"I was afraid you were done for, too!" and there was thanksgiving in Bobby's voice. "How did it happen you got into the water? Did the ice hit the skiff?"
"I don't know how it happened," said Jimmy. "I don't think the ice hit the skiff, but it all came so suddenly I don't know."
"Well, here we are, and out there's the boat, and we've got to get it," declared Bobby. "I'm going for it."
"No, let me go. I'm wet anyhow, and I'm all right for it," Jimmy protested. "I might have brought it in with me, but I didn't see it."
"I'm going," declared Bobby, with an accent that left no doubt he was, as he pulled off his clothes, and his sealskin boots. "You've had your dip, and I'm going to have one now—the first of the year."
"It's pretty cold," Jimmy cautioned. "I've been in, and I'm used to it, and don't mind it."
But Bobby was in, and swimming for the skiff. It was, fortunately, not above fifty or sixty feet away, for the whole occurrence had taken place within a very few minutes' time, and the boat had not yet had time to drift beyond reach.
A few strokes carried Bobby to the submerged skiff. He secured the painter, which was attached to the bow, and with some hard tugging reached the iceberg, and climbed up with Jimmy's assistance.
"You'd better take off your things and wring 'em out, while I dress," Bobby suggested, as he drew his clothes on.
"I guess I had," Jimmy agreed.