"Good gracious. What's the beggar up to?" asked Jack, who had imagined that Patch had dived into the deeper part of the bath. "I say," he went on, as Patch's head appeared, "you can swim—after all?"
"Swim—glug!" said Patch, as a wavelet curved into his conveniently-opened mouth. "No—help! I'm drowning—glug!"
He paddled his way frantically to a ladder near by, and hauled himself out.
"You asked me to look slippy, and I slipped!" he said. "Believe me, it's no joke. How far did the water fall when I swallowed that little lot—ugh! I had a young Niagara trickling down my throat! Comrade, does it all taste like that?"
Jack choked with laughter. "Mind your step," he warned. "Here, this is the shallow end. Hop in—it's only up to your waist."
He prepared to demonstrate the art of kicking while holding to a step on the level of the water, and Septimus appeared to manage that part of the business well enough. Jack then showed his study-mate a few simple arm movements, and invited Septimus to try while being supported in the water by his middle.
After a few minutes of this sport, Patch wriggled out of his mentor's grasp and spluttered indignantly.
"Do you want to drown me?" he asked. "I'll buy a gun and let you shoot me—it'd be quicker."
"Why, what's up?"
"Up, do you say? Down more fits it—at least that's where my head was, under water, while you were watching my feet! I don't want to die a lingering death, thanks. I've had enough for the first lesson—and I'd like to take the others by post."