Four Afoot: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Highway. Barbour Ralph Henry

up, Dan proposed going for a swim. Nelson and Bob consented, but Tom was not to be persuaded. He sank into an armchair in the lobby in full sight of a pair of folding doors which opened into the dining room.

      “You fellows go ahead,” he said grimly. “I’m going to stay right here.”

      CHAPTER VI

      WITNESSES A RESCUE AND AN ADDITION TO THE PARTY

      After supper Dan reminded the others that they hadn’t written to their folks about Jerry and they all sought the writing room. Those were the first letters home, and, of course, there was a good deal to write. None of them had any trouble in filling eight pages except Tom. Tom wasn’t much of a letter writer, anyway, and then, besides, he had eaten a great deal of dinner and was inclined toward slumber. But he managed to make a strong plea for Jerry Hinkley and to assure his folks that he was having “a dandy time.” After that he went fast asleep with his head on the blotting pad.

      “Now, look here, you fellows,” said Nelson, the next morning, “of course this thing of running around the island and not knowing where you’re going to fetch up is very exciting and all that, but it’s risky. First thing we know we’ll find ourselves back in Long Island City. I move that we fix on some definite place and go there.”

      “That’s what I think,” said Bob. “Let’s do it.”

      So they studied the map again and decided to keep along the north shore for a while and then strike across the island for the ocean side. Meanwhile the town of Kingston was settled on as their immediate destination. Kingston was some eighteen miles distant and they thought they could reach it that evening. They were on their way again at eight o’clock, for the day promised to be hot toward noon and they hoped to be able to reach Meadowville in time for luncheon and lay off there for a couple of hours.

      The Sound, blue and calm in the morning sunlight, was on their left and remained in sight most of the time. Once or twice their way led along the very edge of it. They had put some five or six miles behind them at a quarter to ten and were approaching a place where the road crossed a bridge. On the right a river wound back through a salt marsh. To the left, after running under the bridge, it emptied itself into a little bay. Near the bridge were a number of boat and bath houses, one or two cottages, and some floats and landings. On one of the landings a number of boys and men were congregated, and as the four drew near, their curiosity was aroused. Half the occupants of the float were lying on their stomachs, apparently trying to see under it, while the rest were walking excitedly about.

      “Come on,” said Dan. “Let’s see what’s up.”

      So they quickened their pace, turned off from the road, and made their way to the float.

      “What’s the matter?” asked Dan.

      “There’s a dog under here,” explained a youth. “We were throwing pieces of wood for him and he was fetchin’ them out. Then, first thing we knew, the current took him somehow and sucked him under the float. He’s there now. Hear him?”

      They listened and presently there came a faint, smothered yelp from under the planks almost at their feet. By that time half the inhabitants of the float had joined them, eager to tell all about it.

      “How long has he been under there?” asked Bob.

      “Ten minutes.”

      “Five minutes.”

      “Three minutes.”

      The answers were varied. The boys hurried over to the side. The tide was running out hard and the river, flowing through the narrow culvert under the bridge, made a strong current which swirled against the float until it tugged at its moorings.

      “Here’s where he went under,” explained one of their informants. “We were throwing sticks for him out there and he was having a bully time. He was a plucky little chap. Then the current took him and he went down. And next thing he was yelping like thunder underneath here.”

      The float, inch-thick boards spiked to big logs, rested in the water so that the floor was some six inches above the surface. The dog had apparently come up underneath, was penned in by the logs, and was managing to keep his head out of water by hard swimming.

      “What kind of a dog is it?” asked Nelson.

      “Fox terrier, I guess.”

      “Wire-haired terrier.”

      “Irish terrier.”

      “Well, he’s small, is he?” asked Bob impatiently.

      “Yes.” They all agreed as to that. Bob turned to the others.

      “Who’s going under?” he asked.

      “Let me go,” said Tom. But Dan had already thrown off his coat and kicked off his shoes.

      “Dan’s a better diver than you, Tom,” said Bob. “Let him try it first. I guess there’s plenty of breathing space under there, Dan.”

      “Sure,” answered Dan, struggling out of his shirt. “Anyone heard the poor little chap lately?”

      No one had, but at that moment, as though in answer to Dan’s inquiry, a faint, gurgling sound came from under the floor.

      “There he is,” said Nelson. “I’ll stand here and call to you, Dan. You want to go under about twelve feet.”

      “All right,” said Dan. “If I don’t show up inside of half a minute and you don’t hear from me, one of you chaps had better come in.”

      “All right,” answered Bob; “I’ll be ready.”

      Then Dan dropped feet foremost over the edge of the float and went down out of sight in the rushing green water. A moment after those leaning over the edge caught a glimpse of a kicking leg. Then several seconds passed. The crowd on the float listened breathlessly. At last, from under the boards and a few feet away, came Dan’s voice.

      “All right, Nel! Where are you?”

      “Here!” called Nelson, his mouth at one of the cracks.

      “Must be the next section,” answered Dan’s muffled voice. “Wait a minute.”

      There was a faint splashing sound, silence, and again came Dan’s voice.

      “I’ve got him!” he called. “I’m coming out the other side.”

      A moment later Dan’s wet head and a half-drowned wire-haired terrier appeared at the same moment. The dog was held out at arm’s length and Bob seized him. Others gave their hands to Dan and he was quickly pulled out on to the float.

      “Gee, that water’s cold!” he gasped. “How’s the dog? He was just about gone when I got to him. He had managed to get one paw into a crevice in a log, but his head was under water half the time, I guess. Who’s got him?”

      “Here he is,” said Bob. “He’s all right. About scared to death, I guess, and pretty well soaked.”

      “Maybe he’s swallowed some water,” suggested Tom. “Hold him upside down a minute.”

      Bob obeyed and nearly half a pint of salt water streamed out of the dog’s mouth. After that he seemed much better, but was content for the moment to lie in Bob’s arms and gasp and shiver, looking up the while into Bob’s face with an expression which surely meant gratitude. He was a forlorn little thing when they finally set him down and he feebly shook himself. The hair was plastered close to his body, and his inch of tail wagged feebly.

      “Who’s dog is he?” asked Nelson.

      “I don’t know,” said one of the throng. “He’s been around here for a couple of days. Don’t believe he belongs to anyone. There isn’t anything on the collar; I looked.”

      Some one brought Dan a couple of towels from one of the bath houses and he dried himself as best he could. Afterwards he trotted about the float a minute and along the edge of the little beach.

      “Say, he’s a plucky one, he is,” said one of the youths to Nelson.

      “Who’s