we’re going back home,” said Nelson discouragedly, “straight back toward New York!”
“Pshaw! We can’t be,” said Bob. “Here, let’s see. Get out, you idiots, you’re looking at the wrong end of the needle. There’s north and we’re going northeast by east.”
“Ship ahoy!” murmured Dan. “Sail off the weather bow, sir.”
“Then if we keep on we’ll strike Barrington?” asked Tom.
“Yes, and that means a good hotel, Tommy, and a good dinner. It’s rather a joke on us, though,” continued Bob. “We had decided to go to the south shore, and here we are only three or four miles from the Sound!”
“We’re not that far from water,” said Nelson, pointing to the map. “Here’s Old Spring Harbor right forninst us here.”
“That’s right. Well, say, then we must be on this road here,” said Bob, pointing. “If we are, we ought to strike a bridge pretty soon where we cross this creek, or whatever it is.”
But their doubt was set at rest a moment later when a man in a dogcart slowed down at their hail and gave them all the information they desired.
“This is the Barrington road,” he said, “and Barrington station is about two miles. The town is three miles from here, straight ahead. There are several hotels there and lots of boarding houses.”
“That man’s a regular cyclopedia,” said Dan when the dogcart was out of sight.
“He’s a bearer of good tidings,” said Tom thoughtfully.
A mile farther on hunger overcame Tom’s discretion and he partook of some half-ripe apples, against the advice of the others. But although the others viewed him apprehensively all the rest of the way, Tom showed no ill effects, although he had to own up to an uneasiness. The last two miles of the distance was in sight of the water, and once they crossed a broad creek which farther inland widened into a small lake. They rested there awhile and it was close on to four o’clock when, tired and hungry and warm, they tramped into the town of Barrington and sought the nearest hotel. Ten minutes later, after they had washed up, Dan proposed going for a swim. Nelson and Bob consented, but Tom was not to be persuaded. He sank into an armchair in the lobby in full sight of a pair of folding doors which opened into the dining room.
“You fellows go ahead,” he said grimly. “I’m going to stay right here.”
CHAPTER VI
WITNESSES A RESCUE AND AN ADDITION TO THE PARTY
After supper Dan reminded the others that they hadn’t written to their folks about Jerry and they all sought the writing room. Those were the first letters home, and, of course, there was a good deal to write. None of them had any trouble in filling eight pages except Tom. Tom wasn’t much of a letter writer, anyway, and then, besides, he had eaten a great deal of dinner and was inclined toward slumber. But he managed to make a strong plea for Jerry Hinkley and to assure his folks that he was having “a dandy time.” After that he went fast asleep with his head on the blotting pad.
“Now, look here, you fellows,” said Nelson, the next morning, “of course this thing of running around the island and not knowing where you’re going to fetch up is very exciting and all that, but it’s risky. First thing we know we’ll find ourselves back in Long Island City. I move that we fix on some definite place and go there.”
“That’s what I think,” said Bob. “Let’s do it.”
So they studied the map again and decided to keep along the north shore for a while and then strike across the island for the ocean side. Meanwhile the town of Kingston was settled on as their immediate destination. Kingston was some eighteen miles distant and they thought they could reach it that evening. They were on their way again at eight o’clock, for the day promised to be hot toward noon and they hoped to be able to reach Meadowville in time for luncheon and lay off there for a couple of hours.
The Sound, blue and calm in the morning sunlight, was on their left and remained in sight most of the time. Once or twice their way led along the very edge of it. They had put some five or six miles behind them at a quarter to ten and were approaching a place where the road crossed a bridge. On the right a river wound back through a salt marsh. To the left, after running under the bridge, it emptied itself into a little bay. Near the bridge were a number of boat and bath houses, one or two cottages, and some floats and landings. On one of the landings a number of boys and men were congregated, and as the four drew near, their curiosity was aroused. Half the occupants of the float were lying on their stomachs, apparently trying to see under it, while the rest were walking excitedly about.
“Come on,” said Dan. “Let’s see what’s up.”
So they quickened their pace, turned off from the road, and made their way to the float.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dan.
“There’s a dog under here,” explained a youth. “We were throwing pieces of wood for him and he was fetchin’ them out. Then, first thing we knew, the current took him somehow and sucked him under the float. He’s there now. Hear him?”
They listened and presently there came a faint, smothered yelp from under the planks almost at their feet. By that time half the inhabitants of the float had joined them, eager to tell all about it.
“How long has he been under there?” asked Bob.
“Ten minutes.”
“Five minutes.”
“Three minutes.”
The answers were varied. The boys hurried over to the side. The tide was running out hard and the river, flowing through the narrow culvert under the bridge, made a strong current which swirled against the float until it tugged at its moorings.
“Here’s where he went under,” explained one of their informants. “We were throwing sticks for him out there and he was having a bully time. He was a plucky little chap. Then the current took him and he went down. And next thing he was yelping like thunder underneath here.”
The float, inch-thick boards spiked to big logs, rested in the water so that the floor was some six inches above the surface. The dog had apparently come up underneath, was penned in by the logs, and was managing to keep his head out of water by hard swimming.
“What kind of a dog is it?” asked Nelson.
“Fox terrier, I guess.”
“Wire-haired terrier.”
“Irish terrier.”
“Well, he’s small, is he?” asked Bob impatiently.
“Yes.” They all agreed as to that. Bob turned to the others.
“Who’s going under?” he asked.
“Let me go,” said Tom. But Dan had already thrown off his coat and kicked off his shoes.
“Dan’s a better diver than you, Tom,” said Bob. “Let him try it first. I guess there’s plenty of breathing space under there, Dan.”
“Sure,” answered Dan, struggling out of his shirt. “Anyone heard the poor little chap lately?”
No
