Kitabı oku: «Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball», sayfa 7
After the excitement had died down somewhat, John Bennett proposed that they have a shooting contest, and his idea met with instant approval. John had had unlimited facilities for perfecting himself in this art since a boy, however, and outclassed any of the others both at long and short-distance shooting.
When they had grown tired of this, it was growing late, and Bert proposed that they return. Needless to say, nobody wanted to go, but they had no choice, and so proceeded to take their leave. They all thanked their host heartily, also the good-natured and obliging foreman.
Mr. Bennett shook Bert’s hand last of all, and as he ushered them to the door, said, “I’m going to take a holiday and see the next big game in which you pitch, Wilson. I’m quite anxious to see you in action.”
“We’ll all be glad to see you, I’m sure,” returned Bert, “and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to show you over the college after the game.”
“Much obliged,” replied Mr. Bennett, and watched the laughing, singing group until it was hidden by a turn in the road.
The return journey seemed much longer than it had that morning, but they arrived at last, and voted it one of the best days they had ever known. The news of Bert’s feat soon spread over the campus, and when it reached Reddy’s ears, he nodded his head sagely.
“Just make believe I don’t know a crack pitcher when I see one,” he grinned to himself.
CHAPTER IX
A Gallant Rescue
“Say, fellows, what have you got on hand for to-day?” asked Tom, as he burst into the “sanctum-sanctorum,” as Bert and Dick called their room, and sank into an easy chair.
“Nothing,” said Bert, turning from a not too promising survey of the surrounding country, “absolutely and emphatically nothing! This promises to be one of the slowest days in my short and brilliant career – ”
“Hear, hear!” cried Tom from the depths of his chair. “That’s fine for a starter, old top. Keep it up and perhaps you can actually persuade us that you amount to something. It’s rather a hopeless task, but it wouldn’t do any harm to try.”
“You’re such a bonehead that you don’t recognize real worth when you see it,” Bert retorted, good-naturedly. “There’s another one,” he added, pointing to Dick, who was trying to figure out a calculus problem. “He prefers grinding in calculus to listening to an interesting tale of my trials and tribulations.”
“It isn’t a question of preference, it’s a case of dire necessity,” Dick sighed, despondently. “If only I hadn’t cut class the other day I would be all right, but as it is I’ll have to cram to make up for it. Oh, if I only had the fellow who invented calculus here, I’d – ” and in the absence of anything better Dick pulled his own mop of tangled hair and applied himself furiously to the solving of what he called “an unsolvable problem.”
“Poor old chap, never mind,” consoled Tom. “When I come back to-night with old Pete under my arm I’ll tell you just how I caught him.”
“Do you mean to say that you are going fishing for old Pete to-day?” Dick asked, forgetting all about calculus in his excitement.
“Sure,” Tom replied, placidly. “Didn’t we agree that the first clear Saturday we had off we’d take for our fishing trip?”
“So we did, but that was so long ago that I’d clean forgotten it. Why didn’t you remind us of it sooner, Tom? You would have spared me a lot of useless worry as to how I was going to spend a baseball-less day.”
“I didn’t think of it myself until I came into the room,” Tom admitted, “but I suppose Dick can’t go with us now. It’s too bad he cut the other day,” he added, with a sly glance at the discarded calculus.
“Don’t let it worry you,” Dick retorted. “Do you suppose that anything in earth could keep me from hunting Old Pete to-day, now that you have brought him so forcibly to my mind? Go on down and get your tackle, Tom. Bert and I will join you in no time.”
“But, really, Dick,” Tom protested, with mock severity, “don’t you realize that duty – ”
“Get out before I put you out,” roared Dick, making a dash for Tom, who promptly disappeared through the door.
“Since you insist,” laughed the fugitive through the keyhole, “meet me on the campus in half an hour.”
“We’ll be there with bells on,” said Bert and Dick with one voice, and at once began their preparations for the trip.
As Dick put the calculus back on the shelf, he said, half apologetically, “I’ll see you to-night, old fellow.”
Half an hour later, the trio were swinging rapidly down the road, carrying their fishing poles and tackle. This was an outing that they had planned for early in the season, but up to this time they had had no opportunity to carry it out. Nearly every Saturday they had had extra baseball practice, or something unexpected had come up, but now at last they had their chance and were only too anxious to take advantage of it. Besides them was Pete.
Old Pete was a huge pickerel who was sly and wary beyond the general run of fishes. Many a confident angler had come to the lake, absolutely certain of his ability to land the big fellow, only to return, sheepish and crestfallen, to acknowledge his defeat.
