The lad's glance followed the pointing finger. There was hardly a ripple on the sea, but a long slow lazy swell suggested a storm afar off. Slight as the swell was, it struck Tillamook Rock with a vengeful spirit. Long white claws of foam tore vainly at the grim reef's sides and the roar of the surf filled the air.
"Mill-pond, eh?" said the inspector. "Well, I can see where I get good and wet in that same mill-pond."
He slipped on a slicker and a sou'wester.
"You'd better dig up some oilskins, Eric," he said. "Any of the men will let you have them."
The boy slipped off part of his clothes, standing up in undershirt and trousers.
"I like it better this way," he said.
The old inspector looked at his son with approval and even admiration. Considering his years, the lad was wonderfully well developed, largely as a result of swimming, and his summer with the Volunteer Corps had sunburned him as brown as a piece of weathered oak.
"I think I'd rather go in that kind of a costume myself," his father said, with a chuckle, "but I'm afraid it would hardly do for my official uniform on an inspection trip!"
As he spoke, the rattle of the boat-davits was heard.
"Come along then, lad," said the inspector. "Just a moment, though. Don't get any fool idea about showing off with any kind of a swimming performance. You just be good and thankful to be hauled up by a crane!"