up. You'll be fine in an hour. An' who've you got there? Well, if it ain't my old friend Jim Hall!"

Tom smiled faintly as Danny bent over him.

"An' so you been tryin' to drown yourself too, have you?" continued Danny. "Well, well,'tis queer tastes you have, the two of you! Drink a bit o' this, Jim, and lie still."

Mr. Robey came in and Danny nodded reassuringly to him. "They'll be fine as fiddles in an hour, Coach. Now you boys scatter out o' here an' leave them have a bit nap."

Tom didn't remember much for awhile after that, for he must have fallen promptly to sleep. When he awoke, the light was turned low and Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed. On a chair beside him was a tray from which appetizing odours curled toward him. Tom blinked sleepily.

"Hello," he murmured. "What's up?"

"I am and you're not," answered Steve. "I've brought you some supper. Are you hungry?"

Recollection returned then and Tom observed his chum anxiously.

"Are you all right!" he demanded. "Did they say you could get up?"

"Of course. You can too after you eat. But you were asleep and Danny said you might as well have it out. How are you feeling?"

Tom sat up experimentally and took a deep breath. "All right," he answered stoutly, although as a matter of fact he was full of stiff spots and queer aches. "And—and I'm hungry."

"Good stuff!" laughed Steve. He lifted the tray to Tom's lap and took the covers from the dishes. "There isn't an awful lot here," he added apologetically, "but Danny said you'd be better if you didn't eat such a big supper. Do you mind?"

"No, I guess there's enough. That soup smells good. What's that there? Roast beef? Fine!" And Tom fell diligently to work.

Steve watched in silence a moment. Then,

"I say, Tom," he said.

"Huh?" asked the other, his mouth full.

"You know I—I'm much obliged."

Tom nodded carelessly. "All right," he said in a gruff voice. "It wasn't anything. Norton and Williams and those others did it."

"You got there first," said Steve. "I guess if you hadn't I—I wouldn't have waited for the rest. It was mighty plucky, and—and I–"

"Oh, cut it," growled Tom. "It wasn't anything, you ass. What the dickens did you go away out there for anyway?" Tom became indignant. "Haven't you got any sense?"

"Not much," laughed Steve. Then, soberly, "It's the first time I ever had cramps, and I don't ever want them again! I thought I was a goner there for a while, Tom. They caught me right across the small of my back and I couldn't any more move my legs than I could fly. All I could do was shout and wiggle my arms a bit, and the pain was just as though something—say a swordfish—was cutting me in two!" Steve shook his head soberly. "It—it was fierce, Tom!"

"Serves you right! You had no business swimming way out there in water like that and scaring us all to pieces!" Tom was very severe as to language, but the effect was somewhat marred by the fact that he had filled his mouth with food. Nevertheless, Steve took the rebuke quite meekly. All he said was:

"And think of you rescuing me, Tom! Why, you aren't any sort of a swimmer! But it certainly was mighty pluck–"

Tom pointed a fork at Steve and interrupted indignantly. It was necessary to head Steve off from further expressions of gratitude. "I like your cheek!" said Tom. "Can't swim! How do you suppose I got out there to you, you silly chump? You didn't see any water-wings or life-preservers floating around, did you? Or do you think I walked? Can't swim! Well, of all the–"

"You know what I mean, Tom. I meant you couldn't swim—er—well, that you weren't a wonder at it!"

"Huh!" grunted Tom. "Don't you talk about swimming after this. You weren't doing much of it when I got to you!"

"No one can swim when he has cramps," responded Steve meekly. "How was the supper?"

Tom gazed at the empty dishes. "All right—as far as it went. I'm going to get up. What time is it and what's going on downstairs?"

"Nothing much just now. We just got through supper. They're taking the chairs and tables out of the dining-room so we can have signal drill at eight. Mr. Robey said you were to get into it if you felt all right. There's someone else downstairs who wants to see you too." And Steve grinned wickedly. "I told him I'd try to arrange an interview."

"Who is it?" asked Tom suspiciously.

"His name is Murray."

"I don't know any Murray. What is this, a joke?"

"Far from it, Tom. Mr. Murray is a newspaper man. He came over to get the line-up for to-morrow's game from Mr. Robey and got here just as they were talking about that silly stunt of mine. He laid around and waited for me and got it all out before I knew he was a newspaper chap. Now he wants to see you. I think he wants your photograph, Tom!"

"You were a silly ass to talk to him, Steve. He will go and put it in the paper, I suppose."

"Wouldn't be surprised," agreed Steve, smiling. "He seemed to think he had a fine yarn. Of course I laid it on pretty thick about your heroism and all that."

Tom viewed him darkly as he got into his coat. "If you did I'll—I'll–"

"Take me back to the Sound and drop me in again! No, I didn't, Tom, but he does know all about it and of course he will put it in the papers. 'Boots' says the—the Something-or-Other Press will get hold of it and send it all over the country. I've been wondering whether we ought to telegraph the folks so they won't have a fit if they read about it to-morrow."

"What's the use? They'll know you're all right. Bet you that Mr. Newspaper Man doesn't catch me, though! Who's that hitting the ivories?"

"Gleason, I guess. He was playing before supper. He's fine, too. Knows a whole bunch of college songs and stuff from the musical shows. We're going to have a concert after practice. They say Danny Moore can sing like a bird. Andy was telling me that last year they had a regular vaudeville show here. Everybody did something, you know; sang or danced or spoke a piece. It must have been lots of fun. I wish–"

Steve, who had been wandering around the room, hands in pockets, paused as he caught the expression on Tom's face. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"That's what I want to know," replied Tom. "Seems to me you're mighty chatty all of a sudden. Is it the effect of the bath?"

Steve smiled, sighed and shook his head. "Tom," he said, "I've just got to talk or do something this evening. I—I'm as nervous as a—a cat! Ever feel that way?"

Tom viewed him scornfully as he patted his tie into place. "Have I? Why, you silly chump, I'm scared to death this minute! Whenever I think about—about to-morrow I want to run down to the ocean and swim straight across to Africa!"

"Honest?" Steve brightened perceptibly. "But you don't show it, Tom."

"What's the good of showing it? All I hope is that the barge will make so much noise going back to-morrow that you won't hear my knees knocking together!"