Biff’s hand touched a large shell. He dug it out and discarded it. It was a clam. He ran into a nest of oysters. He quickly filled his basket and gave the signal to haul up. Minutes later, the basket came down, swaying in the water at the bottom of the line.
The boys worked slowly, carefully, feeling their way. Every so often, a large fish would swim up to them, coming right to the face masks as if to ask, “What are you doing down here?”
Biff kept a sharp check on his watch. He knew his air tank had sufficient air to remain submerged for one hour. It also had a five-minute emergency supply in addition. Biff had no intention of waiting until he had to use the extra air. After being down fifty-five minutes, he signaled Derek. With his forefinger, he pointed upward. Derek got the idea. The boys began their slow ascent.
Rising, looking up toward the surface, they could see the dory outlined above, a fat, cigar-shaped blob.
Breaking water as they surfaced, each boy grabbed the dory’s gunwale. They were both tired. Neither had realized how the water pressure at forty-five feet had sapped their strength. They had been down nearly an hour.
“You don’t know what a tough job diving is until you’ve been down for a good spell,” Charlie said. He leaned over the side and helped the boys into the boat.
They took off their diving equipment.
“Had enough for today, boys?” Biff’s uncle inquired.
“Oh, no. We’ll go down again. After we rest,” Biff replied. “All right with you, Derek?”
Derek nodded his head.