Act of Heroism Performed on Charles as Dare-Devil Rescues Goalpost From a Watery Grave

"Est in aqua dulci non invidiosa voluptas," said Ovid, and he must have been right. At any rate, one of the more overstimulated spectators of Saturday's debacle went after the sweet water of the Charles in a big way.

When the howling band had emerged from the Stadium with the goal post they careened down the river bank, where by an unhappy mischance, it fell into the torrent. Loud was the wailing at the sad event; equally great was the pleasure of the assembled multitudes when one of the members of the throng stepped forward, pulled up his pants to his knees, and ran into the water to his waist. Seizing the floating trophy, he was about to remount the bank, when he was seized with the happy idea that it was now his, and his alone.

The decision was quickly made. Turning to the right, he retreated a few yards into the stream, and began towing the pole upstream toward Newell. Arrived near the end of the float, he pushed the post ahead, swam to the dock, climbed nimbly out, and hoisted up his prize. Secure from the angrily shouting crowd, he turned and politely doffed his hat three times, then proceeded across the float to the far side, dragging the guerdon.

But the baffled onlookers were made of sterling stuff. Howling with rage, a few of the nimbler spirits began to scale the palings around the dock. Like a frightened gazelle, our hero, resourceful as ever, ran to the end of the float, pushed the log into the middle of the stream, untied the Leviathan, and pushed off just as the enemy swarmed over the fence and advanced in skirmish formation. Paddling vigorously with his hands, he was soon in midstream, and was nearing his prize when of a sudden his progress was stopped, for unhappily he had forgotten to untie the stern of the boat!

His face contorted with rage, he paddled the harder, but in vain, and on seeing himself nearing the shore, he leaped overboard with a shrill cry of despair and began to swim away. Though his efforts were heroic, his progress was practically nil, and some thirty seconds later he was rapidly overhauled by a long arm, which ignominiously lifted and deposited him in the bottom of the boat, defeated, but not discouraged, thwarted, but not downhearted, but very, very wet.