CHAPTER IV.FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR."On the following Monday morning Dick called for his chum as usual, but Jim was in no hurry to start."You go on," said he; "I'll come presently."As a matter of fact he dreaded the meeting with his school-fellows; it would be so different from the scene he had pictured while walking home from the cricket-ground. He had looked forward to a regular triumph, for it must be confessed that Jim was rather vain, though he had the good sense to keep this failing, for the most part, to himself."All right!" exclaimed the Angel cheerfully; but he went only a short distance, and waited till his chum came out."What a silly chap you are!" said Jim peevishly; "now you'll be late.""Never mind, my boy; better late than never, as they say in the copy-books. I said that to Laythorne the other day, but he gave me one back. 'Better never late,' said he, as I went to my place."Prayers were over when they reached the school, but the master made no remark as they passed to their places. He had heard the sad news, and easily understood why the boys were late. At the interval he asked Jim to remain, and told him how sorry he was for his great loss."Thank you, sir," said Jim, resolutely keeping the tears from his eyes."And, by the way, Hartland," continued the young master kindly, "if there's anything I can do, let me know."Just then the Head entered the room, and he, too, expressed his sorrow at what had happened, and Jim appreciated the kindness of his masters.He had dreaded going back to school, but it was not very dreadful after all. Most of the boys looked at him curiously, but only one or two said anything, and then matters resumed their usual course.At home it was much worse, although Susie, with strange persistence, still cherished the hope that her father had not been drowned."We don't know," she argued stoutly—"no one knows. The papers say some of the crew got ashore.""Don't be stupid," said her brother. "It says plainly enough that father went down with the ship.""But he might have been picked up afterwards, or got ashore somewhere else."Even Susie's faith gave way, however, when a fuller account of the wreck came to hand. It was supplied by an A.B. named Davies, who had been picked up by the steamshipCormorant."It was on a Friday night," the newspaper report of his narrative ran, "and we were there or thereabout up to the latitude of Cape Horn. I had turned in 'all standing,' for the weather was squally, and I didn't expect to get much of a nap. Sure enough I'd hardly got my eyes shut when there came a crash, and some one sang out, 'All hands, ahoy!' We tumbled up the ladder in a hurry, and I tell you there wasn't a man there who didn't think Davy Jones was calling us. It was a night! The rain was coming down full pelt, and you couldn't keep your feet for the wind. Spars snapped like match-boxes, and the barque lay nearly on her beam-ends. It was dark as pitch just then, though it cleared up afterwards. We did what we could to save the ship; but, bless you, we had no more chance than a parcel of babies. She was settling down like a stone, and the old man sung out that we'd better try the boats. I ran to help clear the port quarter boat, and got in, when a heavy sea broke over her, smashing her in two. Down I went a long way, but at last came up to the surface again, and hammered my right hand against something hard. This turned out to be a top-gallant mast, so I took a firm grip. I couldn't see anything of theMorning Star, but there seemed to be a lot of rigging about, and I heard some men shouting in the distance. I reckoned afterwards it must have been the first mate and the chaps who got away in the other boat. I hulloed back, but they couldn't hear, and I reckoned I was done. Soon after that came another shout close to me, and I yelled back, 'Ahoy, there! Is that you, Mr. Hartland?'"'Yes. Who are you?'"'Davies,' I sings out—'on a mast.'"'Can you hold on?'"'Not much longer, I'm afeared.'"'Keep your spirits up,' says he, cheery like, and then it was all quiet. However, we must have drifted pretty close together, for, directly day broke, there he was, not twenty yards off, with a lifebuoy round him, and clinging to a light spar."'How goes it now?' says he; and when I tells him I'm nearly done, he says, 'I've a good mind to keep you company. I've some rope here, and a draw or two round the body will keep you tight.' With that he swims over and lashes me to the mast. Presently he says again, quiet as anything, 'Look here, Davies; it's no go! This won't hold us both; I must take my chance. Good-bye, and if you've the luck to be picked up, just let 'em know over in England that I stood by the ship till she went down.'"Them were his last words. He let go, and the last I saw of him he was striking out towards the shore. Of course he never reached it, though he was a strong swimmer, too. After that I lost count of things, and don't know anything more till my eyes opened aboard theCormorant. The lashings saved me, or I should have gone under as sure as fate."The story of her husband's bravery filled Mrs. Hartland with honest pride; but, unfortunately it extinguished the last spark of hope that, almost unknown, had lurked in the recesses of her mind. However, she faced the matter bravely, and talked over her plans with Jim."We shall have to leave this house," she said, "and find a cheaper one. Then I must get some kind of work to do.""What about Susie?" asked Jim."Ah, that's the trouble! I can't very well go out and leave her alone. Perhaps I can get some plain sewing.""Haven't we any money at all, mother?" the boy asked presently."Only what is due from your father's wages, and that won't keep us long."Susie had gone to bed, and there was no one in the room but mother and son. Mrs. Hartland sat by the window with some needlework in her hand, though it was too dark to sew; Jim stood by the mantelpiece, fumbling nervously with a button on his jacket.Presently he said bravely, "I must leave school and get a place somewhere. I daresay I can earn something, if only a little."It cost him an effort to say this without breaking down, for he was very ambitious, and had mapped out a great career for himself. In the first place he had made up his mind to win the Gayton Scholarship, which was to be a stepping-stone to fortune. This was all done with now, for even in the event of being successful he could not accept the scholarship.Mrs. Hartland guessed a part of his thoughts, and, calling him to her side, said,—"We'll talk about that another time, Jim. There's no need to give up your school at present; I wouldn't like you to do that. I daresay we shall be able to rub along somehow till the next examination.""But there's no good in trying for the 'Gayton.'""Not for yourself, but it would be an honour for your school if you won it. You would leave a good name behind you also."So, after some further talk, it was decided that Jim should stay on at school; and the next week the family moved to a little house in a much poorer quarter of the town.Of course Dick went to help, and his bright smile and cheerful humour did much to cheer them."Isn't it a poky place?" said Jim, pausing in the work of putting up his sister's bedstead."Well, you can't call it exactly a palace," replied Dick, "but it might be worse, you know. O my aunt!" And the Angel finished with a vigorous howl."What's the matter?""I nipped my hand under that iron bar." And he sucked the tips of his fingers as if they were sticks of sugar-candy. "Just see if you can twist this nut round; I can't move it."The two friends worked away with a will, making up in zeal what they lacked in experience, and very soon had the room looking quite cozy and comfortable. Then they went downstairs; and before night, as Dick's mother, who had come over to help, put it, "things were beginning to look a bit straight."Susie, of course, could do nothing herself; but she played the part of superintendent, and ordered the boys about, especially Dick, who good-humouredly obeyed all her commands. He looked on it all as great fun, and announced his intention of worrying his mother until they had a move on their own account.Mrs. Hartland had faced her trouble bravely, but before long Jim recognized that things were much worse than he had guessed. Beyond his father's wages and the donation of a few pounds from the "Shipwrecked Mariners' Society," they had absolutely no money, and there seemed little prospect of his mother being able to earn sufficient to keep them. Already they had to deny themselves everything in the shape of luxury, and even Susie had to go without various little delicacies which they had been in the habit of providing for her."I ought to give up school and go to work," he said; but to this his mother was strongly opposed."If you leave school now you can only be an errand boy," she said; "and without education, you will have no chance of doing anything in the world."Now I have no desire to put James Hartland forward as an uncommonly good boy, because, as you will find for yourselves, he was nothing of the sort; but in this particular case he certainly deserved some credit.One evening he arrived home very late, which was such an unusual thing that his mother wondered what had kept him."Awfully sorry, mother," he cried, looking at the clock; "but I've been up in the town on business.""For the master?""No," replied the boy, with rather a forced smile; "on my own account. I've got a place. Don't be vexed. I shan't have to leave school; it's only mornings and evenings.""What have you to do?""To take the papers to Mr. Broad's customers; and if I help on Saturdays too, he'll give me five shillings a week. What do you think of that? Isn't it splendid?""But you will have no time to study for the 'Gayton.'""I must work harder at school, and put in an hour extra in the morning. I'll manage, never fear, and the money will just pay the rent. Wasn't it lucky I saw the card in the window? Of course I shan't be able to play in the rest of the cricket matches, but they can easily get some one to take my place."He spoke cheerfully, but his mother knew what a sacrifice he had made, and hoped, for his sake, that good might come of it."Jim," said Susie, plucking his sleeve nervously, "will you have to call out 'Paper!' like the boys who come round here at night?""No, you little goose," he laughed—"only to leave them at the different houses. And now, let me finish my tea. I must have a good grind at geography this evening."CHAPTER V.JIM STARTS WORK.It wanted ten minutes to nine, and the Deanery boys were pouring into the playground, ready to assemble for morning school. Percy Braithwaite stood just inside the gate talking to a little group of his chums. He was a good-looking, fair-skinned boy, with sharp, keen eyes. Somehow he was not a favourite with the majority, but as his father kept him well supplied with pocket-money, he generally had a certain following which petted and made much of him."I had a jolly lark this morning," he was saying. "What d'you think Jimmy Hartland's doing? You'd never guess! He's selling papers. He brought ours round just now, and I answered the door. You'd have died to see him: he went as