The Shagganappi | Page 9

it's too good fun having you all here, and a

royal holiday ahead of us, without hunting for a trimming from dad
because I play the la-de-da or think I'm the whole thing."
Shag was thinking hard, but he said nothing; yet, little as he knew of
the world, he was quite aware how few boys in Hal's position would act
as he had done. Had it not been for Sir George's son what would his life
at college have been? He knew Locke never liked him, he knew that
Shorty positively disliked him, he knew there was a strong element of
prejudice in the school against him, and he knew positively that, were it
not for Lord Mortimer's influence and recommendation, he would
never have been accepted in this exclusive college as a student. What
then did he owe to Hal? Everything, as far as making life in the East
bearable, as far as being received on an equality with the other boys
went. It was a tremendous debt that he owed this handsome boy who
was his host for the summer. But before the holiday was ended Shag
paid that debt with all his heart, and almost with his life.
It happened one day from the simple cause that the camp had run short
of bread, and one of the youngsters from the Pacific coast, Freddy by
name, had volunteered to paddle over to the mainland for it. The
sailboat being laid up for repairs, Freddy ran out the light little
Peterborough, and was just getting away from the island when Hal
descried him and shouted to him to wait. "Think I'd let you go alone in
that canoe, kiddie?" he asked. "There's too much wind to-day; look at
her sweep down the north channel. Why, she'd turn you round and
round like 'Willie waltzing.' Hold on, I'm coming with you." With that
he sprang into the canoe and they were away.
It was rather a cold wind for early September, and the two boys were
glad to paddle hard to keep their circulation up. Both were in shirt
sleeves and both somewhat chilled; but by the time they had reached
the mainland they were all tingling with rioting blood and with
appetites ready to attack their cargo of bread, even minus the butter.
They started back in good shape, although Hal's weather eye observed
that the wind was picking up and that they would have to work for it to
make the island in good time for supper. All went well for some
distance, although sometimes the waves galloped up and slipped over

the bow where Freddy knelt, plying his paddle in good form. Out in
mid-stream, with both wind and current against him, Hal had
considerable difficulty in steering; his strong, muscular arms pulled
little Freddy's stroke around, and he bent to the work of "digging
potatoes" with a vengeance. The bow with its light boyish ballast would
rise and rise again, slapping down on the surface or taking the waves
like a cork. Then came a line of combers, one on top of another. The
taut little Peterborough rode the first like a shell, the second she dipped,
the third she shipped a whole bucketful of water. As it poured over the
deck, little Freddy flung himself backward to escape the drenching, the
canoe dipped, Freddy landed full weight on the leeward gunwale--and
they were over. For the first instant, Hal was conscious of but one thing,
that he was being struck through with the chill of the water on top of
being in a heat of perspiration with battling the canoe through the
waves. Then he came to the surface to see the canoe, turned turtle,
floating bottom up three yards away. Then a limp mass of brown
clothes and brown curls cannoned into him, and reaching out, he
grasped Freddy.
"Don't get scared, kid," he gasped, spluttering the water out of his
throat; "keep cool and don't clutch me too tight." He might as well have
spoken to the winds, for little Freddy, chilled through and
terror-stricken, was clinging to him like an octopus, impeding his arm
and leg action, and almost choking the breath out of his lungs. "Oh, Hal,
we're in mid-stream!" gulped the child; "we'll be drowned!"
"Not on your life, kiddie!" spluttered Hal. "I'll get that bally canoe.
Only don't hold on around my neck, that's a good kiddie. There, that's
better," as Freddy loosened his fingers from Hal's shirt collar, and the
boy struck out with one arm around the child and the other working for
all the grit and muscle there was in it. His magnificent stroke, helped
by the wind and current, soon overhauled the canoe. By a supreme
effort he clutched the immersed gunwale. With one arm