CHAPTER II
DICK ATHERTON'S GOOD TURN
ON the following Wednesday afternoon Leader Dick Atherton, of the"Otters," was invited to his chum Gregson's to tea. Gregson was a dayboarder whose people lived at Brixton. He wished very much to jointhe Scouts, but his parents strongly objected. This was a source ofkeen disappointment both to Gregson and Atherton, for instinctivelythey realised that there was bound to be an ever-widening gap intheir friendship.
Dick Atherton was a good specimen of a British school-boy. He wassixteen years of age, fairly tall, and with long supple limbs and aframe that showed promise of filling out. At present he was, like agood many other lads of his age, growing rapidly. Plenty of outdoorexercise and an abundance of plain wholesome food had turned thescale, for instead of becoming a lank, over-studious youth he showedevery promise of developing into a strong, muscular man.
One of the first to avail themselves of Mr Trematon's offer to becomeScouts, Dick Atherton was by the unanimous vote of the patrolappointed Leader of the "Otters." He took particular pains to provehimself worthy of the honour his comrades had paid him, with theresult that he soon gained his Ambulance, Cycling, Pathfinder,Swimming and Signalling badges.
Scoutmaster Trematon was strongly opposed to the idea of any ladhastily qualifying for badges merely for the sake of having the rightsleeve decorated by a number of fanciful symbols; he preferred tofind a Scout making himself thoroughly proficient, and keepinghimself up to a state of efficiency in a comparatively few number ofsubjects, rather than a slipshod scramble for badges that could onlybe regarded in a similar light to the trophies of a "pothunter."
Dick Atherton, as did most of his comrades, saw the good sense of hisScoutmaster's wishes. Therein he laid the foundations of his successin after life: he specialised. It would be hard to find another Scoutin the whole of the London Troops who could excel Atherton in any ofthe branches he had taken up. To the Scouts' motto "Be prepared" heinstinctively added another, "Be thorough."
Shortly after six o'clock Atherton bade his friends farewell andstarted on his return journey to Collingwood College. It wasimperative that he should be back before a quarter to eight in timefor evening "prep."
A heavy mist, almost a fog, had settled down earlier in theafternoon, driving most people to the Tubes. Atherton, however,preferred to take a motor-bus.
As the vehicle was passing under the railway viaduct in the WaterlooRoad it skidded on the greasy surface and dashing into the kerbsmashed the nearside fore-wheel. The Scout promptly alighted,thinking that perhaps he might be of assistance. To his request themotorman curtly told him to "Chuck it and clear out," advice thatAtherton deemed it expedient to carry out.
Just then he remembered that to-morrow was Fred Simpson's birthday.Simpson was the Leader of the "Wolves," and a jolly good sort, andAtherton resolved to spend the remainder of his weekly allowance insome small present for his chum. Stamp-collecting was one ofSimpson's hobbies, and Atherton knew that it was his ambition to geta set of Servian "Death Masks."
"I saw a set in a shop in the Strand only last week," thoughtAtherton. "I'll take a short cut across Hungerford Bridge, buy thestamps if they are still to be had, and pick up the Tube at CharingCross. There will be ample time if I make haste."
The approach to the bridge consists of a fairly steep wooden gangwaywith an abrupt turning at its upper end. The worn planks wereslippery with mud, while, being close to the river, the mist seemeddenser than ever. From the bridge it was just possible to see theoutlines of the adjoining brewery and the tiers of heavy barges lyingon the reeking mud, for the tide had almost ceased to ebb.
Less than half-way across the bridge Atherton saw the figures of twomen. One was leaning over the low parapet, the other, hands inpockets and his hat stuck on the back of his head, was lookingfixedly along the narrow footway. Suddenly the latter poked hiscompanion in the ribs and pointed at the oncoming Scout; then bothmen turned and leant over the parapet as if interested in the swirlof yellow water twenty or thirty feet beneath them.
"What can their interest be in me, I wonder?" thought Atherton. "Nouse showing the white feather. I'll walk straight past them--but I'll'Be prepared.'"
Somewhat to his surprise the two men took particular care to keeptheir faces averted. But swiftly as he walked by the Scout did notforget the value of unobtrusive observation.
"No. 1.--Height about five feet five, broad shouldered, short legs;back of neck dirty yellow, hair black and long, showing a tendency tocurl. Clothes: a billy-cock hat, soiled stand-up collar, with afrayed yellow-and-black necktie showing above the back collar-stud,coat rusty black, circular patch of deep black material on leftelbow; trousers grey, frayed at bottoms; boots pale yellow, badly inneed of a clean, and much worn on the outside of each heel.
"No. 2.--Height five feet ten, back of neck red, iron-grey hairclosely cut, shoulders bent, legs long, feet planted well apart.Cloth cap; blue woollen scarf, blue serge coat and trousers, blackboots that had apparently been treated with dubbin. Should take himto be a seafaring man; more than likely a bargeman. I feel prettycertain that I could pick out these men in a crowd of----"
A stifled shout for aid was faintly borne to the Scout's ears. Hestopped, turned, then without hesitation ran as hard as he could inthe direction from which he had come. The mist hid the two men fromhis sight, while at the same time a light engine running slowly overthe adjacent bridge threw out a dense cloud of steam that, beatendown by the moist atmosphere, made it impossible for Atherton to seemore than a yard ahead.