red as a turkey-cock."'Hullo!' said I—'a fresh paper-boy? You're very late. This won't do, you know. Tell your master if you can't come earlier than this we shall have to make a change.'""Did you really say that?" asked Simpson, who was sucking one of Braithwaite's bull's-eyes. "He would be wild. The beggar's as proud as Lucifer.""I don't see why he shouldn't sell papers," said Alec Macdonald. "There's nothing to be ashamed of in that.""Perhaps not for fellows of his class," said Braithwaite, with a superior air, "but fancy a paper-boy trying for the 'Gayton'! Why, if he got it, all the school would cut him dead. I call it a great piece of cheek.""Here he comes with the Angel," whispered Simpson, who had finished his bull's-eye, and was hoping to get another before the bell rang. "I say, let's have a lark!" And raising his voice, he cried, "Hevenin' Noos! Hextry Speshul! Paper, sir?"The others burst into a roar of laughter; and Braithwaite, who thought it an excellent joke, laughed the loudest of all.The Angel, scenting mischief, laid hold of his chum's arm, saying,—"Don't take any notice, Jim; it's only the 'Dandy' and his gang."This was an unfortunate remark, as it would have been safer just then to wave a red flag before a bull than to mention Braithwaite's name to Jim. He was hot and tired and cross, angry with himself and the world in general, and with Braithwaite in particular. The incident of the morning had upset him, and this mocking laughter was, as Dick afterwards said, "the last straw that broke the camel's back.""Want a hextry, sir? Take the last one!"Simpson was fairly earning another bull's-eye.Jim's face was white with passion as he strode over to the group, in the midst of which Braithwaite stood laughing. Blinded by anger, he did not stay to ask questions, but crying, "You beastly cad!" let out straight from the shoulder.The Angel, though rather alarmed, could not resist the chance of a joke."That's a drop ofhextry speshulclaret!" he sang out, as the blood spurted from Braithwaite's nose.Instantly there arose a babel of voices."Give him one back, Dandy!""Off with your coat; I'll hold it!""Who has a spare handkerchief?"I trust my readers are not thirsting for a description of a fight, because in that case they will be disappointed. In the midst of the hubbub the bell sounded, and the boys went to their places, Simpson leading his friend along, and making a great show of the blood-stained handkerchief.The injured boy, who was in the same class as Jim and Dick, at once attracted the attention of Mr. Laythorne, who asked what had happened."If you please, sir," said Braithwaite, "I was standing just inside the gate when Hartland came along and hit me on the nose.""Is this correct, Hartland?""He called me names, so I hit him, sir," answered Jim sulkily. "And I'll hit him again, too, if he cheeks me.""I am sorry to hear you talk in that way," said the young master calmly. "Go to your place now, and stay behind during the interval.—Boden, take that boy to the lavatory.""Yes, sir," responded the Angel cheerfully, taking Braithwaite, not too tenderly, by the arm.Everything went wrong that morning with Jim. He made the most stupid mistakes in class, and behaved so badly that Mr. Laythorne felt sorely tempted to send him to the head-master. He was kept in during the interval, and again at noon, and accordingly looked on himself as a martyr. When he at last got out, the playground was empty except for Dick, who would never have dreamed of going without his chum."Get your face straight, old man," cried he; "it's as long as a fiddle. I wish I had a looking-glass, so that you could see yourself. Think of the milkmen down your way! You'll turn all their milk sour!"Jim stalked across the playground without deigning to reply."Whew!" whistled the Angel; "you ought to be markeddangerous, like a magazine. No wonder Laythorne was afraid to keep you inside any longer. But I say, Jim, that was a lovely tap you gave Braithwaite. He asked me if I thought his nose was broken.""I'll break his head next time!" said Jim savagely.The Angel clapped him on the back."There's nothing like making a good job of a thing while you're at it," he said. "Going up the lane? All right. I'll call for you after dinner. And take that frown off your face, or you'll frighten Susie into a fit."Mrs. Hartland saw there was something the matter with the boy, but happily she did not worry him about it, and by the time Dick called he was almost himself again."Oh, I forgot to tell you, mother," he said as he was going out, "you needn't wait tea for me. I'm going to have mine at the shop. It will save time, Mr. Broad says.""Have you to work all the evening, Jim?" asked Dick as they went down the street."No, I shall be home by eight.""That doesn't leave you much time.""Oh, I shall manage. Laythorne is taking all the subjects at school, and I can get in at least two hours extra every day."As it happened, Jim found in a short time that he was reckoning without his book.At the close of afternoon school Jim stepped up to the master's desk."Do you wish to speak to me?" asked Mr. Laythorne, looking rather surprised."Yes, sir," replied Jim bravely. "I want to beg your pardon for my rudeness this morning. Things seemed to go quite wrong somehow, and I was in a bad temper.""It's very manly to come forward of your own account like this," said Mr. Laythorne pleasantly, "and it does you credit. But you must learn to govern your temper, Hartland, or it will bring you into mischief. How are you getting on for the 'Gayton'? Don't forget that if I can help you in any way I shall be pleased to do so.""Thank you, sir," replied Jim brightly. "I am hoping to make a good fight for it."He left the room in good spirits, stopped a minute or two in the playground to chat with Dick, and then ran off to town."'Twill be a scramble," he thought to himself, "but I'll pull through. I can put in from half-past eight till ten at night, and from five till half-past six in the morning, besides an hour at dinner-time. That ought to be enough, and five shillings a week will be very useful to mother.""Pretty punctual, my boy," said the stationer as Jim entered the shop. "I like to see that. Your tea's ready in the kitchen. When you've finished I've something here for you to do.""Yes, sir," said Jim.Eager to do his best, and being a smart, intelligent boy, he created a favourable impression at once. Mr. Broad was delighted with him; and that night after closing time, he told his wife that the new boy was a treasure."You had better wait a bit before you judge," she replied. "Don't forget that new brooms sweep clean."Mr. Broad laughed, admitted there was a great deal of truth in the proverb, but all the same maintained his opinion.Meanwhile Jim had gone home, eaten his supper, and settled down to work. To win this Gayton Scholarship was his one idea, and if he failed it would not be for want of trying. He had heard of the sneer about a paper-boy going in for the "Gayton," and it nettled him."I'll beat Perce Braithwaite, anyhow!" he said to himself.This was the spur that goaded him on, and all that week he devoted every minute of his spare time to study."Don't bury yourself too deep," advised the Angel, who, on the Friday evening, walked a part of the way with him, "or we mayn't be able to dig you up again.""Oh, I'm all right," laughed Jim. "I shall cut you out, Dicky, my boy. I've made a big move this week.""Glad to hear it," said the Angel cheerfully. "It's the history that bothers me most. I get mixed with the dates and things. I don't think history ought to count: it's mostly rubbish, anyway. Who wants to know about the old kings, and when they lived, and when they died, and who their grandfathers were?""Or the Provisions of Oxford," added Jim slyly; at which his churn roared with laughter, though the joke was against himself.Not long before, Mr. Laythorne had asked his class to name the "Provisions of Oxford," whereupon the Angel, though rather astonished at such a simple question, replied blandly, "The chief provisions of Oxford, like those of other English towns, are bread, meat, all kinds of vegetables, poultry, fish—" And he only pulled up when the suppressed titter of his classmates broke into uncontrollable laughter."Laythorne told the Head of that," said Dick, when he had recovered his breath, "and it went the round of the masters. They chaffed me about it at the cricket match; but I don't call it a fair question. I hope I shan't come a cropper like that at the 'Gayton.' Well, I'm off. See you Sunday." And leaving his chum at the shop door, he went away whistling.That night when Jim was leaving, Mr. Broad said, "I shall want you to do a double round in the morning, and to stay till ten o'clock in the evening.""Yes, sir," said the boy, though he was sorry at having to lose his own time."But you won't be wanted in the middle of the day," continued his master. "As soon as you have finished in the morning you can go till tea-time.""Oh," said Jim, brightening, "that will be capital," and at once resolved to use the extra time for study. He felt very tired on the Saturday night, but his heart was light and his face smiling when he got home. As a great treat Susie had been allowed to stay up, and Mrs. Hartland had prepared a tasty if cheap supper."This is prime!" exclaimed Jim, sniffing at the savoury odour, "and I'm as hungry as a hunter. But, first of all, you had better take my wages, mother." And he put down a tiny pile of silver on the table with the air of a millionaire."There's too much here by sixpence," said Mrs. Hartland, counting the coins. "Your master has made a mistake.""It's all right, mother," replied Jim proudly; "he gave me an extra sixpence for doing my work so well.""O Jim!" cried Susie, "isn't it splendid? Fancy earning all that money!""It will come in handy," said he, "and in a few months I shall be able to earn more. But while we're chattering the supper's getting cold. Sit down mother. You look tired to death.""Mother's been sewing all day, and the fine work hurts her eyes," observed Susie."I'm not as young as I was," remarked their mother, trying to laugh, "and my eyes feel the strain more.""When I'm a bit older you won't need to work at all," said Jim, who meant what he said. "I'll earn enough for us all."They lingered a long while over the simple meal, and then Jim helped his mother to carry Susie to her bedroom."I shan't call you early in the morning," said Mrs. Hartland, as Jim kissed her good-night; "I think you've earned a rest.""I wish that horrid exam. was over!" cried Susie; "then you'd have more time to yourself."CHAPTER VI.THE EXAMINATION.It really seemed as if fate was dead against Jim Hartland's winning the Gayton Scholarship For some time his mother, though saying nothing to the children, had not felt well. The shock of her husband's death, and the consequent change in circumstances, had done much to depress her, and the hard struggle to earn a scanty living had made her worse. She had done her best to keep up as long as possible; but on the Monday morning she was too ill even to get Jim's breakfast."Never mind, mother," said he cheerfully; "you stay in bed. I'll see to things. The lessons must go for a bit."Being a handy sort of fellow, he made breakfast, carried some up to his mother and Susie, straightened things a bit downstairs, and then ran off to his work.There still remained three weeks till the day of the examination; but, unfortunately for Jim, his mother's illness lasted two-thirds of that time. Mrs. Boden went in as often as she could, and a kindly neighbour did several odd jobs; but there were so many things to be done that Jim found all his time occupied."I should chuck the 'Gayton' if I were you," said the Angel one morning. "It will be no good to you if you win it, and with all these upsets you can't expect to be at your best.""The fellows would think I was afraid of being beaten.""What's the odds? Who cares what they think? There's no sense in working yourself half to death for nothing.""Not a bit; but I'm going in all the same.""Well, you are a stubborn beggar, and no mistake," said his chum, who usually spoke his mind.The examination was to be held in one of the rooms at the Gayton School, and on the Monday morning the candidates assembled in the big playground.Jim, who had been granted leave for the day by Mr. Broad, went down with Dick and Tom Moon, who was one of the Magpies. He was feeling wretchedly ill; his head ached, and his brains were all at sixes and sevens. He had worked like a horse all the week to make up for lost time, and was paying the penalty. He had lost all sense of proportion, and it seemed to him that life would be worth nothing if he failed to win this scholarship."Hullo!" cried Dick suddenly; "there's Dandy Braithwaite!