LITMIR.BIZ

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that puts me in mind of a story!" put in Shadow, eagerly. "A girl who was going to get married had a shower, as they call 'em. Well, a wag of the town--maybe he was sore because he couldn't marry the girl himself--told all his friends, in private, that she was very anxious to get a nice bread-box. The shower was to be a surprise, and it was, too, for when it came off the girl got exactly eleven bread-boxes."

      "Oh!" came in a groan. "The worst yet."

      "Not so bad," said Dave, dryly. "If she filled the boxes the married pair must have proved a well-bred couple."

      "Hark to that!" roared Phil. "Say, Dave, go and take a roll!"

      "When it comes to a joke, Dave is the flower of this flock," was Luke's comment.

      "Anyway, he takes the cake," murmured Ben.

      "Ben, say something; don't loaf on the job," came from the senator's son.

      "A joke like that is pie for Roger," murmured Polly Vane.

      "Even so, nobody has a right to get crusty," murmured Plum.

      "Or pious!" continued Dave, and then Shadow made a pass for him with a shoe box. Then Roger started to run, and the others came after him, and away they went in a merry bunch, along the road leading to Oak Hall. Soon they came out at a point where the highway ran along the Leming River, and there halted to rest, for the run had deprived some of them of their wind.

      "I hear a motor-boat," said Roger. "Wonder if it is Nat Poole's craft?"

      "It is!" answered Plum. "Here he comes, right close to shore!"

      The river was a good fifteen feet below the level of the roadway, and gazing down through the bushes lining the water's edge, the students beheld Nat Poole's motor-boat gliding along in a zig-zag fashion. Nat was not in the craft, which was evidently running without an occupant.

      CHAPTER XV

      A RUNAWAY MOTOR-BOAT

      "What do you make of that?"

      "The motor-boat must have run away from Nat!"

      "Either that or Nat has fallen overboard!"

      "Maybe Nat has been drowned!"

      These and other remarks were made, as the boys on the highway gazed down at the craft that was speeding along in such an erratic fashion over the surface of the river. A closer look confirmed their first opinion, that nobody was on board.

      "I'm going to try to stop her!" shouted Dave, and ran back along the highway, and disappeared into the bushes. Roger followed him closely, and some of the others trailed behind.

      "I am going up the river--to see if I can find Nat!" shouted Phil, and away he sped, and Sam and Ben went along.

      It was no easy matter for Dave to work his way down the bank of the stream. The bushes were thick and the footing uncertain, and once his jacket caught on a root and he had to pause to free himself. But at last he came out on a narrow strip of rocks and sand, at a point where the Leming River made a broad turn.

      The water at this point was quite shallow, and here he thought the progress of the motor-boat would be stayed. His surmise was correct, the craft bringing up between several smooth rocks. The engine continued to work, pounding the boat back and forth, and threatening to sink her.

      Fortunately, Dave had on a pair of gaiters he had borrowed, and they were so big that he slipped them off with ease. His socks followed, and then he rolled up his trousers to his knees, and waded into the stream.

      "Be careful, or you'll slip and hurt yourself on the rocks!" sang out the senator's son.

      "I'm watching out!" returned Dave.

      He was leaping from one smooth stone to another, keeping in the shallow spots as much as possible. Thus he managed to get within a few yards of the motor-boat.

      As he came closer he saw that the craft was pounding on the rocks worse than before. The pounding had in some way moved the gasoline control forward and also advanced the spark, and the engine was practically running "wild."

      "I hope she isn't getting ready to blow up!" thought the youth, and he gazed anxiously ahead. Smoke was issuing from the motor-boat, coming from some over-heated oil.

      He leaped to the next high rock, and then plunged boldly forward, soon gaining the bow of the craft. At the stern the propeller was churning the water into a white foam. The craft was trembling violently, and the hum of the machinery gave full evidence of the power it was exerting.

      Fortunately, Dave's knowledge of gasoline engines now stood him in good stead, and without the loss of a second he turned off the supply of gasoline and the electric spark, and thus allowed the engine to "die." As the propeller slowed up and stopped, the water behind the craft calmed down, and then the pounding on the rocks was reduced to a gentle rub that did little but scratch the paint.

      "Is she all right, Dave?" called out Roger, who stood on the rocks of the bank watching proceedings with great interest.

      "I think so, although it hasn't done the engine any good to run wild. She's pretty well heated up, and the cylinders may be carbonized, or something like that."

      "What are you going to do--try to run her in here?"

      "No, I'll not take the risk. I only wanted to stop the engine and get rid of the risk of the boat blowing up."

      "You ran a big risk doing it. She looked to me as if she might go up any instant."

      "She can't get out of here--the current holds her," went on Dave. "She will be perfectly safe until Nat comes for her. I'd like to know where he is."

      "Phil and some of the others went off to see."

      To save the boat as much as possible, Dave took two of the wooden gratings of the flooring and tied them to ropes hanging over the sides. In this position they acted as fenders, so that the rocks rubbed against the gratings instead of the boat proper.

      "I am afraid he'll have quite a job of it, getting her out into the stream," said Dave, on coming ashore, and when he was putting on his socks and the gaiters. "She'll have to back out against the current and do a lot of turning."

      "Maybe he'll have to get somebody to tow him out,--with a very long line," returned Roger.

      "If only Nat didn't fall overboard," said Dave.

      In the meantime, Phil and some of the others had run up the stream a distance. As they turned a point where there were several small islands the shipowner's son set up a shout.

      "There is Nat now!"

      "Whatever is he doing?" queried Ben.

      "Swimming ashore, or trying to wade," answered Sam.

      The boys on the shore came down to the water's edge and watched Nat Poole with interest. He was floundering around in water up to his waist. Sometimes he would come up on a rock, and then slip and pitch headlong. But he kept on, until he was but a few yards away.

      "Hi, Nat! what's the matter?" called out Phil. "Did you fall overboard?"

      "Hel--help me!" chattered the unfortunate one, and now the others realized that he was suffering greatly from the cold. "Don--don't let m--me--g-g-g--go down!"

      "We'll help you!" answered Phil, promptly, and ran out on some dry rocks to a point close to poor Nat. "Come, give me your hand and I'll pull you up."

      "So will I," added Ben, who had come behind the shipowner's son.

      The suffering youth was only too glad to have somebody come to his aid, and he put up both hands, and those on the rocks hauled him up and then

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