The Young Oarsmen of Lakeview. Stratemeyer Edward

a wonder Harry and Blumpo promptly followed suit.

      Crash!

      The row-boat was struck and stove in completely.

      The Cutwater was quite a good sized craft, and though the force of the collision did not damage her to any extent, it checked her progress considerably.

      Jerry went down and down. He made a long dive, and when he came up it was within a yard of the sloop’s rudder.

      Before another boy would have had time to think, the boy who so loved the water made up his mind what to do. He made a mighty leap and caught hold of the rudder end ere the Cutwater could get beyond his reach. It was hard work to hang on, as the sloop bobbed up and down with every wave, and the rudder, being beyond control, swayed from side to side.

      But Jerry was both plucky and full of grit. He clung fast, and, watching his chance, climbed up to the stern and leaped on the deck.

      A brief glance showed him the cause of the present trouble. Clarence Conant was actually too much frightened to lower the sails. He had started to act and got a rope twisted, and then, overcome with fear, had allowed the matter to go while he clung to the bow in despair.

      “You confounded coward!” cried the young oarsman. “You ought to have known better than to go out on anything bigger than a duck pond.”

      He sprang to the halyards, and soon the main-sail came down with a bang. The jib followed. There was no time to attend to the sails more than this.

      Jerry looked around anxiously for Harry and Blumpo, but for a long while could see nothing of them.

      “Look here,” demanded Clarence Conant, recovering his composure, now the greatest of the danger was over. “What – ah – do you mean by talking to me in this fashion?”

      “I mean just what I say,” retorted Jerry. “You had no right to take these young ladies out and expose them to such peril.” “The – ah – hurricane took me by surprise,” was the dude’s lame excuse.

      “I am very thankful to you, Jerry Upton,” cried Dora Vincent, the oldest and prettiest of the girls on board.

      “And so am I.”

      “And I.”

      “Thank you,” replied the boy, blushing. “But now is no time to talk. Which of you will take the tiller, if I tell you exactly what to do?”

      “I can – ah – take the tiller,” interposed Conant, haughtily.

      “You won’t touch it!” cried the young oarsman, sternly.

      “Why, boy, what do you mean? Do you – ah – ”

      “Sit down! If you dare to stir I’ll pitch you overboard!”

      Overcome with a new terror, the dude collapsed. He was hatless, the curl was out of his mustache and hair, and altogether he looked very much “washed out.”

      He sank down near the bow, and it was well that he did so, for just then came an extra heavy blast of the gale.

      “Hold hard, every one!” yelled Jerry. “Perhaps you ladies had better go into the cabin,” he added.

      “I am to take the tiller, you know,” said Dora Vincent. “Well, then, let the others go. We can work along better with a clear deck.”

      So while Dora went aft, the others crawled into the cabin, or cuddy. Under pretense of seeing after their comfort, Conant crawled after them.

      “Now I will tell you just how to move the tiller,” said Jerry to Dora Vincent.

      “All right, I am ready,” responded the brave girl.

      Now that she had Jerry with her, and knowing he was well acquainted with boats, she felt that she was safe, no matter how bad the storm might prove itself.

      After giving the girl some instructions Jerry hoisted the main-sail a few feet only. The sloop then swung around and moved in a beating way against the storm.

      Jerry wished to learn what had become of his companions. He was fearful that they had been drowned.

      It took quite some time to reach the vicinity where the accident had occurred, and even then but little was to be seen through the driving rain.

      “Hullo, Harry! Blumpo!” he called out.

      No answer came back and he repeated the cry a dozen times. Then he fancied he heard a response directly ahead. The sloop was moved cautiously in the direction, and presently they saw Blumpo clinging to part of the shattered row-boat. “Sabe me! sabe me!” yelled the youth. “Don’t let me drown, Jerry.”

      “Catch the rope, Blumpo!” cried Jerry in return, and threw forward the end of a coil.

      Blumpo clutched the rope eagerly, and then it was comparatively easy to haul him on board.

      “Praise de Lawd!” he muttered fervently as he came on deck. “I t’ought I was a goner, suah!”

      “Where is Harry?”

      “I can’t tell you, Jerry.”

      “You haven’t seen him since we jumped from the row-boat?”

      “No.”

      The young oarsman’s face grew sober. What if their chum had really gone to the bottom of Lake Otasco? It would be awful to tell Harry’s parents that their son was no more.

      “We must find him, dead or alive, Blumpo. Take the tiller from Miss Vincent, and we’ll cruise around, with our eyes and ears wide open,” said Jerry, with determination.

      CHAPTER V.

      HARRY IS RESCUED

      “I can stay on deck, can’t I?” asked Dora, as she turned the tiller over to the homeless youth.

      “If you wish. But be very careful when the sloop swings around,” replied Jerry. “You did very well,” he added.

      Dora smiled at this. Then she went forward and settled down, in spite of the rain, to help look for Harry Parker, whose folks she knew fairly well.

      The Cutwater was put on a different track, and they began to move across the lake, it being Jerry’s idea to cross and recross at a distance of every six or seven hundred feet.

      Twice did they come close to each shore without seeing anything of Harry.

      “Gone down, suah’s you’re born!” said Blumpo, and the tears started out of his big, honest eyes.

      “I am afraid so,” returned Jerry, “and yet – hark!”

      He put up his hand and all were instantly on the alert. The wind had gone down somewhat, and from a distance came a low cry. “It’s Harry’s!” said Jerry. “Hullo, Harry!” he yelled, with all the power of his lungs.

      He waited, and an answering cry came back from toward the center of the lake. It was very weak, showing that Harry was almost exhausted.

      The course of the sloop was instantly changed, and they strove to reach the spot before the boy should go down.

      Jerry was the first to see the form floating about amid the whitecaps.

      “Keep up, Harry!” he called encouragingly. “We will soon have you on board.”

      “I can’t keep up any longer,” gasped his chum. “I am played out.” And throwing up his arms, Harry disappeared.

      Tying the end of a long rope about his waist, Jerry leaped overboard. He struck the spot where Harry had gone down and felt in every direction for his chum.

      His hand touched an arm, and then he held Harry fast and brought him to the surface. The poor boy was too weak to make the first movement.

      “Haul in on the rope, Blumpo!” called Jerry.

      Turning the tiller over to Dora Vincent, the homeless youth did as directed.

      Jerry, with his burden, was soon brought alongside.

      It