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Indeed, it leaves its mark broadly upon Sibyl Dacy's wild legend in "Septimius Felton," and reappears in the last paragraph of that story. But, so far as we can know at this day, nothing definite was done until after his departure for Italy.
And here poor Sibyl Dacy's laugh grew fainter, and dying away, she seemed to die with it; for there she was, with that mirthful, half-malign expression still on her face, but motionless; so that however long Septimius's life was likely to be, whether a few years or many centuries, he would still have her image in his memory so.
The crowd gave vent to a shriek of alarm when they saw Dan Dacy's limp form shoot clear of the wreck and go whirling, arms and legs flying out toward the point where the combers were breaking. Like every one of the five thousand witnesses of the tragedy, the scouts stood paralyzed for a moment but only for a moment Bruce was the first to gather his scattered wits. "Quick, Jiminy! We'll get him!
When the machine reached the wrecked motor car Bruce brought it to an abrupt stop. But already Jimmy had leaped from the machine and plunged into the water. With powerful overhand strokes he breasted the breakers. He seemed to shoot through the water, so mighty were his efforts. Thirty feet out he saw something bobbing upon the surface of the water. It was Dacy's leather helmet.
With her mind only on rescuing the plaything, she had pulled herself out of her nurse's grasp and run out onto the race course. And then when she found herself in the path of certain death she had become panic-stricken. Dan Dacy's heart must have leapt to his throat when he saw the little one in his way. But if it did it in no way affected his nerve.
Dacy's eyelids quivered several times, then slowly opened, whereat the crowd gave a mad cry of joy and the scouts had all they could do to keep them from pressing closer. But one man did break through the circle of guards and the lads let him pass. He was Mr. Herrick.
By the time the three swimmers reached the beach the scouts had cleared Dacy's lungs of water and had started the pulmotor. For twenty minutes the lads worked valiantly, doing everything that they could to bring back life in the unconscious man, while the anxious crowd looked on. Finally their efforts were rewarded.
Indeed, it leaves its mark broadly upon Sibyl Dacy's wild legend in "Septimius Felton," and reappears in the last paragraph of that story. But, so far as we can know at this day, nothing definite was done until after his departure for Italy.
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