—Morning, Dandy! Why, you look as pleased as if you'd won the scholarship already!""I'm going to have a good shot at it, anyhow.""Bravo, my boy!—Hullo, Temple! You here?""Why not?" asked Temple in surprise."I thought you'd more sense, 'pon my word! Now what is the use of you fellows wasting your time when there are three of the Deaneryites in the running?"The boys who knew the Angel's little ways greeted his remark with good-humoured laughter; the others thought he was a conceited donkey, and some said as much."Much plague in India just now, Dicky?" asked Temple mischievously."Wait till I've seen the geography questions.""What's the joke?" asked Tom Moon."Haven't you heard of the Angel's little dodge? Why, they fairly screamed over it at the Deanery.""Look here, Moon," said Dick, without a twinkle in his big blue eyes; "it was a beastly shame, and they treated me most unfairly. We had to write an account of a trip up the Ganges and a visit to Benares. Well, you know there was a horrible plague at Benares just then, and I couldn't afford to risk my valuable life in the town, so I skipped it, stating my reasons. And what do you think they said?""Can't guess.""Why, that 'twas a fake, because I didn't know anything about the blessed old town." And he looked so solemn that Moon was half inclined to think he had been badly treated."Did you really put that down?" asked one of the boys in the group."Of course I did!" answered Dicky, in a tone of surprise. "They couldn't expect me to go to a plague-spot like that!""Didn't I hear some yarn, too, about a dead passenger?" asked Temple."Very likely," said the Angel calmly; "that was another misfortune. You see, we had to describe a voyage from London to Odessa, and a very nice little trip, too. Well, my passenger started in a yacht, and had a jolly good time, jotting down his descriptions every night. At last he got into the Adriatic, and the poor fellow fell overboard. The skipper fished him out, but he was quite dead; and so, of course, the trip ended. Now, what do you think the inspector had the conscience to ask me? 'Boden,' said he, 'couldn't you remember any more of the coast-line?' Just as if I'd play a trick like that!""Don't cry, Dicky!" observed Temple. "The inspector didn't know you as well as we do, or there would have been no need to ask such a question"—an oracular speech with rather a doubtful meaning.Jim did not join in the chaff—in fact, he scarcely heard it. His whole mind was absorbed in the forthcoming examination, and he waited impatiently for the door to be opened. When Temple and several of the others spoke to him he answered briefly, and then relapsed into silence."What's the matter with him, Dicky?" whispered the popular captain of the Magpies, as they entered the building."Too much work. He's been overdoing it, and I shouldn't wonder if he breaks down. He's slaved like a nigger since the news of his father's loss came.""Poor old chap!" said Temple. "It was hard lines, and no mistake."The boys passed along a broad corridor, mounted a staircase, and entered a large room. Above the door was a card bearing the words, "Candidates for the Gayton Scholarship.""Move quietly, please," said a spectacled gentleman standing at a desk. "Each boy will find his name on the desk at which he is to sit."They were arranged in alphabetic order, and Dick found himself just behind Braithwaite. Jim was in the middle of the room, and Temple at the end. In a short time they were all seated, and the examiner read the rules and regulations. Then his colleague went round with the questions to be answered during the morning, and presently the only sound to be heard was the scratching of busy pens.After a rapid glance at the paper, Dick settled to work with a pleasant smile; the questions were just to his liking, and he felt sure of doing well in the morning at least. Braithwaite, too, seemed satisfied, while Temple used his pen as if he were master of the situation.The one boy in the room who appeared ill at ease was Jim Hartland. His face was hot and flushed; there were drumming noises in his ears; letters and figures, all jumbled together, danced wildly before his eyes. At the end of the first half-hour his paper was still blank. Long afterwards, in talking about the examination, he told me that, but for the examiner, he does not think he should have written a single word.That gentleman, seeing something was amiss, went over, and laying one hand on the boy's shoulder, said kindly, "Are you ill, my lad?"The sympathetic tone seemed to break the spell, and looking up, Jim answered, "My head aches a bit, sir, but it's getting better now. I think I can make a start.""That's right, my boy. Time's flying; but you must do your best.""Yes, sir," said Jim gratefully, and by a great effort he managed to concentrate his attention on the questions. Once started, he worked feverishly to make up for the lost half-hour; but at one o'clock he had to hand in his papers without having gone over them a second time.Fortunately the interval was too short for comparing notes. There was scarcely time for more than a rush home, a hurried meal, and a run back to be ready for the opening of the doors.At the gate Jim overtook Braithwaite, who, much to his surprise, said in quite a friendly way, "Done pretty well, Hartland?""Pretty well, thanks; how did you get on?""Prime! The questions were just made for me."Just then the Angel came along."I say, Dandy," he cried, "how came you to be doing Euclid this morning?""Euclid? I wasn't!""What were you drawing, then?""Why, a map of the United States!""Oh!" The blue eyes opened wide with assumed wonder. "I thought 'twas a figure in Euclid.""Don't be such a fool!" said Braithwaite testily, while the others laughed."Wasn't the arithmetic beastly stiff?" grumbled Tom Moon. "Did anybody do that thing about the two trains passing each other?""Oh, that was easy enough!" laughed Temple. "It worked out to thirty-seven seconds and a half.""I got that," said Braithwaite."So did I," cried Dick, throwing up his hat. "Well done, Boden, my boy; you'll pull this scholarship off yet!"Jim said nothing, but his skin burned like fire as he remembered that his answer was more than an hour and twenty minutes.Just then the doors were opened and the boys trooped into their places. While waiting for the papers to be given out he recalled the sum in question, and soon found what a ridiculous mess he had made of it."It's no use," he thought to himself bitterly; "as likely as not I've made as big a hash of the rest."Once he thought of pleading illness and giving up the struggle. The excuse would not have been without a backing of truth; but, after all, Jim was no coward, and he thrust the idea aside."No," muttered he, "I'll see the thing through."The first subject in the afternoon was history, for which he had always a liking; and when the paper was finished he felt that he had at last done himself justice. Encouraged by this success, he worked away at the others, feeling more and more cheerful at the end of each subject."Well," said the examiner, when he came to collect the papers, "are you satisfied?""With this afternoon's work, sir," said Jim; "but I'm afraid I lost my chance this morning.""Oh, you mustn't worry about that. 'Never despair!'—that's the motto, you know!" And the gentleman gave him a good-natured smile as he passed to the next desk.Outside, the boys clustered together, comparing notes and talking over their doings. Some smiled complacently, others looked rather miserable as they discovered their mistakes."The algebra paper was a teaser," remarked Temple, "and as for the last equation, I couldn't do it at all.'"I don't believe it comes out," said Braithwaite, while Dick admitted with a grin that he had left it untouched."Did you have a shot at it, Hartland?" asked Temple."Yes," said Jim; "it seemed easy enough, unless I misunderstood it." And with paper and pencil he proceeded to work it out."O my aunt!" cried Dick, who was very fond of bringing that worthy person into his conversation "I believe you've got it, Jimmy!""Yes," said Temple, "it certainly looks right. That will give you a lift, Hartland; it counts twenty marks.""Well," replied Jim, thinking of the morning's work, "I shall need them all."Presently the groups began to break up, and the boys to disperse. Jim still seemed very gloomy, and even his lively little chum found it difficult to bring a smile to his face."You haven't to go to the shop, have you?" he asked."Not to-night.""That's jolly; we'll have a good game down at the Old Fort. It's ages since you were down, and the fellows will be glad to see you. Say you'll come, just to please me."After a good deal of hesitation Jim promised, and the Angel went off whistling merrily. He little guessed what a terrible tragedy he was thus, in an indirect way, helping to bring about.CHAPTER VII."IT'S ALL MY FAULT"The port of Beauleigh has a fine harbour and splendid docks generally crowded with shipping. To the west of the harbour lies a sandy bay, while still farther west the coast becomes rugged and dangerous. When the tide is out, the rocks form a favourite playground for the boys of the neighbourhood, as also, at the time of our story, did the Old Fort. This is a ruined tower standing well out in the bay, and approached at low water by a stone bridge built up from the bottom of the sea. The width of this bridge is about sufficient to allow of two persons walking abreast, and here and there pieces have been knocked off by the action of the waves. At high tide it is covered to a height of several feet. The tower itself is so old that its origin was a matter for dispute among many