Before she could answer Tom was at her side. He looked keenly at Langridge and was about to make some reply when the 'varsity pitcher reached out as though to link his arm in that of the girl. Miss Tyler drew back and Langridge edged himself forward. He may have been merely eager or it may have been the result of intention. At any rate, he jostled Tom to one side and the next minute the pitcher of the scrub, vainly endeavoring to retain his balance, toppled into the cold water of the river. CHAPTER XX A GAME OF ANOTHER SORT "Oh!" screamed Miss Tyler. "He'll be drowned! Save him, some one!" There was much commotion on the float. The crowd surged to the edge and it tilted dangerously. "Get back! get back!" cried Dan Woodhouse. "Get a boathook, some one!" "We will!" cried the Jersey twins, and together they darted for the place where the rowing craft were stored. Langridge seemed stupefied at the result of his act. He stood there, peering down into the water beneath which Tom had disappeared. "Get back, I tell you! Get back!" yelled Woodhouse. "We can't get him out if you tilt the float so. We'll all be in the water!" Understanding this, the crowd of lads and girls moved back. Captain Woodhouse was peering over the edge of the dock, looking for a sight of Tom, and meanwhile was taking off his coat and vest, preparatory to a plunge in. "There he is! I see his head!" suddenly cried Miss Tyler, and she pointed to a dark object barely visible in the shadows that were settling down over the river. "I'll get him!" cried Langridge thickly, but he could not seem to unbutton his coat. "Look out!" cried a voice, and a tall, lithe figure, clad only in a rowing jersey and trunks, pattered in bare feet down the length of the float. "It's Fenmore!" exclaimed several, and the tall sophomore, who had been out in a single shell and who, arriving at the float, had understood what had happened, plunged in. He swam quickly to Tom, who seemed bewildered and unable to help himself. But, if he was dazed, which they later found to be the case, he had sense enough to let Fenmore rescue him in the proper fashion and was soon being lifted out on the float. His face was pale and blood from a cut on his forehead trickled down one cheek. "Much hurt?" asked Dan Woodhouse as he put his arms about Tom. "No--not--not much," gasped the rescued one. "I hit my head on the edge and that dazed me. I couldn't strike out, and I swallowed some--some water," he gulped. "Can you walk?" "Sure. I'm all right now," but Tom began to shiver, for the evening had turned cool and the water was not yet right for bathing. "Here, take my cloak for him!" exclaimed Miss Tyler, impulsively holding out a thin wrap which was more for appearance than utility. "It will keep him warm." "It will ruin it," declared Tom. "I'm as wet as a rat." "No matter!" cried the girl imperiously, and she tried to wrap it about Tom's shoulders.