"Plain and fancy swimming and diving, surfboarding, how to dodge the breakers, how to cheat the undertow, rescue and resuscitation—can you swim, my lad?"
"No, sir, but I wisht I could."
"We have a very fine course in swimming, madam. We positively guarantee to teach swimming in ten lessons or money refunded. All the latest strokes: overhand, trudgeon, crawl, shoulder-stroke—"
"No, not to-day," interrupted Mrs. Westfall. "It's too dangerous. I don't want my boy going into the water."
"Aw, mama, let me learn to swim!" whined Biscuit. "I'm the only boy in town that can't swim!"
"Karl! Be still! It's too dangerous!"
"Pardon me, madam, but it is no more dangerous than playing the piano! By our up-to-date system the student is taught to swim without so much as touching the tip of his finger to the water!"
"A lot of expensive apparatus, I suppose."
"No apparatus whatever! We teach it in the home! Only the smooth top of a kitchen table is required. Individual instruction by mail. And bear in mind that our iron-bound guarantee goes with every course. Money back if not satisfactory."
"How much does it cost?" she asked weakly.