learned men. Some said it had been built as a lighthouse; others that it was a real fort; while a third party declared that its original purpose was to serve as a prison for the king's enemies. The Beauleigh boys, without deciding on these abstruse matters, unanimously voted that it was a jolly place for a good game.Not having any business there, they found it the more attractive, especially as there was a real element of danger in playing there at dusk. The notice-board marked "Dangerous" and the warning to trespassers added spice to their enjoyment. Now and again it was proposed by the townspeople to demolish the tower, as it no longer served any useful purpose; but somehow nothing was done.Despite the danger, accidents rarely happened; the last one, in fact, was beyond the memory of even the oldest inhabitant.Before joining the ranks of the workers Jim had played many a game both on the rocks and at the Fort, and his companions were glad to have him back."Here's Jim Hartland coming down with the Angel!" cried one.Mrs. Hartland, thinking a good game would "blow the cobwebs," had urged him to go with Dick. He had been gloomy enough on the way down, but he brightened up at the boys' welcome, and threw himself heartily into the games. Whether he had done well or badly, the examination was over, and he might as well enjoy his brief holiday.First they had their favourite military game. For this they divided into two parties—one, under Dick, defending the Fort; the second, led by Jim, trying to force an entrance. The besieged warriors performed prodigies of valour; but the enemy were too strong, and after a desperate fight succeeded in storming the outworks and putting the garrison to the sword. Then the Angel, scorning to surrender, seized his battered flag, and with a shout of defiance, leaped from the battlements, taking particular care, however, to come down where the sand was nice and soft.After this some one proposed a game of "I spy!" among the rocks, to which the others readily agreed.As they were scampering along Dick cried out, "Hullo! there's Braithwaite!—Come on, Dandy, and have a game! 'Twill do you good after all that dry stuff at Gayton to-day!""All right," replied Braithwaite, who did not often join in these rough sports; "where are you going?""Up to the rocks. Come along; we'll give the rest a breather!" And off he went, light of foot and heart and, I am afraid, somewhat light of head. Indeed it was partly owing to one of his mischievous pranks that the incident which I am about to relate occurred.After playing a considerable time on the rocks, they went back across the bay. It was getting dusk now, and the tide, though still some distance out, was flowing shoreward. Some of the boys, wishing their companions good-night, started for home; five or six gathered at the stone bridge for a chat.Then it was that Dick Boden made his unfortunate proposal."I've thought of a ripping game," said he. "See this knife? I'll hide it somewhere in the Old Fort, and you can try to find it.""It will soon be dark," objected Braithwaite."Not too dark to see the knife, for a bit.""The tide's coming in too, and you know how fast it comes in just here.""Oh, go on, Dick!" cried Jim scornfully; "don't take any notice of him: he's always showing the white feather!"Braithwaite flushed. "You think you're very brave, Jim Hartland," he said, "but you're no braver than any one else. I'm not afraid of going to the Fort.""Oh, not a bit!" sneered Jim; "you'd walk across to France if the sea was all dry land. Make haste, Dick; we'll come on slowly. Call out when you're ready."Dick, who was now half-way across, soon disappeared in the ruin, and presently they heard him shouting, "Come on!"Perhaps the catastrophe might not have occurred even then; but, unfortunately, Jim, who was eager to be first, put out his hand to push Braithwaite aside; whereupon the latter, evidently thinking this a challenge, ran forward. Jim followed with young Moon, and two others brought up the rear."Bravo, Dandy!" cried Dick, who was waiting for them. "Now then, spread yourselves out, my amateur detectives, and search for the lost property. Well done, Dandy; you're hot on the scent. O Tommy Moon, O Tommy Moon, I'm sure you'll find it very soon."Whether Braithwaite remembered the danger I cannot tell, but the others forgot everything in hunting for the knife and listening to Dick's nonsense. Laughing and joking, he led them on, keeping their noses to the grindstone, as it were, though without result."I don't believe he's hidden it at all!" grumbled Tom Moon at last, stretching his cramped legs."You young fraud!" cried Jim suddenly; "I believe the knife's in your pocket.""I told you 'twas a ripping game!" chuckled the Angel, preparing to run. "Whoop!" And he was off like a shot."After him!" cried Jim. Then from those nearest the bridge came a shout of "Make haste! Quick! quick! The water's in!"A sudden gust of wind blew Jim's cap into the dry well of the Fort, and a considerable time passed before he could scramble out; then, for a moment, he stood helpless and amazed.The sky was dark and overcast with black clouds scudding in from the sea; the tide had half filled the bay; the waves were washing the bridge and increasing in violence every second. Dick and the others were racing along the slippery path, and had by this time almost gained safety."Thank goodness they're safe!" said he. "Shall I risk it? I think not. I'll climb to the top of the tower till the tide goes down, or perhaps a boatman will take me off."He was turning to go back when a yell from the shore attracted his attention, and looking along the bridge again, he exclaimed, "Good gracious! what's that fool of a Braithwaite doing? He'll be washed off for certain.—Hi, Braithwaite, Braithwaite! come back! D'you hear? Come back! You'll be all right here in the Fort."The boy in the middle of the pathway moved neither backward nor forward. It was poor Braithwaite, who, though far from being a coward, was overwhelmed by the startling suddenness of the danger. He could not swim, and the possibility of being drowned unnerved him. Instead of following the others, he had stopped short on the bridge, too dazed to move, though the peril increased every moment.Even now, with care and a little luck, he might have got safely through, but he did not try. In vain the boys on shore shouted; in vain Jim yelled from the fort; he seemed not to hear."He'll be drowned," groaned Jim—"he's bound to be. And," with a sudden rush of memory, "it's all my fault. If I hadn't chaffed him, he would have been at home now."Raising his voice, he once more shouted, "Braithwaite, Braithwaite, come back; it's quite safe here!" But it appeared as if the unhappy boy had lost all power to move.It was not only useless, it might be fatal, to wait longer. Taking out his pocket-knife, Jim cut the laces of his boots, slipped them off, and put them in a safe place. Then he laid his coat and waistcoat by them, muttering, "Better go light, in case of accident.""Keep your footing, Braithwaite!" he yelled; "I'm coming."Full of their play, the boys had not noticed the signs of the coming storm. It was sweeping in now. The sky had darkened. Across the bay the great white sea-horses were leaping madly at the jagged rocks. The boys on shore had disappeared, but Jim knew the Angel would not desert him.Cautiously but swiftly he trod the path, over which the waves were breaking with increased violence, leaping and dancing as if in glee. Suddenly a clap of thunder pealed right overhead, and for an instant the town was lit up by a vivid illumination. Jim staggered on, barely able to keep his footing now, for the wash of the waves reached his waist, and the path was deeply submerged. He began to fear that, encumbered by Braithwaite, he would never reach either shore or fort, but he did not quite despair."Keep a firm hold, Braithwaite," he cried; "I'm coming!"From first to last the incident lasted but a short time, though to Jim it seemed a century. He thought or his mother, scarcely recovered from her illness, and of his helpless sister; but most of all he thought that, but for his folly, poor Braithwaite would not now be in danger. Again and again he said to himself, "It's all my fault."Once more he shouted, "Keep up, Dandy!" but in reply there came a piercing cry—a cry so full of agony that Jim has never forgotten and is never likely to forget it. That which he dreaded from the first had happened. Unable to preserve his footing any longer, Braithwaite had been swept into the water.Heedless of his own danger, Jim pushed on rapidly, when another scream reached him, and through the gathering dusk he caught sight for a moment of the boy's head above the waves. He was taking a terrible risk, but he could not see him drown; so with a cheery shout he sprang into the sea, and with swift, powerful strokes swam to the aid of his drowning companion."Don't struggle, Dandy, and don't catch hold of me," he cried; but the advice was futile. Braithwaite was sinking a second time, and not realizing what he was doing, he clutched his rescuer tightly around the throat.Jim fought desperately to release himself, and at length succeeded in unlocking the clinging arms. Then, dragging the almost lifeless boy, he rose to the surface, but not before swallowing a large quantity of salt water.By this time Braithwaite's struggles had ceased, and supporting him with one hand, Jim turned over on his back. Twice he called loudly for help, but no voice replied; on shouting a third time he fancied he heard an encouraging shout in reply.Alone he would have felt little alarm, but this dead weight tired him. He made scanty progress, and before long felt that he must go down. Still, he never once thought of deserting Dandy; he would save him, or perish in the attempt.The waves were rolling fiercely, his breast was sore as if beaten with heavy hammers, he gasped for breath, and the salt water poured into his open mouth."Help!" he cried, "help!" And surely that was Dicky's voice he heard in answer.He strained his ears to listen, and the sound came again. He recognized the words now—"Jim! Jim! where are you?"—and put all his remaining strength into one last cry of despair.Help must come quickly, or it would be too late. His strength was failing, his mind wandering."It's all my fault, Dandy," he murmured, "but I'll do my best. I'll stick to you. Look at the star! It's getting bigger and brighter. It's coming this way. Look! it's dancing up and down!" And he broke into loud laughter.He had ceased swimming now, and was merely keeping himself and his silent companion afloat, almost without knowing that he did so.
CHAPTER IV.
FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR."
On the following Monday morning Dick called for his chum as usual, but Jim was in no hurry to start.
"You go on," said he; "I'll come presently."
As a matter of fact he dreaded the meeting with his school-fellows; it would be so different from the scene he had pictured while walking home from the cricket-ground. He had looked forward to a regular triumph, for it must be confessed that Jim was rather vain, though he had the good sense to keep this failing, for the most part, to himself.