So it was no wonder that our fellows were excited at the prospect of a game of hide-and-seek with the biggest and most cunning of the pickerel family.
“Just think,” Bert was saying, “what it will mean if we land him. Almost all the other fellows in college have tried it without success, and if we could manage to bring back Old Pete we would be popular heroes.”
“I know, but there’s not much chance of that,” Tom sighed. “If old Si Perkins couldn’t catch him napping, I’m afraid we can’t.”
“Never say die, Tom,” Dick said, gaily. “A day like this makes you feel equal to anything.”
“So say I,” Bert added, heartily. “Say, do you see that mill in front of us? Well, that belongs to Herr Hoffmeyer, and it’s one of the classiest little mills I ever saw.”
“It sure is working some, but where do they get the power?” Dick asked.
“Why, there’s a dam right back of the mill. You can’t see it from here, but when we get a little nearer I’ll point it out to you. See,” he added, as they neared the mill, “isn’t that a great arrangement. Alongside the mill there is a narrow, deep sluice. In this is arranged a large paddle wheel and, as the water rushes through, it acts on the paddles and turns the wheel. By a system of cogs the power is then transmitted to the grinding stone.”
“That sure is fine,” said Tom. “I don’t know that I have ever had a chance to see a working mill at such close range. Just look how the water rushes through that sluice. I wouldn’t like to get in the way.”
“Nor I,” said Dick. “The current must be very strong the other side of the dam.”
“You bet your life it is. If anybody should get caught in it, I wouldn’t give that,” snapping his fingers, “for his chance of life.”
At this moment a bald-headed, red-faced man appeared at the door of the mill. He regarded the boys with a broad smile on his face as he carefully dusted his hands on his white apron.
“Goot morning, young shentlemens,” he said, affably. “Fine morning, fine morning, fine morning,” and after each repetition of this sentiment he shook his head vigorously and his smile became broader.
“It is, indeed, sir,” Bert said. “We stopped for a moment to see your mill in operation. It’s a very fine mill,” he added.
“Yah, yah,” the big miller assented, cheerfully, “it’s a very goot mill. For over five year now by me it has worked. Von’t you step on the insides for a minute, young shentlemens?”
“Sure thing,” said Tom. “Come on, fellows. It isn’t often you get a chance to see a real mill working. Old Pete can wait, I guess,” and so, led by the good-natured Herr Hoffmeyer, the trio entered the mill.
For the better part of an hour they wandered around to their hearts’ content. The miller showed the working of the mill wheels, and led the way into every nook and cranny, explaining as they went.
At last, when they had seen everything there was to be seen, the boys thanked their host heartily, and started on their way once more. Before they rounded a bend in the road, they turned for a last look at the mill. At the door stood their erstwhile host, honest, round face shining like the moon, while the rays of the sun glanced off in little golden darts from the smooth surface of his bald head.
“Well, that was some adventure,” Bert exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a mill, and now I’ve realized my heart’s desire.”
“I like Herr Hoffmeyer, too,” Tom said, “even if I did think he was a trifle weak in the head at first. Isn’t this the pickerel stream?” he asked, a minute later.
“Yes, but the fellows say that the big pickerel is further down the stream. Come along.” With these words, Bert led them down the bank until they reached a shady spot, shaded by spreading trees, and carpeted with green and velvety moss.
“This place looks good to me,” said Dick; “let’s camp here.”
“I guess this ought to be about right,” Bert agreed.
In a few minutes the reels were fixed, the hooks were baited, and the lines were lowered carefully into the clear depths of the stream.
“This is what you might call comfort,” said Tom, as he leaned lazily against a convenient tree.
“Bet your life,” Bert agreed.
“Now, if Pete will only consent to come along and get the hook, like any other respectable, right-minded fish, my contentment would be absolute.”
“Huh,” Tom grunted sarcastically. “He’d be likely to do that, wouldn’t he, especially if you keep up this gabfest?”
“I guess a little polite conversation won’t scare that wary old reprobate. I imagine he’s heard so much conversation that couldn’t be called exactly polite, especially when he calmly detaches the bait from the hook without stopping to leave his card, that he wouldn’t mind our talk at all.”
“Shut up,” said Tom, in a low voice, “I’ve got a bite, and the line’s pulling hard.”
Then, amid a breathless silence, Tom gave a quick, experienced pull to the line, and landed – not the renowned old Pete, but a small-sized sunfish, that wriggled and twisted desperately in its efforts to get away.
