"Zat so?" A huge hand seized the slack of Thomas's shorts and the boy was heaved up to the muscular shoulder. The two faces were now on the same level and twinkling gray blue eyes were looking into grave brown ones.

"Did you squeal on Uncle Jack, Tommy?"

The brown eyes were looking at him steadily, fearlessly. "I didn't squeal, Uncle Jack, I jes tole Pop"--A grubby hand began rumpling the tousled head. "I tole Pop you won't let me peddle--'n when you learn me to swim'n dive will you let me peddle all alone by myself?"

When Norah rowed out to the forty-two foot launch, two hours later, she witnessed a curious spectacle. As she climbed over the rail she saw her brother standing at the opposite rail holding a long pole, at the end of which there hung out into the water, out of her sight, a strong wash line.

Her brother seemed to be getting vast amus.e.m.e.nt out of what he was doing. Professor Brierly and Jimmy Hale were standing near by, interested spectators.

Norah stepped around the wheel house, asking:

"What are you doing, Jack?"

She was treated to Jack's good humored grin as he turned to face her.

"I'm fishin', Norah, fishin'. See--"

He heaved up the thick pole. There was a squealing from the hidden end of the rope. Then, to Norah's shocked eyes, there appeared the squirming, wriggling form of her young son trussed up in a harness that held him about his shoulders and thighs and left his arm and legs free.

Norah rushed forward.

"Tommy! Jack!"

Tommy yelled excitedly.

"Oo, mummie, Uncle Jack's learnin' me to swim. Watch. Lemme down, Uncle Jack 'n show Mummie."

"John Matthews," Norah called in her sternest tones, "let Tommy down, this minute. Suppose the rope broke, suppose--"

"Just watch, Norah. He's gettin' to be a reg'lar Weismuller. Ready Tommy."

With a look compounded of maternal love and pride, Norah watched the little form struggle through the water at the end of its odd fishing line.

This was followed by a diving lesson. There was much splashing, squealing and fun. Every time the little form disappeared beneath the water a big form followed it. When the little head appeared above the surface sputtering, the other was near by to be confidently clasped.

Chapter III

It was not the casual interest of the feature story that now inspired Jimmy Hale, on his way the following morning with his friends to the camp of Isaac Higginbotham. Jimmy's vivid imagination was keyed to its highest pitch. Decidedly this trip to Canada seemed very much worth while, even to a star reporter. What McCall had intimated the day before whetted his appet.i.te. He thrilled at the thought that he was on the scene where a big story might be in the very making. He exulted further at the thought that Professor Herman Brierly was to be with him.

It lacked a few minutes before nine o'clock on the morning of July fourth, when the launch operated by Matthews docked at the small wharf of the Higginbotham camp. Nestled on a small bay of land on the eastern sh.o.r.e of the lake, with the thick foliage forming a dark, somber background, the rambling building comprising the camp formed an ideal place and setting for this type of retreat.

Behind and to one side there loomed a huge rocky outcropping that some volcanic disturbance in the past had cast up. At the edge of this rocky eminence there seemed literally to hang a huge boulder.

It appeared from below that only a touch of the hand or a strong wind would send this boulder crashing destructively down on the porch.

The wide porch facing the lake was occupied when the launch tied up at the wharf. It became at once apparent to the visitors that all, or most of the survivors of the strange group were on the wide verandah.

The quiet conversational murmur among the men ceased as the visitors mounted the shallow steps. One rose to greet them. Jimmy could not mistake the venerable head with its white hair surmounting the still erect figure of the famous jurist. Jimmy had seen photographic reproductions of Justice Isaac Higginbotham too often to be in doubt.

The host smiled at McCall. His air was gracious and winning as he held his hand out to Professor Brierly. Before McCall had time to affect the introductions, Justice Higginbotham said:

"Introductions are hardly necessary. I am honored to have Professor Brierly beneath my roof, and this, I am sure," turning toward Matthews, "is Professor Brierly's a.s.sociate, Mr. Matthews?"

Jack bowed, acknowledging the distinguished jurist's smile.

Justice Higginbotham turned toward Jimmy inquiringly, while the murmur of introductions among the other men was going on.

A rich, deep voice interrupted:

"Mr. Hale, isn't it? Of the New York Eagle?"

It was Thomas Marshall, former amba.s.sador to the Court of St.

James, who knew and remembered Jimmy. Another voice, with more than a tinge of the brogue of the Emerald Isle, called out, joining the smaller group:

"Jimmy Hale, or I'm a Swede." Jimmy was glad to see the rosy smiling features and portly figure of former Police Commissioner of New York, McGuire. "What can there be in the meeting of a number of prosy old men, Jimmy, that brings a star reporter all the way up here? Or--oh, I see--you're a friend of Professor Brierly, of course, and Brierly's camp is right up the lake here.

McCall's shack, isn't it?"

Jimmy nodded. "Yes, I'm spending part of my vacation at Professor Brierly's camp, but frankly, I'm here at the request of my city editor to cover the reunion of your group."

Jimmy intercepted the swift interchange of glances between the three men, with whom he now formed an isolated group, apart from the others.

Justice Higginbotham said: "You say, Mr. Hale, that you are up here to cover this reunion?"

"Yes."

"And that you are a member of the staff of your paper and not a local correspondent?"

"That's right."

Once more Jimmy noticed the interchange of a significant glance between the men. Clearly they were not at ease. There was an air of tension, of expectancy. Jimmy's swift glance that took in the other members of the group noted the same tenseness among the rest. As he had come upon the porch, he had mentally counted the men there. He had been told there were fourteen survivors. There were only eleven men on the porch. August Schurman, whom he knew by sight, was not there. Morris Miller, the eccentric retired art dealer, whom he also knew, was also absent.

Jimmy shook himself, mentally. This was absurd. He was permitting the things that McCall had told him to get on his nerves. He brought his mind back to the three men with whom he was standing at the edge of the porch. Justice Higginbotham was saying:

"But come, Mr. Hale, this is not very gracious of me. Let me introduce you to those whom you do not know. Since you are acquainted with Marshall and McGuire you may know some of the others. And Mr. Hale, I recall you young men were being facetious at the entrance of this country in the World War over the names of men recruited into the average company or regiment; you regarded them as distinctly un-American names. That was rather amusing to us old veterans, amusing for reasons that perhaps most young persons would not understand. Just what is an American name?

"Now I am going to run over the names of the men who are on the porch beside us three. Stand by, Mr. Hale!"

With a faint twinkle, he rattled off the following:

"Vasiliewski, Rochambeau, LaRoque, Goldberg, Tonti, Ross, Thomas, Fletcher. And"--There was a pause, a break. The twinkle in the fine eyes was gone. The features of the three turned grave. He concluded his sentence haltingly:

"--Three are not here. They are--Schurman, Miller and Wrigley. But come along, I will introduce you."

Jimmy was puzzled over the fact that, in varying form, the other members of the group expressed astonishment at a member of the staff of a New York paper being there. The venerable insurgent, former speaker of the House, present United States Senator Frank Ross, after a swift glance at Justice Higginbotham, blurted out:

"From the staff of the Eagle you say, Mr. Hale. How could you know in time--"

He cast a startled look in the direction of Justice Higginbotham.