Read Ebook: The Safety First Club and the Flood by Nichols William Theophilus Anderson Frederic A Illustrator

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Ebook has 1544 lines and 57236 words, and 31 pages

s on the icy roadway. A horse, drawing a light cutter, had taken fright at a passing motor car, had got out of control of the woman who held the reins, and was making a frantic bolt. Turning, the boys had a glimpse of a wiry bay, neck outstretched, ears back, red nostrils distended; of a sleigh swaying wildly; of a woman tugging vainly at the reins.

"Runaway!" gasped Varley. Then he did the instinctive thing, and the plucky thing. The horse was very near, and coming fast. Varley sprang into the street. Promptly as he acted, though, there was a second in which his eyes were on Sam; and in that instant he had a queer impression that his companion was about to do as he was doing. But Sam suddenly appeared to change his plan, for he wheeled, and ran down the street, approaching the track of the runaway, not directly but on a long diagonal.

There flashed on Varley an ugly doubt of Sam's courage. Then for a little he forgot everything but the galloping horse, and the part he meant to play in stopping the maddened animal. He leaped over the piled up snow lining the sidewalk, and gave a great bound for the horse's head. He was not reckoning risk, or chances--or conditions, for that matter. It had not occurred to him that just at this point the frozen road, with its thin, greasy coating was extraordinarily slippery and treacherous under foot. He hardly realized what was happening, when, as he was about to grasp the bridle, his feet shot from under him. The shoulder of the runaway struck him. Luckily, it was only a glancing blow, but it sent him reeling back, out of danger of contact with plunging hoofs or lunging sleigh. Down he went in a heap, sorely shaken and with the breath half driven from his body; and there he lay, recovering his wits and his wind, while he watched Sam, twenty yards away, score success where he had failed.

Sam sprang much as Varley had sprung; but he caught the reins close to the bit, and was not shaken off. Not that he was able to check the runaway's career at once--as a matter of fact, he was dragged a considerable distance. He forced the horse, though, out of the beaten track and into the deeper snow, and little by little he reduced the speed. The animal struggled hard, but Sam kept his hold. Two or three men came running up; and in a moment more the horse was at a standstill, trembling like a leaf, but again under control; his driver had been assisted from the sleigh, and was thanking Sam so warmly for his timely help that the boy, blushing hotly, was glad to beat a retreat and return to Varley, who by this time had picked himself up, and was brushing the snow from his overcoat.

"Great Scott! but that was a star job of yours!" was his greeting.

"Oh, it was just luck," Sam answered modestly.

"Luck?"

"Yes; luck to find better footing than you had."

Varley gave a queer little groan. "Thunder! I didn't think about that."

"Well, right here's one of the smoothest places you can find anywhere; you need spiked shoes to stand on it. Farther on, though, it is rougher--rough enough to give you half a show, anyway. I saw how it was and ran along a bit. If you'd thought to do that, you'd have been all right. You made just as good a try as I did."

Varley glanced at the other keenly. "Look here! First off, you were starting straight out just as I did. Then you stopped, and changed your scheme. You had the real hunch. I was stood on my head, and you got away with things. And all the difference was, you took time to think."

"I tried to," said Sam quietly.

Sam interrupted him. "Our kind of Safety First doesn't mean wrapping yourself up in cotton wool and stowing yourself away on a shelf. It doesn't mean dodging all risks--you've got to take some. But it does mean finding the best way to take them, if they seem to be necessary, and cutting them out, if they're not necessary. That's all there is to it."

Varley finished his task of brushing the snow from his coat. He straightened himself, and looked at Sam.

"Somehow or other, Parker, it strikes me there's a lot to be said for that notion of yours," he remarked with conviction.

Sam Parker was disposed to think little and say less of the incident of the runaway horse. He had come out of the affair with some credit and a slightly sprained wrist, but he made no mention of either at home or at the Safety First Club. At school a somewhat vague report was circulated that there had been a frightened horse and a very good "stop"; but none of the pupils happened to have been about at the time of Sam's exploit, and the story went the rounds without bringing in his name. Sam was quite content with this; and as he did not see Paul Varley for several days, he regarded the episode as a closed chapter.