At this minute Bert happened to glance at Tom’s face, and the look he found there was so eloquent of absolute dismay and chagrin, that he burst into a shout of uncontrollable laughter, in which Dick joined him.
“That was sure one on you, old man,” he said, when he had breath enough.
“Humph,” Tom grunted, disgustedly, “it sure was a sell. I thought I had old Pete cinched that time. However,” he added, “I don’t see that you fellows have much to say. You haven’t even caught a sunfish.”
“Not so you could notice it,” Dick agreed cheerfully. “There’s plenty of time yet, though, and all things come to him who waits. I’m right on the job, when it comes to waiting.”
Bert, who had been thinking his own thoughts, suddenly broke into the conversation with an irrelevant “Say, fellows, did you ever hear the story of the man who went for a sail on a windy day – ”
“And a man coming out of the cabin asked him,” Tom broke in, “if the moon had come up yet, and he answered, ‘No, but everything else has’? Yes, we’ve heard that old chestnut cracked before.”
“Well, it just struck me,” Bert mused, “that it fitted your case pretty well.”
“I suppose it does, in a way,” Tom admitted, “but you just wait and see if I don’t land that old rascal before night.”
“Go in and win, my boy, and take my blessing. It doesn’t make much difference who does the catching so long as he is caught,” Dick said, and once more leaned his broad back against the tree with a sigh of content.
But into Tom’s head had come a scheme, and he determined to carry it out at the very first opportunity. For a long time the trio sat on the grassy bank, listening to the myriad indescribable sounds of spring. They watched the gorgeous butterfly as it winged its lazily graceful way from blossom to blossom, and heard the buzzing of the bee as it invaded the heart of flowerland, and stole its nectar. The perfumed air, hot from the touch of the sun, stole upon their senses, and made them delightfully lazy.
Suddenly, Bert gave a jerk to his line and landed a fair-sized pickerel. Their luck had changed, and in a short time they had a very good mess of fish. But the great pickerel seemed farther from showing himself than ever.
Tom landed the next fish, but, instead of taking it off the hook, he threw the line, fish, and all back into the water.
“What’s that for?” Dick asked. “We have plenty of bait left, and there’s no use in wasting a perfectly good fish.”
“Wait,” Tom remarked, laconically.
They had not long to wait, however, for in a few minutes there was another jerk on Tom’s line.
“Catch hold, fellows,” Tom cried, “and help me pull. Gee, I can’t hold it, much less pull it in.”
Intensely excited, Dick added his strength to Tom’s and pulled hard.
“Pull, pull!” Tom cried, almost crazy with excitement. “We can’t lose him now. Come on! Come on! – now!”
And with one concerted effort they pulled the line up, falling over one another in their attempt to keep their balance. And there, at their feet, was the largest pickerel they had ever seen – old Pete. Quick as a flash, Tom landed on the prize, just in time to keep it from slipping back into the water.
“Look at him, look at him, fellows!” Tom shouted. “Here’s old Pete, the biggest pickerel in the world, the wary old codger that has defied every fisherman for miles around, and has even eluded the deadly machinations of Si Perkins. Don’t stand there like wooden statues – come here and help me unhook this old reprobate. Why don’t you say something?”
“For the very good reason,” Bert answered, drily, “that you haven’t given us a chance. And for the second reason, I am so dazed I can’t realize our good fortune.”
“Our good fortune,” Tom repeated, scornfully. “You mean my brains and common sense. Who thought of putting that fish back into the water to fool old Pete, I’d like to know?”
“You did, and we are perfectly willing to give you all the credit,” said Bert. “The really important thing is that he’s caught. I can hardly believe it yet. Isn’t he a beauty?” he added, enthusiastically. “Look at the length of him, and the thickness – Say, fellows, I bet we could feed the whole college on him for a month.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Bert laughed. “I, for one, have never seen his equal, and never expect to again.”
“What’s that?” Tom demanded, sharply, as a cry of terror rent the air. “Let’s find out.”
“It sounded further down the stream, near the mill. Come on, fellows. Hurry!” and Bert instinctively took command, as he always did in cases of emergency.
As the boys burst through the bushes further down, the cry came again, a wild call for help, and they saw a white clad figure struggling desperately against the force of the current.
With a shout of encouragement Bert plunged into the water, and with long, powerful strokes was nearing the spot where the girl had disappeared. Once more the figure rose to the surface, but Bert knew it was for the last time. The girl was terribly close to the sluice, and as Bert swam he felt the tug of the current.
