Dick Hamilton's Fortune Part 20

It seemed a very long time that both he and d.i.c.k were lost to view, but it was only a few seconds ere Bricktop arose to the surface, one arm about the unconscious form of the millionaire's son.

"Help me get him aboard!" Bricktop gasped. "I'm afraid something has happened to him!"

Willing hands were extended to raise the silent form. Then, when the brave rescuer had been pulled over the stern, all speed was made to sh.o.r.e, which the other two boys had reached some time since in boats that picked them up.

Fortunately there was, in the gathering of merrymakers, a physician, who at once hurried to d.i.c.k's side. He carefully examined the youth.

"I'm afraid he inhaled some of the flames," he said, "or he may have struck his head on something when he went overboard. We must get him home, and into bed, as soon as possible."

There were several automobiles at the lake front, and in one of these d.i.c.k was taken to the Hamilton mansion at a speed which broke the law--but no one minded that.

Mr. Hamilton was much startled, but he calmly gave orders to have his son cared for. Another physician was summoned, and the two worked over the unconscious form together, while Mr. Hamilton, his face drawn and white, paced anxiously up and down in the hall outside the room.

Suddenly there sounded the patter of feet on the stairs, and, a moment later, something was muzzling Mr. Hamilton's legs, while a gentle whine begged his attention.

"What is it, Grit, old boy?" he asked, huskily, as he reached over and patted the big bulldog's head. "You know something's wrong, don't you?

Well--maybe it--maybe it will be all right."

The dog whined and sniffed at the door of the room where the unconscious form of his master lay.

"No--no--not now, Grit, old boy," said Mr. Hamilton, softly, and Grit with a look as much as to say that he knew what was going on, stretched out--a grim guardian at the portal of the silent chamber.

Then, from the room, came a voice, at the sound of which the dog gave a joyous bark, and then, as though conscious that he had done wrong, he changed it to a whine. Mr. Hamilton, with wildly beating heart, heard his son murmur:

"Oh, it's cold, so cold! Where am I? Is the fire out? Did I run down any boats?"

Then came the calm voices of the doctors, urging their patient to be quiet.

But this was more than Grit could do. His whining was like the cry of a child, and he scratched frantically at the door.

"That's Grit. Let him in," d.i.c.k said, in stronger tones, and Mr.

Hamilton uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. The portal was swung and Grit bounded into the room, followed by the millionaire. One of d.i.c.k's hands hung over the side of the bed, and Grit began licking it frantically.

"Good--old Grit," murmured d.i.c.k, and Grit was content.

"How is he?" asked Mr. Hamilton, in a whisper.

"I'm all right, dad," answered d.i.c.k, unexpectedly.

"Not as bad as we feared," answered one of the physicians. "He has inhaled no flames, but he struck his head on something as he jumped.

Probably on a bit of floating wreckage. He will be all right after a few days' rest. But he must be kept quiet. No excitement. I congratulate you on your brave son, Mr. Hamilton."

The millionaire silently wrung the hand the physician held out to him.

"It wasn't anything," murmured d.i.c.k, in sleepy tones. "I had to stop the boat, and the only way I saw was to put a hole in the bottom. Too bad; it was a fine boat."

"You can have another, if we can't raise her," interrupted Mr. Hamilton.

"Then I knew I'd have to swim under water to avoid the flames," went on d.i.c.k. "I held my breath as long as I could, and then I hit something. I can't remember any more."

He sank into a doze, with Grit still licking the drooping hand.

"I think he will sleep now," said the physician who had examined d.i.c.k at the lake. "We will go out, and the dog had better come, too."

"Come, Grit," called Mr. Hamilton, but Grit paid no attention.

"I'll bring him," said the physician, as he reached for the bulldog's collar. Grit growled menacingly.

"Better not," advised the millionaire. "No one but d.i.c.k can do anything with him."

So they had to leave Grit there, but he was not in the least in the way, being content to rest beneath the bed, though whenever anyone--nurse or doctor--approached, the dog was ever on the watch.

d.i.c.k had to stay in bed three days, and for three days more was a sort of semi-invalid in an easy-chair. Then, the physicians having p.r.o.nounced all danger past, he was allowed to go out. In the meantime the motor boat was raised and taken away to be repaired.

"Say, I never knew what nice suns.h.i.+ne and fine air we had in this town,"

said the youth to his father, as he walked down the street with him.

"It's worth while being under the weather a bit just to appreciate it when you get out."

"I never knew you had so many friends, d.i.c.k," answered his father.

"Friends? How?"

"Why, we had to keep one of the maids busy answering the bell while you were in bed. I guess every boy, and lots of the girls, in Hamilton Corners called to see how you were getting on."

"I'm glad they thought of me," replied the millionaire's son. "I wish I could show I appreciate it."

"Well, I think you can, d.i.c.k."

"How?"

"I was going to suggest that you hold a little reception--give a sort of party. That's what we called 'em when I was a boy."

"The very thing!" exclaimed d.i.c.k. "That will be sport. But--where could I have it?"

"In the house, of course. Isn't it large enough?"

"That's just it. It's too big and fine. I'm afraid some of the boys wouldn't have a good time, for fear of dropping some cake or ice-cream on the carpets."

"Well, what would you suggest? You might give it in the barn."

"I was thinking of hiring a big tent and having a party out doors on the lawn. That would be unconventional and rather jolly, I think."

"Good idea," answered the millionaire. "I'll order a tent at once and see to the refreshments."

"Let me do that," begged d.i.c.k. "I know what boys and girls like to eat."

"Very well," a.s.sented his father, with a laugh. "You can do just as you please, and--er--send the bills to me."

"Not much!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, proudly. "I'm paying my own way now."