FRANK’S WAY.

“My goodness, what a splash!”

“Served him right, that’s what!”

“He’s gone under, fellows! Dove just like a big frog!”

“Stop the boat! He’ll drown!”

Half a dozen were shouting in unison, as the boys crowded to the side over which the bully had pitched when Frank avoided his forward rush.

But Frank heard only that startled exclamation from Sandy Hollingshead:

“Puss can’t swim a single stroke, either!”

With Frank Bird to think was to act. The two things were almost synonymous in his mind. Forgotten was the fact that the imperiled lad had been endeavoring to strike him in the face at the time of his submersion in the waters of Sunrise Lake.

Not a single word did he utter, but throwing off his coat, he made a leap over the side of the boat, already slowing up as the power was cut off.

“Frank’s gone back after him!” cried one.

“And he’ll get him, too,” another hastened to say; for they understood that when the leader of the team known as the “Bird boys” attempted anything he usually got there, as some of them said “with both feet.”

Meanwhile Frank was swimming with all his might toward the spot in the foamy wake of the boat, where he knew the unfortunate Puss must be battling for his life.

It seems strange that occasionally a boy may be found who has never taken the trouble to learn how to swim. In the country this is a rare occurrence; which would make the neglect of such an athletic fellow as Puss seem more remarkable.

He was threshing about in the deep water like a cat that has fallen overboard; and managing to keep partly afloat after a fashion; though it would have been all over with him long ere the power boat could be turned around and arrive at the spot where he struggled, gasping for breath, and sucking in much water.

Frank was wise enough to understand that it is always desirable to approach a drowning person from the rear, so that a grip may be taken before the would-be rescuer’s presence is discovered. Once let those frenzied fingers clutch hold of him, and the chances of a double tragedy would be good.

So Frank was keenly on the watch as he swam toward the splashing and gurgling that announced Puss Carberry’s fight for his life.

He could see him by now, and never would Frank be apt to forget the look of absolute terror he discovered upon the agonized face of the bully. Puss had detected the presence of some one near by, and was trying to shout, as well as stretch his appealing hands out, though not with much success.

He actually went under while Frank looked; and the heart of the would-be rescuer almost stood still with a terrible fear that that was the end.

But he kept on, and in another moment a head once more bobbed up, with Puss threshing the water frantically. Once he had gone down. According to what most people said, he would possibly vanish twice more, and after that never rise again.

If anything was to be done, there was no time for delay. Frank was within ten feet of the struggling figure when it came up. He immediately dove, and managed to rise to the surface behind Puss. Then, just as the other was floundering beneath the surface of the agitated water again, Frank caught hold of his sweater close to his neck, and held on with might and main.

He had a serious job of it, for the half-drowned lad made a desperate attempt to turn around, doubtless with the intention of throwing his arms around his rescuer. This was just what Frank was desirous of avoiding. He simply wanted to keep the head of Puss above water until the boat could come and willing hands be stretched down to relieve him of his burden.

So he kept treading water and fighting Puss off as best he was able. It was no easy task, since he still had his baseball shoes on; and swimming in one’s clothes is always a difficult proposition. But Frank knew no such word as fail and continued to strive, keeping one eye on Puss and the other on the approaching power boat.

“Steady now, Puss!” he kept saying, again and again, trying to instill some sense in the head of the frantic boy, who still believed he must be going down again. “Keep your breath in your lungs and you’ll float! Don’t kick so; I’m going to hold you up till the boys come. It’s all right, Puss; you’re safe!”

All the same Frank was mighty well pleased when the launch did swing close alongside and half a dozen hands reached out to clutch hold of them both.

“Puss first, fellows!” he said, with a half laugh. “I can crawl in myself, I guess.” But they would not hear of it, so willing hands lifted him up as soon as the other dripping figure had been deposited in the bottom of the boat.

Frank made light of the adventure, after his usual style.

“Oh, come, let up on that!” he remarked, when some of the fellows were patting him on the back and calling him a hero and all such things that were particularly disagreeable to Frank. “It was just a cinch to me, you know. I’m half a water spaniel, anyway. Besides, if it hadn’t been for the way I riled him, Puss wouldn’t have fallen overboard. Drop it, please.”

By the time the boat reached the landing near the dock where the lake steamer touched, Puss seemed to have discharged his cargo of water, swallowed unintentionally.

He made his appearance, with several cronies clustered about him. Frank was not the one to hold a grudge. Besides, he had come out of the affair with flying colors and had nothing to regret. So he strode up to Puss at once, holding out his hand.

Every boy on board crowded around, eager to see how the bully would behave, for they knew his natural disposition and wondered whether any sort of miracle had been wrought in his disposition because of his recent submersion.

“I hope you’re feeling all right now, Puss,” Frank said, pleasantly. “I wanted to ask your pardon for treating you so roughly; but knowing you couldn’t swim, I was afraid that if you closed with me we’d both go down.”

“But you struck me once right in the face, you coward!” exclaimed the other, as he put his still trembling hand up to where a bruise of some sort could be seen.