"All right!" exclaimed the Angel cheerfully; but he went only a short distance, and waited till his chum came out.
"What a silly chap you are!" said Jim peevishly; "now you'll be late."
"Never mind, my boy; better late than never, as they say in the copy-books. I said that to Laythorne the other day, but he gave me one back. 'Better never late,' said he, as I went to my place."
Prayers were over when they reached the school, but the master made no remark as they passed to their places. He had heard the sad news, and easily understood why the boys were late. At the interval he asked Jim to remain, and told him how sorry he was for his great loss.
"Thank you, sir," said Jim, resolutely keeping the tears from his eyes.
"And, by the way, Hartland," continued the young master kindly, "if there's anything I can do, let me know."
Just then the Head entered the room, and he, too, expressed his sorrow at what had happened, and Jim appreciated the kindness of his masters.
He had dreaded going back to school, but it was not very dreadful after all. Most of the boys looked at him curiously, but only one or two said anything, and then matters resumed their usual course.
At home it was much worse, although Susie, with strange persistence, still cherished the hope that her father had not been drowned.
"We don't know," she argued stoutly—"no one knows. The papers say some of the crew got ashore."
"Don't be stupid," said her brother. "It says plainly enough that father went down with the ship."
"But he might have been picked up afterwards, or got ashore somewhere else."
Even Susie's faith gave way, however, when a fuller account of the wreck came to hand. It was supplied by an A.B. named Davies, who had been picked up by the steamshipCormorant.
"It was on a Friday night," the newspaper report of his narrative ran, "and we were there or thereabout up to the latitude of Cape Horn. I had turned in 'all standing,' for the weather was squally, and I didn't expect to get much of a nap. Sure enough I'd hardly got my eyes shut when there came a crash, and some one sang out, 'All hands, ahoy!' We tumbled up the ladder in a hurry, and I tell you there wasn't a man there who didn't think Davy Jones was calling us. It was a night! The rain was coming down full pelt, and you couldn't keep your feet for the wind. Spars snapped like match-boxes, and the barque lay nearly on her beam-ends. It was dark as pitch just then, though it cleared up afterwards. We did what we could to save the ship; but, bless you, we had no more chance than a parcel of babies. She was settling down like a stone, and the old man sung out that we'd better try the boats. I ran to help clear the port quarter boat, and got in, when a heavy sea broke over her, smashing her in two. Down I went a long way, but at last came up to the surface again, and hammered my right hand against something hard. This turned out to be a top-gallant mast, so I took a firm grip. I couldn't see anything of theMorning Star, but there seemed to be a lot of rigging about, and I heard some men shouting in the distance. I reckoned afterwards it must have been the first mate and the chaps who got away in the other boat. I hulloed back, but they couldn't hear, and I reckoned I was done. Soon after that came another shout close to me, and I yelled back, 'Ahoy, there! Is that you, Mr. Hartland?'
"'Yes. Who are you?'
"'Davies,' I sings out—'on a mast.'
"'Can you hold on?'
"'Not much longer, I'm afeared.'
"'Keep your spirits up,' says he, cheery like, and then it was all quiet. However, we must have drifted pretty close together, for, directly day broke, there he was, not twenty yards off, with a lifebuoy round him, and clinging to a light spar.
"'How goes it now?' says he; and when I tells him I'm nearly done, he says, 'I've a good mind to keep you company. I've some rope here, and a draw or two round the body will keep you tight.' With that he swims over and lashes me to the mast. Presently he says again, quiet as anything, 'Look here, Davies; it's no go! This won't hold us both; I must take my chance. Good-bye, and if you've the luck to be picked up, just let 'em know over in England that I stood by the ship till she went down.'
"Them were his last words. He let go, and the last I saw of him he was striking out towards the shore. Of course he never reached it, though he was a strong swimmer, too. After that I lost count of things, and don't know anything more till my eyes opened aboard theCormorant. The lashings saved me, or I should have gone under as sure as fate."
The story of her husband's bravery filled Mrs. Hartland with honest pride; but, unfortunately it extinguished the last spark of hope that, almost unknown, had lurked in the recesses of her mind. However, she faced the matter bravely, and talked over her plans with Jim.
"We shall have to leave this house," she said, "and find a cheaper one. Then I must get some kind of work to do."
"What about Susie?" asked Jim.
"Ah, that's the trouble! I can't very well go out and leave her alone. Perhaps I can get some plain sewing."
"Haven't we any money at all, mother?" the boy asked presently.
"Only what is due from your father's wages, and that won't keep us long."
Susie had gone to bed, and there was no one in the room but mother and son. Mrs. Hartland sat by the window with some needlework in her hand, though it was too dark to sew; Jim stood by the mantelpiece, fumbling nervously with a button on his jacket.
Presently he said bravely, "I must leave school and get a place somewhere. I daresay I can earn something, if only a little."
It cost him an effort to say this without breaking down, for he was very ambitious, and had mapped out a great career for himself. In the first place he had made up his mind to win the Gayton Scholarship, which was to be a stepping-stone to fortune. This was all done with now, for even in the event of being successful he could not accept the scholarship.
Mrs. Hartland guessed a part of his thoughts, and, calling him to her side, said,—
"We'll talk about that another time, Jim. There's no need to give up your school at present; I wouldn't like you to do that. I daresay we shall be able to rub along somehow till the next examination."
"But there's no good in trying for the 'Gayton.'"
"Not for yourself, but it would be an honour for your school if you won it. You would leave a good name behind you also."
So, after some further talk, it was decided that Jim should stay on at school; and the next week the family moved to a little house in a much poorer quarter of the town.
Of course Dick went to help, and his bright smile and cheerful humour did much to cheer them.
"Isn't it a poky place?" said Jim, pausing in the work of putting up his sister's bedstead.
"Well, you can't call it exactly a palace," replied Dick, "but it might be worse, you know. O my aunt!" And the Angel finished with a vigorous howl.
"What's the matter?"
"I nipped my hand under that iron bar." And he sucked the tips of his fingers as if they were sticks of sugar-candy. "Just see if you can twist this nut round; I can't move it."
The two friends worked away with a will, making up in zeal what they lacked in experience, and very soon had the room looking quite cozy and comfortable. Then they went downstairs; and before night, as Dick's mother, who had come over to help, put it, "things were beginning to look a bit straight."
Susie, of course, could do nothing herself; but she played the part of superintendent, and ordered the boys about, especially Dick, who good-humouredly obeyed all her commands. He looked on it all as great fun, and announced his intention of worrying his mother until they had a move on their own account.
Mrs. Hartland had faced her trouble bravely, but before long Jim recognized that things were much worse than he had guessed. Beyond his father's wages and the donation of a few pounds from the "Shipwrecked Mariners' Society," they had absolutely no money, and there seemed little prospect of his mother being able to earn sufficient to keep them. Already they had to deny themselves everything in the shape of luxury, and even Susie had to go without various little delicacies which they had been in the habit of providing for her.
"I ought to give up school and go to work," he said; but to this his mother was strongly opposed.
"If you leave school now you can only be an errand boy," she said; "and without education, you will have no chance of doing anything in the world."
Now I have no desire to put James Hartland forward as an uncommonly good boy, because, as you will find for yourselves, he was nothing of the sort; but in this particular case he certainly deserved some credit.
One evening he arrived home very late, which was such an unusual thing that his mother wondered what had kept him.
"Awfully sorry, mother," he cried, looking at the clock; "but I've been up in the town on business."
"For the master?"
"No," replied the boy, with rather a forced smile; "on my own account. I've got a place. Don't be vexed. I shan't have to leave school; it's only mornings and evenings."
"What have you to do?"
"To take the papers to Mr. Broad's customers; and if I help on Saturdays too, he'll give me five shillings a week. What do you think of that? Isn't it splendid?"
"But you will have no time to study for the 'Gayton.'"
"I must work harder at school, and put in an hour extra in the morning. I'll manage, never fear, and the money will just pay the rent. Wasn't it lucky I saw the card in the window? Of course I shan't be able to play in the rest of the cricket matches, but they can easily get some one to take my place."
He spoke cheerfully, but his mother knew what a sacrifice he had made, and hoped, for his sake, that good might come of it.
"Jim," said Susie, plucking his sleeve nervously, "will you have to call out 'Paper!' like the boys who come round here at night?"
"No, you little goose," he laughed—"only to leave them at the different houses. And now, let me finish my tea. I must have a good grind at geography this evening."
CHAPTER V.
JIM STARTS WORK.
It wanted ten minutes to nine, and the Deanery boys were pouring into the playground, ready to assemble for morning school. Percy Braithwaite stood just inside the gate talking to a little group of his chums. He was a good-looking, fair-skinned boy, with sharp, keen eyes. Somehow he was not a favourite with the majority, but as his father kept him well supplied with pocket-money, he generally had a certain following which petted and made much of him.
"I had a jolly lark this morning," he was saying. "What d'you think Jimmy Hartland's doing? You'd never guess! He's selling papers. He brought ours round just now, and I answered the door. You'd have died to see him: he went as red as a turkey-cock.
"'Hullo!' said I—'a fresh paper-boy? You're very late. This won't do, you know. Tell your master if you can't come earlier than this we shall have to make a change.'"
"Did you really say that?" asked Simpson, who was sucking one of Braithwaite's bull's-eyes. "He would be wild. The beggar's as proud as Lucifer."
"I don't see why he shouldn't sell papers," said Alec Macdonald. "There's nothing to be ashamed of in that."
"Perhaps not for fellows of his class," said Braithwaite, with a superior air, "but fancy a paper-boy trying for the 'Gayton'! Why, if he got it, all the school would cut him dead. I call it a great piece of cheek."
