Terry’s blond head was the first to appear. Then as the aviator’s came popping up, facing the other way, young Walters seized him by the shoulders and sent him under once more.
“Let the man alone, Terry!” commanded Dorothy. “Can’t you see he’s swallowed half the Sound?”
“But he’d have brained me with that wrench, Dot—”
“I’ll ‘Dot’ you if you take liberties with my first name!” Miss Dixon shook her fist above her head, “Anyway, it’s my fault. I butted in. That man and his plane are none of our business.”
They were swimming back toward the float now and a glance over her shoulder told Dorothy that their late antagonist was pulling himself aboard the amphibian.
Terry saw him too, and waved a hand. But the foreigner, occupied in wringing water out of his clothes, disregarded them.
“I’ve had enough of the water for one day,” declared Dorothy between strokes. “How’s the wrist? You might have been badly hurt, Terry.”
Terry motioned toward the float. “But I wasn’t, old thing,” he chuckled. “Come over to the raft a moment, before we go ashore. I’ve got something I want to show you.”
“Make it snappy, then,” she rejoined. “You and I have got to be at Silvermine by seven-thirty, you know. Curtain up at eight-thirty—and you remember what Mr. Watkins said about any of the cast being late?”
Terry swung himself up on the decking and gave a hand to Dorothy.