He was
free of the weight of skates, however, and he trod water during
the few seconds that he needed for making up his mind what it
was best to do.
Much depended upon the help that those on shore gave, but Dick
had left his orders with Dave Darrin, and he trusted the shore
end to his capable lieutenant.
Fred, though hardly more than able to keep himself afloat, managed
to reach the nearest edge of ice.
He clutched at it eagerly, then, disregarding excellent advice,
he tried to climb out upon it.
There was another crash. With another yell, Ripley sank again,
to the horror of those on shore.
But Prescott did not see this. The freshman, after trying to
calculate the exact distance across the intervening ice, dived
below the glassy surface. He was swimming, now, under the ice.
As he swam the freshman kept his eyes open, swimming close
to the ice, yet not touching it.
So he came up, in the open. But where was Fred?
"Ripley just sank!" came the hoarse chorus from shore and cove.
This was serious enough. He who sinks for the second time in
icy waters, especially when hampered by skates, may very likely
not come up again.
"It must have been about here that he went down," calculated Prescott,
deliberately, as he swam through the open water. "Now, then!"
Down went Dick. To those looking on, it was heroic---sublime?
Yet it looked as though the rescuer must be dooming himself.
"One Prescott is worth a dozen Ripleys" murmured one man who,
unable to swim, was obliged to stand looking uselessly on.
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