"Here he comes with the Angel," whispered Simpson, who had finished his bull's-eye, and was hoping to get another before the bell rang. "I say, let's have a lark!" And raising his voice, he cried, "Hevenin' Noos! Hextry Speshul! Paper, sir?"
The others burst into a roar of laughter; and Braithwaite, who thought it an excellent joke, laughed the loudest of all.
The Angel, scenting mischief, laid hold of his chum's arm, saying,—
"Don't take any notice, Jim; it's only the 'Dandy' and his gang."
This was an unfortunate remark, as it would have been safer just then to wave a red flag before a bull than to mention Braithwaite's name to Jim. He was hot and tired and cross, angry with himself and the world in general, and with Braithwaite in particular. The incident of the morning had upset him, and this mocking laughter was, as Dick afterwards said, "the last straw that broke the camel's back."
"Want a hextry, sir? Take the last one!"
Simpson was fairly earning another bull's-eye.
Jim's face was white with passion as he strode over to the group, in the midst of which Braithwaite stood laughing. Blinded by anger, he did not stay to ask questions, but crying, "You beastly cad!" let out straight from the shoulder.
The Angel, though rather alarmed, could not resist the chance of a joke.
"That's a drop ofhextry speshulclaret!" he sang out, as the blood spurted from Braithwaite's nose.
Instantly there arose a babel of voices.
"Give him one back, Dandy!"
"Off with your coat; I'll hold it!"
"Who has a spare handkerchief?"
I trust my readers are not thirsting for a description of a fight, because in that case they will be disappointed. In the midst of the hubbub the bell sounded, and the boys went to their places, Simpson leading his friend along, and making a great show of the blood-stained handkerchief.
The injured boy, who was in the same class as Jim and Dick, at once attracted the attention of Mr. Laythorne, who asked what had happened.
"If you please, sir," said Braithwaite, "I was standing just inside the gate when Hartland came along and hit me on the nose."
"Is this correct, Hartland?"
"He called me names, so I hit him, sir," answered Jim sulkily. "And I'll hit him again, too, if he cheeks me."
"I am sorry to hear you talk in that way," said the young master calmly. "Go to your place now, and stay behind during the interval.—Boden, take that boy to the lavatory."
"Yes, sir," responded the Angel cheerfully, taking Braithwaite, not too tenderly, by the arm.
Everything went wrong that morning with Jim. He made the most stupid mistakes in class, and behaved so badly that Mr. Laythorne felt sorely tempted to send him to the head-master. He was kept in during the interval, and again at noon, and accordingly looked on himself as a martyr. When he at last got out, the playground was empty except for Dick, who would never have dreamed of going without his chum.
"Get your face straight, old man," cried he; "it's as long as a fiddle. I wish I had a looking-glass, so that you could see yourself. Think of the milkmen down your way! You'll turn all their milk sour!"
Jim stalked across the playground without deigning to reply.
"Whew!" whistled the Angel; "you ought to be markeddangerous, like a magazine. No wonder Laythorne was afraid to keep you inside any longer. But I say, Jim, that was a lovely tap you gave Braithwaite. He asked me if I thought his nose was broken."
"I'll break his head next time!" said Jim savagely.
The Angel clapped him on the back.
"There's nothing like making a good job of a thing while you're at it," he said. "Going up the lane? All right. I'll call for you after dinner. And take that frown off your face, or you'll frighten Susie into a fit."
Mrs. Hartland saw there was something the matter with the boy, but happily she did not worry him about it, and by the time Dick called he was almost himself again.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, mother," he said as he was going out, "you needn't wait tea for me. I'm going to have mine at the shop. It will save time, Mr. Broad says."
"Have you to work all the evening, Jim?" asked Dick as they went down the street.
"No, I shall be home by eight."
"That doesn't leave you much time."
"Oh, I shall manage. Laythorne is taking all the subjects at school, and I can get in at least two hours extra every day."
As it happened, Jim found in a short time that he was reckoning without his book.
At the close of afternoon school Jim stepped up to the master's desk.
"Do you wish to speak to me?" asked Mr. Laythorne, looking rather surprised.
"Yes, sir," replied Jim bravely. "I want to beg your pardon for my rudeness this morning. Things seemed to go quite wrong somehow, and I was in a bad temper."
"It's very manly to come forward of your own account like this," said Mr. Laythorne pleasantly, "and it does you credit. But you must learn to govern your temper, Hartland, or it will bring you into mischief. How are you getting on for the 'Gayton'? Don't forget that if I can help you in any way I shall be pleased to do so."
"Thank you, sir," replied Jim brightly. "I am hoping to make a good fight for it."
He left the room in good spirits, stopped a minute or two in the playground to chat with Dick, and then ran off to town.
"'Twill be a scramble," he thought to himself, "but I'll pull through. I can put in from half-past eight till ten at night, and from five till half-past six in the morning, besides an hour at dinner-time. That ought to be enough, and five shillings a week will be very useful to mother."
"Pretty punctual, my boy," said the stationer as Jim entered the shop. "I like to see that. Your tea's ready in the kitchen. When you've finished I've something here for you to do."
"Yes, sir," said Jim.
Eager to do his best, and being a smart, intelligent boy, he created a favourable impression at once. Mr. Broad was delighted with him; and that night after closing time, he told his wife that the new boy was a treasure.
"You had better wait a bit before you judge," she replied. "Don't forget that new brooms sweep clean."
Mr. Broad laughed, admitted there was a great deal of truth in the proverb, but all the same maintained his opinion.
Meanwhile Jim had gone home, eaten his supper, and settled down to work. To win this Gayton Scholarship was his one idea, and if he failed it would not be for want of trying. He had heard of the sneer about a paper-boy going in for the "Gayton," and it nettled him.
"I'll beat Perce Braithwaite, anyhow!" he said to himself.
This was the spur that goaded him on, and all that week he devoted every minute of his spare time to study.
"Don't bury yourself too deep," advised the Angel, who, on the Friday evening, walked a part of the way with him, "or we mayn't be able to dig you up again."
"Oh, I'm all right," laughed Jim. "I shall cut you out, Dicky, my boy. I've made a big move this week."
"Glad to hear it," said the Angel cheerfully. "It's the history that bothers me most. I get mixed with the dates and things. I don't think history ought to count: it's mostly rubbish, anyway. Who wants to know about the old kings, and when they lived, and when they died, and who their grandfathers were?"
"Or the Provisions of Oxford," added Jim slyly; at which his churn roared with laughter, though the joke was against himself.
Not long before, Mr. Laythorne had asked his class to name the "Provisions of Oxford," whereupon the Angel, though rather astonished at such a simple question, replied blandly, "The chief provisions of Oxford, like those of other English towns, are bread, meat, all kinds of vegetables, poultry, fish—" And he only pulled up when the suppressed titter of his classmates broke into uncontrollable laughter.
"Laythorne told the Head of that," said Dick, when he had recovered his breath, "and it went the round of the masters. They chaffed me about it at the cricket match; but I don't call it a fair question. I hope I shan't come a cropper like that at the 'Gayton.' Well, I'm off. See you Sunday." And leaving his chum at the shop door, he went away whistling.
That night when Jim was leaving, Mr. Broad said, "I shall want you to do a double round in the morning, and to stay till ten o'clock in the evening."
"Yes, sir," said the boy, though he was sorry at having to lose his own time.
"But you won't be wanted in the middle of the day," continued his master. "As soon as you have finished in the morning you can go till tea-time."
"Oh," said Jim, brightening, "that will be capital," and at once resolved to use the extra time for study. He felt very tired on the Saturday night, but his heart was light and his face smiling when he got home. As a great treat Susie had been allowed to stay up, and Mrs. Hartland had prepared a tasty if cheap supper.
"This is prime!" exclaimed Jim, sniffing at the savoury odour, "and I'm as hungry as a hunter. But, first of all, you had better take my wages, mother." And he put down a tiny pile of silver on the table with the air of a millionaire.
"There's too much here by sixpence," said Mrs. Hartland, counting the coins. "Your master has made a mistake."
"It's all right, mother," replied Jim proudly; "he gave me an extra sixpence for doing my work so well."
"O Jim!" cried Susie, "isn't it splendid? Fancy earning all that money!"
"It will come in handy," said he, "and in a few months I shall be able to earn more. But while we're chattering the supper's getting cold. Sit down mother. You look tired to death."
"Mother's been sewing all day, and the fine work hurts her eyes," observed Susie.
"I'm not as young as I was," remarked their mother, trying to laugh, "and my eyes feel the strain more."
"When I'm a bit older you won't need to work at all," said Jim, who meant what he said. "I'll earn enough for us all."
They lingered a long while over the simple meal, and then Jim helped his mother to carry Susie to her bedroom.
"I shan't call you early in the morning," said Mrs. Hartland, as Jim kissed her good-night; "I think you've earned a rest."
"I wish that horrid exam. was over!" cried Susie; "then you'd have more time to yourself."
CHAPTER VI.
THE EXAMINATION.
It really seemed as if fate was dead against Jim Hartland's winning the Gayton Scholarship For some time his mother, though saying nothing to the children, had not felt well. The shock of her husband's death, and the consequent change in circumstances, had done much to depress her, and the hard struggle to earn a scanty living had made her worse. She had done her best to keep up as long as possible; but on the Monday morning she was too ill even to get Jim's breakfast.
"Never mind, mother," said he cheerfully; "you stay in bed. I'll see to things. The lessons must go for a bit."