Once more came the cry, this time nearer, but gurgling, as if thevictim's mouth was being held by one of his assailants. Imitating aman's voice, the Scout shouted. Just then the cloud of steam waswafted away, and Atherton was able to see what was taking place.
The two men he had previously passed were struggling fiercely with atall, elderly gentleman, who in spite of his grey hairs wasstrenuously resisting. Even as the Scout dashed up, the two rascalsdeliberately lifted their victim over the iron balustrade. There wasa stifled shriek followed by a heavy plash, while the assailantsbolted as fast as their legs could carry them.
Three or four pedestrians, looming out of the mist, promptly stoodaside to let the hurrying men pass. The former made no attempt tostop the fugitives. All they did was to stand still and gaze afterthem till they were lost to sight.
"A man has been thrown into the river!" shouted Atherton. "Run downto the Charing Cross Pier and get them to send out a boat."
Throwing off his coat and shoes the Scout climbed over a parapet andlowered himself till his whole weight was supported by his hands.There he hung for a brief instant. He realised that the drop was along one, and in addition there was the possibility of falling notinto the water but upon the deck of a barge that might at that momentbe shooting under the bridge. In that case it might mean certaindeath, or at least broken limbs.
Shutting his eyes and keeping his legs tightly closed and straightout, Atherton released his hold and dropped. He hit the water withtremendous force, descending nearly ten feet. Instinctively he swamto the surface and, shaking the water from his hair and eyes, struckout down stream.
Twenty yards from him, and just visible in the murky atmosphere, hecaught sight of a dark object just showing above the surface. Thenext moment it vanished. Putting all his energy into his strokesAtherton swam to the spot and, guided by the bubbles, dived. Itseemed a forlorn hope, for at a few feet below the surface the thickyellow water was so opaque that he could not distinguish his hands ashe struck out. For nearly half a minute the brave lad groped blindly.His breath, already sorely taxed by the force of his drop from thebridge, was failing him. He must come to the surface ere he couldrenew his vague search. Just as he was on the point of swimmingupwards his left hand came into contact with a submerged object. Hisgrip tightened. With a thrill of satisfaction he realised that he hadhold of the victim of the outrage.
Thank Heaven, the surface at last! Turning on his back Atherton drewin a full bre
ath of the dank yet welcome air, then shifting his graspto the collar of the rescued man drew him face uppermost to thesurface. To all appearance the old gentleman was dead. His eyes werewide open, his lips parted, his features were as white as his hair.
The Scout looked about him. His vision was limited to a circle ofless than fifty yards in radius; beyond this the mist envelopedeverything. The Embankment, the bridges, the Surrey side--all wereinvisible. But above the noise of the traffic on the Embankment andthe rumble of the trains across the river came the dull roar ofvoices, for already a dense crowd had gathered almost as soon as thealarm had been given by the hitherto apathetic pedestrians on thefoot-bridge.
"The wind was blowing down stream," thought Atherton. "If I keep iton my left I ought to strike shore somewhere, so here goes."
Still swimming on his back, and holding up the head of the rescuedman, the Scout headed towards the Middlesex side. His progress wasslow, for his burden was a serious drag, and his strength had alreadyundergone a severe strain. His clothes, too, were a great impediment.Had it been clear weather Atherton would have been content to keephimself afloat till picked up by a boat, but he did not relish theidea of drifting aimlessly on the bosom of old Father Thames; hisplan was to make for land, hoping to reach the Embankment somewherein the neighbourhood of the steps by Cleopatra's Needle.
All this while, owing to a slight veering of the wind, Atherton wasswimming, not towards the shore, but almost down stream. He wonderedfaintly why his feet had not yet touched the mud. More than once hethrust his legs down to their fullest extent, hoping to findsomething offering more resistance than water, but each time hishopes were not realised.
He was momentarily growing weaker. His movements were little morethan mechanical, yet not for one instant did he think of abandoninghis burden to save himself. His clothing seemed to hang about hislimbs like lead. Ofttimes he had practised swimming in trousers,shirt and socks--for one of the Scouts' swimming tests is to coverfifty yards thus attired; but he had already covered more than fourtimes that distance, while, in addition, he was heavily handicappedby having to tow another person.
Presently a dull throbbing fell upon the Scout's ears.
"A steamboat," he muttered. "Wonder if she'll come this way."
And expending a considerable amount of his sorely tried breath heshouted for aid. A sharp blast upon a steam-whistle was the response,while a hoarse voice bawled, "Where are you, my man?"
"Here," replied Atherton vaguely, for owing to the mist the directionin which the sound came from was quite unable to be located.
Fortunately the steamboat was heading almost down upon the nearlyexhausted lad. Her bows, magnified out of all proportion, loomedthrough the misty atmosphere.
"Stop her!" shouted the coxswain to the engineer, then, "Stand bywith your boathook, Wilson."
Losing way, the boat--one of the Metropolitan Police launches--wasbrought close alongside the rescuer and the rescued. The bowman,finding the lad within arm's length, dropped his boathook, andleaning over the gunwale, grasped Atherton by the shoulder. Thecoxswain came to his aid, and the victim of the outrage was hauledinto safety.