“Look here, Stephen Goodfellow, I can navigate this dingy without so many orders; so, let me alone!” the helmsman retorted, indignantly.
“Now, boys,” said Will, “if we are mariners, let us behave ourselves. A captain and his crew always act in harmony, like a drummer’s drum and a tooter’s horn.”
“Of course,” chimed in Charley. “They don’t wrangle like a couple of bumpkins of boys in their collarless shirt sleeves.”
“What’s a dingey?” asked Jim.
“I—I believe it isn’t in my dictionary; but it’s a good-for-nothing craft, that is always an eyesore to the noodle that harbors it,” said George.
The punt was headed for the beach; but a decided swell, which had hitherto been in their favor, was now against them, and progress was slow. By dint of exertion however, in the course of time, they grounded their craft at the water’s edge, and sprang out to enjoy their bath. The gloomy speculations about the weather were forgotten, and not one noticed the threatening clouds looming up in the west.
The old sailor had not trifled with them; a storm was brewing.
Although their swimming-place was somewhat difficult of approach, it was retired and delightful, the great resort of all the swimmers in the neighborhood. That was the only drawback; it was too much resorted to by swimmers. But to-day the boys had it all to themselves.
“Well,” said Marmaduke, as he plunged into the water, “we boys and the rest of the folks are acquainted with a good place to swim in, as the Frenchman would say.”