Meanwhile he was working hard at his books. He stood well in his classes, though he headed none of them; and he had an incentive for study.

Sam expected to spend the last year of his preparation for college at St. Mark's, a famous school for boys. He was to go there in the autumn, after completing the third year of his course at the town high school; and inasmuch as his father's consent to this arrangement had not been easily won, he prized it all the more highly. It had been granted, indeed, only after a series of adventures had satisfied Mr. Parker that his son was possessed of certain valuable qualities of self-reliance and discretion. Sam, reasonably, was greatly pleased with the outcome, and his satisfaction was increased by the fact that both Step and Poke were to be sent to St. Mark's with him, while it was by no means impossible that one or two others of the club might join the colony. He looked forward eagerly to his year at the big school, but with a sensible understanding that good scholarship would be much to his advantage.

Sam lacked the mathematical talent of the Shark, just as he had no such peculiar knack as Step showed in Greek. The tall youth shone in translations from the tongue of Xenophon and Homer in a manner which was wholly inexplicable to his friends--as they frequently remarked with much feeling. In Latin Step was a mediocre performer; his French left much to be desired, but when it came to Greek--"Why, he eats it alive!" was Poke's admiring declaration. Sam, being without such special genius, found none of his studies very easy--and, no doubt, profited the more in mental drill because he had to work for what he gained. His class rank was good, if not distinguished; and he stood well with the school principal and the other instructors, who saw that he was an influential fellow among his mates, including many who were not of the charmed circle of the club.

Trudging to school one morning--it was several days after the affair of the runaway--Sam fell in with Poke, who appeared to be in a curious mood. Ordinarily, Poke was a cheery soul, and good-natured, but this day gloom was upon him. He answered Sam's hail with something very like a growl; and when they fell into step, he groaned unmistakably as response to the other's remark that it "wasn't such a bad morning."

Sam looked at him wonderingly.

"What's the row?" he asked.

Poke dug his hands deeper into his pockets, and sank his chin in his coat-collar.

"Oh, nothing!" He said it as dismally as if everything had gone wrong.

"Don't you feel well?"

"Well enough--that isn't it."

"But what is, then?"

Poke hesitated; he seemed to be struggling between eagerness and reluctance.

"I--I--well, something's going to happen."

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Just wish I knew!" cried Poke fervently.

Sam took him by the shoulder, and shook him vigorously.

"Wake up, Poke! You're dreaming."

Oddly enough, Poke caught at the suggestion.

"It was a dream, all right, but it wasn't a common dream. I tell you, it was a--er--er--it must have been a warning!"

"What sort of warning?"

Poke wagged his head heavily. "My! but I wish to-day was safely over!" he said ominously.

Sam laughed. It was a skeptical laugh, but it had a trace of uneasiness.

"Go on! You're joking!"

Poke heaved a tremendous sigh. "Well, I guess you wouldn't be talking about joking if you'd had that dream yourself!"

"What was it about?"

Poke broke off; for round a corner came the Shark and Step Jones. And, of a sudden, it had occurred to the seer of visions that the Shark was the last person of his acquaintance who was likely to show sympathy for such a tale. But the newcomers had caught part of his speech.

"What you driving at, Poke?" Step inquired. "Talking about dreams, weren't you? Go ahead!"

"Oh, it's nothing of any importance," said Poke hastily.

"Huh! Seemed to be important enough a minute ago," Step remarked. "What was the yarn, Sam?"

Poke preferred to do his own explaining, if explanation there had to be.

"I was telling Sam a story--yes; a story about a dream I had last night. And--well, I was telling him, too, that it worried me. It wasn't a common dream--not by a long shot! And--and if you've got to have the whole thing, it is worrying me a lot! There's trouble brewing for somebody, a heap of trouble."

Step regarded Poke with wide-opened eyes and sagging jaw, but the Shark's lip curled scornfully.

"Nonsense!" he jeered.

"I tell you, it was a warning!" Poke insisted.

"Warning of what?"

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