Being a handy sort of fellow, he made breakfast, carried some up to his mother and Susie, straightened things a bit downstairs, and then ran off to his work.
There still remained three weeks till the day of the examination; but, unfortunately for Jim, his mother's illness lasted two-thirds of that time. Mrs. Boden went in as often as she could, and a kindly neighbour did several odd jobs; but there were so many things to be done that Jim found all his time occupied.
"I should chuck the 'Gayton' if I were you," said the Angel one morning. "It will be no good to you if you win it, and with all these upsets you can't expect to be at your best."
"The fellows would think I was afraid of being beaten."
"What's the odds? Who cares what they think? There's no sense in working yourself half to death for nothing."
"Not a bit; but I'm going in all the same."
"Well, you are a stubborn beggar, and no mistake," said his chum, who usually spoke his mind.
The examination was to be held in one of the rooms at the Gayton School, and on the Monday morning the candidates assembled in the big playground.
Jim, who had been granted leave for the day by Mr. Broad, went down with Dick and Tom Moon, who was one of the Magpies. He was feeling wretchedly ill; his head ached, and his brains were all at sixes and sevens. He had worked like a horse all the week to make up for lost time, and was paying the penalty. He had lost all sense of proportion, and it seemed to him that life would be worth nothing if he failed to win this scholarship.
"Hullo!" cried Dick suddenly; "there's Dandy Braithwaite!—Morning, Dandy! Why, you look as pleased as if you'd won the scholarship already!"
"I'm going to have a good shot at it, anyhow."
"Bravo, my boy!—Hullo, Temple! You here?"
"Why not?" asked Temple in surprise.
"I thought you'd more sense, 'pon my word! Now what is the use of you fellows wasting your time when there are three of the Deaneryites in the running?"
The boys who knew the Angel's little ways greeted his remark with good-humoured laughter; the others thought he was a conceited donkey, and some said as much.
"Much plague in India just now, Dicky?" asked Temple mischievously.
"Wait till I've seen the geography questions."
"What's the joke?" asked Tom Moon.
"Haven't you heard of the Angel's little dodge? Why, they fairly screamed over it at the Deanery."
"Look here, Moon," said Dick, without a twinkle in his big blue eyes; "it was a beastly shame, and they treated me most unfairly. We had to write an account of a trip up the Ganges and a visit to Benares. Well, you know there was a horrible plague at Benares just then, and I couldn't afford to risk my valuable life in the town, so I skipped it, stating my reasons. And what do you think they said?"
"Can't guess."
"Why, that 'twas a fake, because I didn't know anything about the blessed old town." And he looked so solemn that Moon was half inclined to think he had been badly treated.
"Did you really put that down?" asked one of the boys in the group.
"Of course I did!" answered Dicky, in a tone of surprise. "They couldn't expect me to go to a plague-spot like that!"
"Didn't I hear some yarn, too, about a dead passenger?" asked Temple.
"Very likely," said the Angel calmly; "that was another misfortune. You see, we had to describe a voyage from London to Odessa, and a very nice little trip, too. Well, my passenger started in a yacht, and had a jolly good time, jotting down his descriptions every night. At last he got into the Adriatic, and the poor fellow fell overboard. The skipper fished him out, but he was quite dead; and so, of course, the trip ended. Now, what do you think the inspector had the conscience to ask me? 'Boden,' said he, 'couldn't you remember any more of the coast-line?' Just as if I'd play a trick like that!"
"Don't cry, Dicky!" observed Temple. "The inspector didn't know you as well as we do, or there would have been no need to ask such a question"—an oracular speech with rather a doubtful meaning.
Jim did not join in the chaff—in fact, he scarcely heard it. His whole mind was absorbed in the forthcoming examination, and he waited impatiently for the door to be opened. When Temple and several of the others spoke to him he answered briefly, and then relapsed into silence.
"What's the matter with him, Dicky?" whispered the popular captain of the Magpies, as they entered the building.
"Too much work. He's been overdoing it, and I shouldn't wonder if he breaks down. He's slaved like a nigger since the news of his father's loss came."
"Poor old chap!" said Temple. "It was hard lines, and no mistake."
The boys passed along a broad corridor, mounted a staircase, and entered a large room. Above the door was a card bearing the words, "Candidates for the Gayton Scholarship."
"Move quietly, please," said a spectacled gentleman standing at a desk. "Each boy will find his name on the desk at which he is to sit."
They were arranged in alphabetic order, and Dick found himself just behind Braithwaite. Jim was in the middle of the room, and Temple at the end. In a short time they were all seated, and the examiner read the rules and regulations. Then his colleague went round with the questions to be answered during the morning, and presently the only sound to be heard was the scratching of busy pens.
After a rapid glance at the paper, Dick settled to work with a pleasant smile; the questions were just to his liking, and he felt sure of doing well in the morning at least. Braithwaite, too, seemed satisfied, while Temple used his pen as if he were master of the situation.
The one boy in the room who appeared ill at ease was Jim Hartland. His face was hot and flushed; there were drumming noises in his ears; letters and figures, all jumbled together, danced wildly before his eyes. At the end of the first half-hour his paper was still blank. Long afterwards, in talking about the examination, he told me that, but for the examiner, he does not think he should have written a single word.
That gentleman, seeing something was amiss, went over, and laying one hand on the boy's shoulder, said kindly, "Are you ill, my lad?"
The sympathetic tone seemed to break the spell, and looking up, Jim answered, "My head aches a bit, sir, but it's getting better now. I think I can make a start."
"That's right, my boy. Time's flying; but you must do your best."
"Yes, sir," said Jim gratefully, and by a great effort he managed to concentrate his attention on the questions. Once started, he worked feverishly to make up for the lost half-hour; but at one o'clock he had to hand in his papers without having gone over them a second time.
Fortunately the interval was too short for comparing notes. There was scarcely time for more than a rush home, a hurried meal, and a run back to be ready for the opening of the doors.
At the gate Jim overtook Braithwaite, who, much to his surprise, said in quite a friendly way, "Done pretty well, Hartland?"
"Pretty well, thanks; how did you get on?"
"Prime! The questions were just made for me."
Just then the Angel came along.
"I say, Dandy," he cried, "how came you to be doing Euclid this morning?"
"Euclid? I wasn't!"
"What were you drawing, then?"
"Why, a map of the United States!"
"Oh!" The blue eyes opened wide with assumed wonder. "I thought 'twas a figure in Euclid."
"Don't be such a fool!" said Braithwaite testily, while the others laughed.
"Wasn't the arithmetic beastly stiff?" grumbled Tom Moon. "Did anybody do that thing about the two trains passing each other?"
"Oh, that was easy enough!" laughed Temple. "It worked out to thirty-seven seconds and a half."
"I got that," said Braithwaite.
"So did I," cried Dick, throwing up his hat. "Well done, Boden, my boy; you'll pull this scholarship off yet!"
Jim said nothing, but his skin burned like fire as he remembered that his answer was more than an hour and twenty minutes.
Just then the doors were opened and the boys trooped into their places. While waiting for the papers to be given out he recalled the sum in question, and soon found what a ridiculous mess he had made of it.
"It's no use," he thought to himself bitterly; "as likely as not I've made as big a hash of the rest."
Once he thought of pleading illness and giving up the struggle. The excuse would not have been without a backing of truth; but, after all, Jim was no coward, and he thrust the idea aside.
"No," muttered he, "I'll see the thing through."
The first subject in the afternoon was history, for which he had always a liking; and when the paper was finished he felt that he had at last done himself justice. Encouraged by this success, he worked away at the others, feeling more and more cheerful at the end of each subject.
"Well," said the examiner, when he came to collect the papers, "are you satisfied?"
"With this afternoon's work, sir," said Jim; "but I'm afraid I lost my chance this morning."
"Oh, you mustn't worry about that. 'Never despair!'—that's the motto, you know!" And the gentleman gave him a good-natured smile as he passed to the next desk.
Outside, the boys clustered together, comparing notes and talking over their doings. Some smiled complacently, others looked rather miserable as they discovered their mistakes.
"The algebra paper was a teaser," remarked Temple, "and as for the last equation, I couldn't do it at all.'
"I don't believe it comes out," said Braithwaite, while Dick admitted with a grin that he had left it untouched.
"Did you have a shot at it, Hartland?" asked Temple.
"Yes," said Jim; "it seemed easy enough, unless I misunderstood it." And with paper and pencil he proceeded to work it out.
"O my aunt!" cried Dick, who was very fond of bringing that worthy person into his conversation "I believe you've got it, Jimmy!"
"Yes," said Temple, "it certainly looks right. That will give you a lift, Hartland; it counts twenty marks."
"Well," replied Jim, thinking of the morning's work, "I shall need them all."
Presently the groups began to break up, and the boys to disperse. Jim still seemed very gloomy, and even his lively little chum found it difficult to bring a smile to his face.
"You haven't to go to the shop, have you?" he asked.
"Not to-night."
"That's jolly; we'll have a good game down at the Old Fort. It's ages since you were down, and the fellows will be glad to see you. Say you'll come, just to please me."
After a good deal of hesitation Jim promised, and the Angel went off whistling merrily. He little guessed what a terrible tragedy he was thus, in an indirect way, helping to bring about.
CHAPTER VII.
