"Boys, boys, can nothing be done to help them?" choked the Professor.
"Oh, boys, this is terrible!"

"Who swims?" yelled Shorty, "--swims well, I mean."

"You do," jerked Shag at his elbow, with a face bloodless and drawn.
"You're the best swimmer in the school. Will you come with me?"

"Come with you?" yelled Shorty. "Out there? Why, you know as well as I
do that I can't swim that far, not nearly that far; neither can you."

"I can, and I will," announced Shag in a strangely quiet voice, while
with rapid fingers he stripped off his coat and boots.

"You shan't go alone," shouted Cop, beginning to undress; "I'm with
you!"

"No, you don't," said the Indian, gripping him by the wrist. "You can't
swim twenty yards--you know you can't; and if you get played out, Cop,
I tell you right here that I can't stop to help you; I'm going to help
Hal."

"Why can't you try it, Shorty?" roared Cop "Anything rather than let him
go alone!"

But Shorty stood resolute. "I tell you I can't swim that far and back,
and I ain't going to try it only to get drowned," he snarled; but
even as he spoke there flashed past him a lithe, tan-colored body in
skintight silken underwear; there followed a splash, and Shag's clean,
dark face rose to the surface as he struck out towards the unfortunates.