“Not you, lad; there is not a finer swimmer nowhere,” said the old man enthusiastically; “and I’m glad you’ve made up your mind at last to take the dive.”
“I’ve not made up my mind,” said the young man coolly.
“Not made up your mind!” cried several.
“No,” replied the bather.
“Why, you said just now as you would do it!” cried the man with his hands in his pockets.
“Ay, so he did,” was chorused.
“Not I,” said Harry quietly; “and if you will all clear off, and let me have my swim in peace, I shall be much obliged.”
“Why, you are a coward, then,” said the man with his hands in his pockets, and to show his disgust he began to sprinkle the boulders about with tobacco-juice.
“I suppose I am,” said Harry Paul, smiling. “I can’t help it. I suppose it is my nature.”
“Bah!” growled the grey-haired man, who, as one of the oldest fishermen, was looked up to as an authority. “You aren’t a coward, Master Harry; it’s only ’cause you want to make a plucky effort, don’t you? Just you make up your mind to do it, and you’d do it like a shot.”