“Yes, I admit it,” returned Frank, quickly; “and that was what I wanted to apologize for. You grabbed me and it was the only way I could break your hold. I’ve been told by life savers that often they have to strike a man and knock him senseless to save themselves from being dragged down. You must understand that it was no time to be particular. I had to save myself in order to help you!”

The other stared hard at him. Evidently Puss had not yet entirely recovered after his close call. At any rate it was positive that he could not understand how he actually owed his very life to the speedy action of this boy whom he hated so bitterly.

They saw him shake his head, much as a dog might that is worrying a rat.

“Well, you only undid your own dirty work. You pushed me in and then you got cold feet. For fear that I’d drown and you’d be hung you jumped in to do your usual grandstand act of hero! Didn’t I hear these softies calling you that right now? No, I don’t want to touch your hand. Keep your friendship for those who can appreciate it. There’s a long account between us that’s going to be settled some fine day.”

And with these ungrateful words Puss Carberry strode off the boat, surrounded by his cronies, who were doubtless pleased with the course of things.

“Well, did you ever hear of such base ingratitude in all your born days?” exclaimed Larry Geohegan, making a gesture of supreme disgust.

“And to think of the skunk saying Frank pushed him in!” echoed Elephant, “when he actually risked his life to save the cur. Ain’t I glad now I didn’t carry out my first impulse and jump after Puss, even before Frank went. Why, maybe he’d have even said I tried to drown him!”

The idea of that proverbial slow coach of an Elephant ever doing anything on the spur of the moment was really too much for the rest of the boys and a general roar went up. “Don’t bother your heads about me, fellows,” remarked Frank, quietly, when the laughter had ceased again. “That was just about the kind of treatment I should have expected to get from Puss Carberry. Still, I’m not sorry I did it. Life would seem very tame without that schemer around to try and liven things up for me. But I hardly expected him to accuse me of pushing him in when all I did was to step aside and avoid a blow at his hands. Forget it, please.”

He walked off with his cousin Andy, who had been boiling over at the time the rescued Puss made his astonishing accusation.

“Wouldn’t that jar you some now?” remarked Andy, after his customary fashion.

“I suppose you’re referring to the way Puss turned on me after I went and got my baseball suit wet just to give him a helping hand?” laughed Frank, good naturedly. “Oh, I don’t bear any malice. Perhaps he was still a little stunned by that knock I gave him. But I thought he was going to get his arms around my neck, you see, and then it would be all up with us both. It worked, too, for he was as limp as a dishrag from that time on. Remember it, Andy, in case you ever jump over after Puss.”

“Me after that snake? Why, hang it, I’d see him in Guinea before I’d ever lift a hand to save him! I tell you I’d I’d ” stammered the indignant Andy.

“I don’t believe it of you,” declared his cousin, quickly. “You may think you’d stand by and see him drown, but that’s all gammon. I know you too well to believe you’re half as vindictive as you try to make out. But did you hear what he said about going down there to South America, visiting a plantation his mother partly owns and taking his biplane along with him?”

Andy was all excitement now.

“Sure I did,” he said. “And ten to one he learned somehow that we thought of going down in that region for another purpose. It would be just like Puss and that sneak of a Sandy Hollingshead to try and beat us out. That fellow wouldn’t mind a trip to the other end of the world if he thought he could get your goat, Frank. He hates you like poison. Pity you didn’t feel a cramp just when you were swimming to him not enough to endanger your own life, you see, but sort of make you stop short.”

“Shame on you, Andy,” remarked Frank. “I hope I’ll always carry myself so that I won’t be afraid to look at myself in a glass. But what do you know about that place didn’t he call it a cocoa plantation or something of the kind?”

“Yes,” replied the other moodily; “I was told that his mother owned two-thirds of some such place along the Amazon or somewhere down there. But let them go. It’s a tremendous big country and there isn’t the least danger that we’ll ever butt into them, if we should decide to take a run down.”

“Still,” observed the taller lad, thoughtfully, “you never can know. I’ve heard travelers say that sometimes the world seems to be very small; when you meet your next door neighbor on the top of some Swiss mountain. Puss may know nothing about your plans and this is perhaps only a coincidence, as they say. Since he has had such poor luck getting to the top of our mountains around here he wants to try his hand on those poor South American Andes.”

Andy’s father had been a professor in one of the colleges, who, having taken up aeronautics, had made many balloon voyages in quest of scientific information, so that his name had become quite famous. Then, about a year before, he had been lost when attempting to solve the air currents on the Panama Isthmus, where the government had thirty thousand laborers digging the big ditch.

Nothing had ever been heard of the professor from the day he started from the Atlantic side of the isthmus, intending to cross the mountains and land on the Pacific beach. And it was becoming a positive mania in the mind of Andy, who lived with his guardian, Colonel Josiah Whympers, to some day go down there and follow in the track of his lost father, in the hope of discovering his sad fate.

It was with this idea in mind that he had united his forces with Frank’s inventive genius and helped build the monoplane with which they had won the race to the top of the neighboring mountain, during Old Home Week at Bloomsbury.

And every day he was thinking more and more of what strange things the future might have in store for him, if he ever started on that exploring venture.