The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks or, The deserted bungalow on Saranac Lake
floated bottom upward, and there came a sharp command from the youth in
the bow.
"Harris--Wing--get ready to dive!" he commanded curtly. "The rest of
you hold her steady."
The eight young men in the racing canoe were all in their bathing
suits, and in an instant two of them stood poised and ready.
"There she is! The fellow, too! In you go!" commanded the
self-constituted leader.
Two lithe figures, their arms and legs already bronzed by the early
summer sun, went down in clean dives, with hardly a splash. At the same
instant there were two spots where a commotion in the water showed the
presence of Alice and Tupson, coming up after their first immersion.
Now Alice was a good swimmer--in fact all the Nowadays Girls were--and
she had held her breath as she felt the waters closing over her. And
when she struck out and came to the surface she was ready for the next
move in the emergency.
But even a good swimmer is hampered by wet and clinging clothing,
particularly a girl or woman, and Alice felt a momentary fear, that
passed almost as soon as formed, for she saw a bronze-faced young man
striking out to aid her.
"Put your hand on my shoulder," he advised her, in calm, even tones.
"Oh, I--I can swim all right," Alice assured him. She did not want him
to think that she would frantically clutch him about the neck, or do
any of those things that persons, unable to swim, are apt to do when
they fall into the water and see a rescuer coming. "I can swim," she
repeated, "it is only that my skirts are so wet and clinging."
"I understand," he said. "You're all right!"
"Is he--he?" asked Alice, and then she had to turn her face away from
a little wave that splashed up at her. The other canoes, with their
frightened occupants, were drawing near.
"Your friend is being taken care of," her rescuer said. "He doesn't
seem to be able to swim as well as you."
"Oh, I do hope you will save him!" she cried, at the same time thinking
how strange it sounded to hear Tupson spoken of as her "friend."
"He'll be all right. Wing has him safe, and Wing knows how to handle
his kind. Now shall we right your canoe, or will you come in ours?"
"It looks to be easier to get into yours."
"Yes, it's much larger and steadier. Over this way."
He guided her, keeping her up by placing one of her hands on his
shoulder. Alice could feel the strong, rhythmic ripple of his muscles
as he struck out for the big canoe, not far away.
"Lift her in!" commanded the youth in the bow.
"If you don't mind," Alice said, calmly, for she had full control of
herself now, "I'll just hold on to the stern and let you paddle over
toward the shore. I'm not a bit cold, and it isn't far."
"Well, just as you like," assented the leader. He divined her reason
for not wanting to clamber into a boat, all dripping wet as she was,
when the boat was filled with eager-eyed young fellows.
"Wing has his man--guess he had to hit him," some one said.
Alice, clinging to the stern of the big canoe, saw another bronzed
swimmer approaching, supporting on one arm the limp form of her former
companion.
"Oh, I hope he isn't hurt," she gasped, in much anxiety.
"Don't worry," her own rescuer said. "Wing has served as a lifeguard
at Atlantic City. He knows what to do."
Tupson was not much stunned by the blow Wing had been obliged to deal
him to prevent the frantic clutch that might have meant a death-hold
for both of them. A little later Tupson was hoisted into the big canoe,
which was paddled ashore, towing Alice and Harris, who stoutly insisted
on remaining near her.
Very much bedraggled, and not a little embarrassed, Alice was helped on
shore near a small summer cottage, the owner of which at once sent his
wife to look after the unfortunate one. Alice was taken to the house,
her companions following. Tupson soon recovered, and was not a little
ashamed of himself.
But the fault lay with the broken paddle of the big canoe, and while
that was an accident, it might not have occurred had not the boys been
speeding in their craft. They expressed their regret and did all they
could, bringing ashore the overturned canoe, righting it and putting it
in the sun where it would dry.
Meanwhile Alice was being provided with an outfit of dry garments by
the owner of the cottage, and a messenger was despatched to the hotel,
not far away, for some of her own clothes. Reassuring word was also
sent to Mrs. Brownley, for fear she would hear an exaggerated report of
the accident and worry unnecessarily.
"And now that I'm clothed, and in my right mind, let's continue the
trip," suggested Alice.
"Do you mean it?" asked one of the boys who, with Tupson, formed the
escort of the Nowadays Girls.
"Mean it? Of course I mean it! Why not? I'm all right, and if Mr.
Tupson----"
"Oh, I'm game!" he declared. "I'm ashamed of not behaving better in the
water, but I lost my head. I was worried about you," he said to Alice.
"Thank you," she graciously replied. "Then let's go on."
Tupson was sufficiently dried out, and the trip was resumed.
Fortunately the lunch was not in the overturned canoe, and the
impromptu picnic was successfully carried out.
The little accident provided a fruitful subject for conversation at
the hotel that afternoon, when the porch was filled with animated
rocking-chairs and their gossipy occupants. The girls were rather
the heroines of the occasion, especially Alice, and she was formally
waited upon by the eight canoeists, who said they regretted that their
desire for speed had caused annoyance to any one. Their apologies were
graciously accepted.
"How much longer are we going to stay here?" asked Rose that night.
"Getting anxious to get to Saranac?" questioned Hazel.
"Well,--yes," was the frank answer. "But if we are going to stay
another day or so, I'm going in for a bit of golf. I can borrow a set
of clubs here, and the links are good, though rather small."
