Presently from the farther end of the harbour there put off Mr. Hawk’s boat, bearing its precious cargo. My mouth became dry with excitement.
Very slowly Mr. Hawk pulled round the end of the Cob, coming to a standstill some dozen yards from where I was performing my beat. It was evidently here that the scene of the gallant rescue had been fixed.
My eyes were glued upon Mr. Hawk’s broad back. Only when going in to bat at cricket have I experienced a similar feeling of suspense. The boat lay almost motionless on the water. I had never seen the sea smoother. Little ripples plashed against the side of the Cob.
It seemed as if this perfect calm might continue for ever. Mr. Hawk made no movement. Then suddenly the whole scene changed to one of vast activity. I heard Mr. Hawk utter a hoarse cry, and saw him plunge violently in his seat. The professor turned half round, and I caught sight of his indignant face, pink with emotion. Then the scene changed again with the rapidity of a dissolving view. I saw Mr. Hawk give another plunge, and the next moment the boat was upside down in the water, and I was shooting headforemost to the bottom, oppressed with the indescribably clammy sensation which comes when one’s clothes are thoroughly wet.
I rose to the surface close to the upturned boat. The first sight I saw was the spluttering face of Mr. Hawk. I ignored him, and swam to where the professor’s head bobbed on the waters.
“Keep cool,” I said. A silly remark in the circumstances.
He was swimming energetically but unskilfully. He appeared to be one of those men who can look after themselves in the water only when they are in bathing costume. In his shore clothes it would have taken him a week to struggle to land, if he had got there at all, which was unlikely.
I know all about saving people from drowning. We used to practise it with a dummy in the swimming-bath at school. I attacked him from the rear, and got a good grip of him by the shoulders. I then swam on my back in the direction of land, and beached him with much /eclat/ at the feet of an admiring crowd. I had thought of putting him under once or twice just to show him he was being rescued, but decided against such a source as needlessly realistic. As it was, I fancy he had swallowed of sea-water two or three hearty draughts.
The crowd was enthusiastic.
“Brave young feller,” said somebody.
I blushed. This was Fame.
“Jumped in, he did, sure enough, an’ saved the gentleman!”
“Be the old soul drownded?”
“That girt fule, ‘Arry ‘Awk!”
I was sorry for Mr. Hawk. Popular opinion was against him. What the professor said of him, when he recovered his breath, I cannot repeat, –not because I do not remember it, but because there is a line, and one must draw it. Let it be sufficient to say that on the subject of Mr. Hawk he saw eye to eye with the citizen who had described him as a “girt fule.” I could not help thinking that my fellow conspirator did well to keep out of it all. He was now sitting in the boat, which he had restored to its normal position, baling pensively with an old tin can. To satire from the shore he paid no attention.
The professor stood up, and stretched out his hand. I grasped it.
“Mr. Garnet,” he said, for all the world as if he had been the father of the heroine of “Hilda’s Hero,” “we parted recently in anger. Let me thank you for your gallant conduct and hope that bygones will be bygones.”
I came out strong. I continued to hold his hand. The crowd raised a sympathetic cheer.
I said, “Professor, the fault was mine. Show that you have forgiven me by coming up to the farm and putting on something dry.”
“An excellent idea, me boy; I /am/ a little wet.”
“A little,” I agreed.
We walked briskly up the hill to the farm.
Ukridge met us at the gate.