“Sam and I are going to jump; because when we dive head-first we get water up our nose,” explained Phil Ruthers.
“Aw, it’s only eight or ten feet!” protested Hal.
“Just the same, I’m not going to get water up my nose,” declared Sam, irritated.
“Make ready,” warned Ned, again; and the boys poised for the plunge.
“One—two—three!” cried Ned.
With six splashes, almost like one, they struck the water and disappeared, the four divers entering in regulation style, but Sam and Phil upright, each with one hand closing tight his precious nose.
In a moment heads bobbed, one after another, above the surface, their owners shaking them vigorously and snorting and blowing, while lustily swimming, hand over hand, for the breakwater.
This the boys climbed from in front by sticking their toes into the wide cracks between the lines of timbers, and by clinging to protruding bolts. Once more on the top, they were resting, and chaffing when, in a startled tone, Hal exclaimed:
“Why—where’s Tom?”
Quite so; where was Tom? Six figures had left the breakwater, but only five were upon it now! The boys looked at each other inquiringly.