"Have a game, by all means, if you like," assented Sylvia. "We'll make
up a foursome. I'll take Rose."
"How nicely she says it!" laughed Alice. "Very well, we're not to be
frightened; are we, Hazel? Are you in form?"
"Oh, we'll accept the challenge. Let's go out and have a look at the
course."
They found it a fairly good one, and a game was soon arranged.
"My! Look at those girls!" exclaimed an elderly lady on the hotel
porch, as she saw the four departing with caddies at their side,
carrying the bags.
"What's the matter with them?" some one asked.
"Why, the things they do--first they're dancing, then they're
canoeing--and incidentally upsetting, next they're off golfing. I
wouldn't be surprised to see them in an aëroplane next."
"Nor I," assented her companion. "They certainly are up-to-date
girls. But they are delightful, and they are real girls, not powdery
imitations."
"Humph! The cat!" exclaimed a tall, willowy young lady who overheard
this. She kept very much in the shade, and her nose looked as though
she had dipped it into a flour barrel and then forgotten to take it out.
"Fore!" called Rose, who led off in the golf game.
She grasped her driver firmly, settled herself on the bare,
clay-covered tee, and drove off with all her force.
"Crack!" went her driver against the white ball.
"Oh, Rose!" cried Sylvia. But it was too late.
Across behind a bunker, toward which Rose drove, a young man walked,
and a moment later the girls saw the white golf ball strike him on the
head. He fell as if shot, dropping out of sight behind the long, grassy
hill that formed a hazard on the links.
CHAPTER IX
ONWARD
"Oh--oh, Rose!" gasped Hazel. "You--you've done it!"
"What has she done--killed him?" gasped Alice.
"Don't say such silly things!" chided Sylvia. "Come on and see!"
She darted forward, the short, golfing skirt she wore being no
hindrance to her speed, but quick as Sylvia was, Rose was off ahead of
her. She had cast her driver aside, and her face was now rather pale.
The caddies followed, giving voice to various expressions.
Rose was first to reach the bunker. She found a very much dazed youth
sitting up, holding a cap in one hand, while with the other he was
rubbing his head.
"Oh! are you--hurt?" Rose gasped, kneeling down beside him.
"Just a little--little knock," he answered, cheerfully--as cheerfully
as possible under the circumstances. "Who--who did it? Oh, it was a
golf ball. I see," and he looked at the checkered sphere of white gutta
percha that lay in the sand on the far side of the bunker.
"I did it," confessed Rose. "I called 'fore!' but I didn't see you
until after I drove off. My friends called to me, but too late. I hope
you're not badly hurt?"
"Hardly at all. My cap is quite thick. But it serves me right, anyhow.
I ought not to have crossed the course. Now you girls are even with
me," and he started to rise.
"Even with you?" repeated Sylvia, as she held out a brown and muscular
hand to help him to his feet, for he seemed dizzy and weak.
"Yes. I'm the chap whose paddle broke in the canoe the time it ran
into one that one of you girls was in. You've paid your score!" and he
smiled, grimly.
"Oh! As if----" began Rose, now blushing to match her name.
"Of course I was only joking," he said, quickly. "Thank you," he went
on to Sylvia. "It did knock me out a bit. I thought it was a lightning
stroke, though I hadn't seen any clouds before I crossed the links."
"Oh, are you sure you're all right?" asked Rose, anxiously, while the
circle of caddies stood in an outer ring, grinning sympathetically.
"Oh, yes, as right as ever," he said, saying nothing about the ache of
his head. "Serves me right for crossing where I'd no business to. I'll
go back, and you can go on with your game."
"Are you sure you're all right?" insisted Sylvia. She recognised the
youth now as one of the party that owned the big canoe.
"Positive," he answered, with a cheerfulness he did not altogether
feel. "Allow me to restore your golf ball," he went on, picking up the
one Rose had driven. "It doesn't seem to be harmed any," he went on,
whimsically. "I think you ought to be allowed to take that shot over
again. The ball was travelling pretty well when I interfered with it,
and I'm sure you would get a better lay than this," and he indicated
the sand.
"Yes, drive over again," suggested Alice.
The young fellow bowed pleasantly, winked at the caddies and walked
back in the direction whence he had come when his course was so
suddenly interrupted.
"No more crossing of golf courses for me!" he said, emphatically.
The girls insisted on Rose taking her drive again, and she went far
beyond the bunker. Then the others, in turn, drove off from the tee,
and the game was on.
Never was golf played under more ideal conditions. True, the girls
had played on better and larger links, but this was a new locality
for them, and every now and then they would pause to gaze off at the
distant mountains, to look down at the little blue lakes or take deep
breaths of the balsam-laden air.
"Oh, it's too nice, almost, to play golf," sighed Sylvia. "I want to
be in the woods--just in the woods."
"You'll be in the ditch in a minute, if you don't watch where you're
driving," declared Alice. "Come on, play the game."
The girls were evenly matched, and even the caddies became interested
in the impromptu contest.
"Say!" declared one youngster, "they are the real article all right.
They sure can swing the clubs!"
It was his best and most sincere compliment, and Rose, whose second
long, lifting drive had called it forth, smiled in a gratified way. She
preferred a tribute such as that to one more or less half-hearted from
some older and more sophisticated admirer.