Just as the girl was about to go under, Bert caught her dress and pulled her to the surface. But how, how, could he swim with his burden against the current to the bank, which seemed to him a hundred miles off!
With resolute courage he mustered his strength and began the struggle with that merciless current. One stroke, two, three, – surely he was gaining, and a great wave of joy and hope welled up in his heart. He must make it, for not only was his life at stake, but the life of the young girl dependent upon his success. But it became harder and harder to make headway, and finally he realized that he was barely holding his own – that he had to exert all his remaining strength to prevent them both from being drawn through the sluice to a cruel death below.
Desperately he strove to push against that mighty wall of water, that, like some merciless giant, was forcing him and his helpless burden, inch by inch, to destruction. In the agony of his soul a great cry of despair broke from his lips. “It will all be over soon,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t care so much for myself, but the girl,” and he looked down at the pale face and dark, tangled hair of the girl he was giving his life to save. They were very, very close to the entrance of the sluice now, and nearing it more swiftly every moment. But what was that black object coming toward them so rapidly?
“Bert, Bert, keep up your courage. I’m coming!” cried Dick’s voice. “I’ll be with you in a minute. Just a minute, old fellow.”
Oh, could Dick reach them in time. Bert could only pray for strength to hold on for a few minutes. He was very near them now, and shouting encouragement at every stroke. Now he was beside them, and had taken the girl from Bert’s nerveless grasp. “Here, take this rope, old fellow,” he cried, “put it over your head, quick. That’s the way. Now let the fellows on shore pull you in.”
Bert wondered afterward why he had not felt any great exultation at his sudden and almost miraculous deliverance. As it was, only a great feeling of weariness settled down upon him, and he wanted to sleep – sleep. Then the sky came down to meet the earth, and everything went black before his eyes.
“Bert, dear old Bert, wake up. You’re safe. You’re safe. Don’t you hear me, old fellow?” a voice at a great distance was saying, and Bert opened uncomprehending eyes on a strange world.
“Hello, fellows,” he said, with the ghost of his old smile. “Came pretty near to ‘shuffling off this mortal coil,’ didn’t I? Where is – ” he asked, looking around, inquiringly.
“The girl you so bravely rescued?” came a sweet voice behind him. “And who never, never can repay you for what you have done to-day if she lives forever?”
With the assistance of his friends Bert got to his feet and faced the girl who had so nearly gone to her death with him. For the first time in his life he felt embarrassed.
“Please don’t thank me,” he said; “I’m repaid a thousandfold when I see you standing there safe. It might so easily have been the other way,” and he shuddered at the thought.
Before the girl could answer, another figure strode forth and grasped our hero’s hand in both of his.
“Professor Davis,” Bert exclaimed, as he recognized one of the college professors.
“Yes, it’s Mr. Davis, Bert, and he owes you a debt of gratitude he can never cancel. Bert, it was my daughter you rescued from a hideous death to-day, and, dear boy, from this day, you can count on me for anything in the world.”
“Thank you, Professor; I don’t deserve all this – ”
“Yes, you do, my boy – every bit of it and more, and now,” he added, seeing that the strain was telling on Bert, “I think you, Dick, and Tom had better get Bert home as quickly as you can. This daughter of mine insisted on staying until you revived, but I guess she will excuse you, now. I’d ask you to take supper with us to-night, but I know that what you most need is rest. It is only a pleasure deferred, however.”
As they turned to go, the girl held out her hands to Tom and Dick, and lastly to Bert. “I am very, very grateful,” she said, softly.
“And I am very, very grateful that I have been given a chance to serve you,” he answered, and watched her disappear with her father through the bushes.
Then he turned to Dick and Tom. “You fellows deserve more credit than I, a thousand times more,” he said, in a voice that was a trifle husky.
“Huh,” said Tom, “all that I did was to run to the nearest house for a rope, and all Dick did was to hand you the rope, while Professor Davis and I hauled you in.”
“Yes, that’s all,” Bert repeated, softly, “that’s all.”
“Well, come on, Bert, it’s time you got back to college. I guess you’re about all in,” said Dick, putting his arm through Bert’s and starting off in the direction of the college.
“Say, you forgot something,” Tom said, suddenly. “You forgot all about old Pete.”
“So we did,” Dick exclaimed; “suppose you go and get the fish and poles, if they are still there, and join us at the crossing.”
And they did meet at the crossing, and jogged along home, their bodies tired, but their hearts at rest, while their friendship was welded still more strongly by one other experience, shared in common.
