It was evident that the boys in the boat were pulling to his assistance,
but they were too far away and meanwhile he floundered and struggled
like a madman, sending up cries that echoed from the hills. How he had
gotten out so far no one knew, unless indeed he had tried to swim to the
boat.
The sight of a human being struggling frantically in the water and lost
to all sense of reason by panic fright is one to strike terror to a
stout heart. Even the skilful swimmer whose courage is not of the
stoutest may balk at the peril. That seemed to be the feeling which
possessed Tom Slade as he stood upon the end of the spring-board and
instead of diving cast a hurried look to where Garry Everson was talking
with Roy.
It all happened in a moment, the cries from the lake, Tom's hesitation,
his swift look toward Roy and Garry, and his evident relief as the
latter rushed to the shore and plunged into the water. He stood there on
the end of the high spring-board, conspicuous against the blue sky, with
his eyes fixed upon the swimmer. He saw the struggle in the water, saw
the frantic arms clutch at Garry, watched him as he extricated himself
from that insane grasp, saw him catch the struggling figure with the
"neck grip" as the only means of saving both lives, and watched him as
he swam toward shore with his now almost unconscious burden. What he
thought, how he felt, no human being knew. He stood motionless like a
statue until the growing crowd below him set up a cheer.
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