"IT'S ALL MY FAULT"
The port of Beauleigh has a fine harbour and splendid docks generally crowded with shipping. To the west of the harbour lies a sandy bay, while still farther west the coast becomes rugged and dangerous. When the tide is out, the rocks form a favourite playground for the boys of the neighbourhood, as also, at the time of our story, did the Old Fort. This is a ruined tower standing well out in the bay, and approached at low water by a stone bridge built up from the bottom of the sea. The width of this bridge is about sufficient to allow of two persons walking abreast, and here and there pieces have been knocked off by the action of the waves. At high tide it is covered to a height of several feet. The tower itself is so old that its origin was a matter for dispute among many learned men. Some said it had been built as a lighthouse; others that it was a real fort; while a third party declared that its original purpose was to serve as a prison for the king's enemies. The Beauleigh boys, without deciding on these abstruse matters, unanimously voted that it was a jolly place for a good game.
Not having any business there, they found it the more attractive, especially as there was a real element of danger in playing there at dusk. The notice-board marked "Dangerous" and the warning to trespassers added spice to their enjoyment. Now and again it was proposed by the townspeople to demolish the tower, as it no longer served any useful purpose; but somehow nothing was done.
Despite the danger, accidents rarely happened; the last one, in fact, was beyond the memory of even the oldest inhabitant.
Before joining the ranks of the workers Jim had played many a game both on the rocks and at the Fort, and his companions were glad to have him back.
"Here's Jim Hartland coming down with the Angel!" cried one.
Mrs. Hartland, thinking a good game would "blow the cobwebs," had urged him to go with Dick. He had been gloomy enough on the way down, but he brightened up at the boys' welcome, and threw himself heartily into the games. Whether he had done well or badly, the examination was over, and he might as well enjoy his brief holiday.
First they had their favourite military game. For this they divided into two parties—one, under Dick, defending the Fort; the second, led by Jim, trying to force an entrance. The besieged warriors performed prodigies of valour; but the enemy were too strong, and after a desperate fight succeeded in storming the outworks and putting the garrison to the sword. Then the Angel, scorning to surrender, seized his battered flag, and with a shout of defiance, leaped from the battlements, taking particular care, however, to come down where the sand was nice and soft.
After this some one proposed a game of "I spy!" among the rocks, to which the others readily agreed.
As they were scampering along Dick cried out, "Hullo! there's Braithwaite!—Come on, Dandy, and have a game! 'Twill do you good after all that dry stuff at Gayton to-day!"
"All right," replied Braithwaite, who did not often join in these rough sports; "where are you going?"
"Up to the rocks. Come along; we'll give the rest a breather!" And off he went, light of foot and heart and, I am afraid, somewhat light of head. Indeed it was partly owing to one of his mischievous pranks that the incident which I am about to relate occurred.
After playing a considerable time on the rocks, they went back across the bay. It was getting dusk now, and the tide, though still some distance out, was flowing shoreward. Some of the boys, wishing their companions good-night, started for home; five or six gathered at the stone bridge for a chat.
Then it was that Dick Boden made his unfortunate proposal.
"I've thought of a ripping game," said he. "See this knife? I'll hide it somewhere in the Old Fort, and you can try to find it."
"It will soon be dark," objected Braithwaite.
"Not too dark to see the knife, for a bit."
"The tide's coming in too, and you know how fast it comes in just here."
"Oh, go on, Dick!" cried Jim scornfully; "don't take any notice of him: he's always showing the white feather!"
Braithwaite flushed. "You think you're very brave, Jim Hartland," he said, "but you're no braver than any one else. I'm not afraid of going to the Fort."
"Oh, not a bit!" sneered Jim; "you'd walk across to France if the sea was all dry land. Make haste, Dick; we'll come on slowly. Call out when you're ready."
Dick, who was now half-way across, soon disappeared in the ruin, and presently they heard him shouting, "Come on!"
Perhaps the catastrophe might not have occurred even then; but, unfortunately, Jim, who was eager to be first, put out his hand to push Braithwaite aside; whereupon the latter, evidently thinking this a challenge, ran forward. Jim followed with young Moon, and two others brought up the rear.
"Bravo, Dandy!" cried Dick, who was waiting for them. "Now then, spread yourselves out, my amateur detectives, and search for the lost property. Well done, Dandy; you're hot on the scent. O Tommy Moon, O Tommy Moon, I'm sure you'll find it very soon."
Whether Braithwaite remembered the danger I cannot tell, but the others forgot everything in hunting for the knife and listening to Dick's nonsense. Laughing and joking, he led them on, keeping their noses to the grindstone, as it were, though without result.
"I don't believe he's hidden it at all!" grumbled Tom Moon at last, stretching his cramped legs.
"You young fraud!" cried Jim suddenly; "I believe the knife's in your pocket."
"I told you 'twas a ripping game!" chuckled the Angel, preparing to run. "Whoop!" And he was off like a shot.
"After him!" cried Jim. Then from those nearest the bridge came a shout of "Make haste! Quick! quick! The water's in!"
A sudden gust of wind blew Jim's cap into the dry well of the Fort, and a considerable time passed before he could scramble out; then, for a moment, he stood helpless and amazed.
The sky was dark and overcast with black clouds scudding in from the sea; the tide had half filled the bay; the waves were washing the bridge and increasing in violence every second. Dick and the others were racing along the slippery path, and had by this time almost gained safety.
"Thank goodness they're safe!" said he. "Shall I risk it? I think not. I'll climb to the top of the tower till the tide goes down, or perhaps a boatman will take me off."
He was turning to go back when a yell from the shore attracted his attention, and looking along the bridge again, he exclaimed, "Good gracious! what's that fool of a Braithwaite doing? He'll be washed off for certain.—Hi, Braithwaite, Braithwaite! come back! D'you hear? Come back! You'll be all right here in the Fort."
The boy in the middle of the pathway moved neither backward nor forward. It was poor Braithwaite, who, though far from being a coward, was overwhelmed by the startling suddenness of the danger. He could not swim, and the possibility of being drowned unnerved him. Instead of following the others, he had stopped short on the bridge, too dazed to move, though the peril increased every moment.
Even now, with care and a little luck, he might have got safely through, but he did not try. In vain the boys on shore shouted; in vain Jim yelled from the fort; he seemed not to hear.
"He'll be drowned," groaned Jim—"he's bound to be. And," with a sudden rush of memory, "it's all my fault. If I hadn't chaffed him, he would have been at home now."
Raising his voice, he once more shouted, "Braithwaite, Braithwaite, come back; it's quite safe here!" But it appeared as if the unhappy boy had lost all power to move.
It was not only useless, it might be fatal, to wait longer. Taking out his pocket-knife, Jim cut the laces of his boots, slipped them off, and put them in a safe place. Then he laid his coat and waistcoat by them, muttering, "Better go light, in case of accident."
"Keep your footing, Braithwaite!" he yelled; "I'm coming."
Full of their play, the boys had not noticed the signs of the coming storm. It was sweeping in now. The sky had darkened. Across the bay the great white sea-horses were leaping madly at the jagged rocks. The boys on shore had disappeared, but Jim knew the Angel would not desert him.
Cautiously but swiftly he trod the path, over which the waves were breaking with increased violence, leaping and dancing as if in glee. Suddenly a clap of thunder pealed right overhead, and for an instant the town was lit up by a vivid illumination. Jim staggered on, barely able to keep his footing now, for the wash of the waves reached his waist, and the path was deeply submerged. He began to fear that, encumbered by Braithwaite, he would never reach either shore or fort, but he did not quite despair.
"Keep a firm hold, Braithwaite," he cried; "I'm coming!"
From first to last the incident lasted but a short time, though to Jim it seemed a century. He thought or his mother, scarcely recovered from her illness, and of his helpless sister; but most of all he thought that, but for his folly, poor Braithwaite would not now be in danger. Again and again he said to himself, "It's all my fault."
Once more he shouted, "Keep up, Dandy!" but in reply there came a piercing cry—a cry so full of agony that Jim has never forgotten and is never likely to forget it. That which he dreaded from the first had happened. Unable to preserve his footing any longer, Braithwaite had been swept into the water.
Heedless of his own danger, Jim pushed on rapidly, when another scream reached him, and through the gathering dusk he caught sight for a moment of the boy's head above the waves. He was taking a terrible risk, but he could not see him drown; so with a cheery shout he sprang into the sea, and with swift, powerful strokes swam to the aid of his drowning companion.
"Don't struggle, Dandy, and don't catch hold of me," he cried; but the advice was futile. Braithwaite was sinking a second time, and not realizing what he was doing, he clutched his rescuer tightly around the throat.
Jim fought desperately to release himself, and at length succeeded in unlocking the clinging arms. Then, dragging the almost lifeless boy, he rose to the surface, but not before swallowing a large quantity of salt water.
By this time Braithwaite's struggles had ceased, and supporting him with one hand, Jim turned over on his back. Twice he called loudly for help, but no voice replied; on shouting a third time he fancied he heard an encouraging shout in reply.
Alone he would have felt little alarm, but this dead weight tired him. He made scanty progress, and before long felt that he must go down. Still, he never once thought of deserting Dandy; he would save him, or perish in the attempt.
The waves were rolling fiercely, his breast was sore as if beaten with heavy hammers, he gasped for breath, and the salt water poured into his open mouth.
"Help!" he cried, "help!" And surely that was Dicky's voice he heard in answer.
He strained his ears to listen, and the sound came again. He recognized the words now—"Jim! Jim! where are you?"—and put all his remaining strength into one last cry of despair.
Help must come quickly, or it would be too late. His strength was failing, his mind wandering.
"It's all my fault, Dandy," he murmured, "but I'll do my best. I'll stick to you. Look at the star! It's getting bigger and brighter. It's coming this way. Look! it's dancing up and down!" And he broke into loud laughter.
He had ceased swimming now, and was merely keeping himself and his silent companion afloat, almost without knowing that he did so.