one to strike terror to a
stout heart. Even the skilful swimmer whose courage is not of the
stoutest may balk at the peril. That seemed to be the feeling which
possessed Tom Slade as he stood upon the end of the spring-board and
instead of diving cast a hurried look to where Garry Everson was talking
with Roy.

It all happened in a moment, the cries from the lake, Tom's hesitation,
his swift look toward Roy and Garry, and his evident relief as the
latter rushed to the shore and plunged into the water. He stood there on
the end of the high spring-board, conspicuous against the blue sky, with
his eyes fixed upon the swimmer. He saw the struggle in the water, saw
the frantic arms clutch at Garry, watched him as he extricated himself
from that insane grasp, saw him catch the struggling figure with the
"neck grip" as the only means of saving both lives, and watched him as
he swam toward shore with his now almost unconscious burden. What he
thought, how he felt, no human being knew. He stood motionless like a
statue until the growing crowd below him set up a cheer. Then he went
down and stood among them.

"Didn't you see him drowning there?" a fellow demanded of him.

"Yes, I did," said Tom.

The other stared at him for a moment with a peculiar expression, then
swung on his heel and strode away.

Tom craned his neck to see and spoke to those nearest him, but they only
answered perfunctorily or ignored him altogether. He moved around to
where Roy stood, and Roy, without looking at him, pressed farther into
the crowd.

"That's he," a boy near him whispered to his neighbor; "stood on the end
of the board, watching. I didn't think we had any cowards here."

In every face and most of all in the faces of his own troop Tom saw
contempt plainly written. He could not go away from them, for that might
excite fresh comment; so he remained, trying to disregard the
significant glances and swallowing hard to keep down the lump which kept
rising in his throat.

Soon the doctor came, relieving Doc Carson of the Ravens, and the
half-drowned boy was taken to his cabin.

"He--he's all right, isn't he?" Tom asked of the doctor.

"Yes," said the doctor, briefly. "He's one of your own patrol, isn't
he?"

"Yes--sir."

The doctor looked at him for a moment and then turned away.

"Hello, old man," said Garry, as he passed him, hurrying to the
pavilion. "Cold feet, eh? Guess you got a little rattled. Never mind."

The words stabbed