“Sailboat!” gasped Cop Billings, springing to his feet; “she’s no good; bottom’s out, a whole patch of her.  She’s being repaired.”  But while he talked he was running wildly to the boathouse followed by all the others.  As they reached the little wharf they were just in time to see the combers strike the canoe, to see Freddy start, then to see it capsize.  For a moment they were horror-stricken, speechless, then Cop yelled, “He’s got Freddy!  See, he’s got him!” It seemed an eternity before they saw Hal grasp the child, then with more horror they saw the upturned canoe floating away, away, away.

“Boys, boys, can nothing be done to help them?” choked the Professor.  “Oh, boys, this is terrible!”

“Who swims?” yelled Shorty, “—­swims well, I mean.”

“You do,” jerked Shag at his elbow, with a face bloodless and drawn.  “You’re the best swimmer in the school.  Will you come with me?”

“Come with you?” yelled Shorty.  “Out there?  Why, you know as well as I do that I can’t swim that far, not nearly that far; neither can you.”

“I can, and I will,” announced Shag in a strangely quiet voice, while with rapid fingers he stripped off his coat and boots.

“You shan’t go alone,” shouted Cop, beginning to undress; “I’m with you!”

“No, you don’t,” said the Indian, gripping him by the wrist.  “You can’t swim twenty yards—­you know you can’t; and if you get played out, Cop, I tell you right here that I can’t stop to help you; I’m going to help Hal.”

“Why can’t you try it, Shorty?” roared Cop “Anything rather than let him go alone!”

But Shorty stood resolute.  “I tell you I can’t swim that far and back, and I ain’t going to try it only to get drowned,” he snarled; but even as he spoke there flashed past him a lithe, tan-colored body in skintight silken underwear; there followed a splash, and Shag’s clean, dark face rose to the surface as he struck out towards the unfortunates.

The Professor was beside himself with horror.  “Boys, boys!” he cried aloud, “Hal’s going down!  Something is wrong; he’s sinking!” The words reached Shag’s ears and he seemed to leap ahead like a giant fish.

“Heaven help them!” moaned poor Cop.  “Oh, what an idiot I was never to practise more!”

“It’s awful!” began Shorty.

“Don’t you open your head!” shouted Cop; “if I could swim like you nothing would keep me ashore.”

“Never mind, boys,” moaned Professor Warwick; “don’t quarrel with this tragedy before us.  Look, Shag’s simply leaping ahead.  There goes Hal again—­that’s the second time he’s gone under!  Oh, my boy!—­my poor Hal!” and the little old man rushed wildly up to the servants’ quarters for the cook and the pantry-boy and ropes—­anything, everything that would hold out a hope of rescue.