We all looked, and he turned over on his back, but splashed a good deal to keep himself up. Then all at once he went under, and my heart seemed to stand still, but he came up again directly, shaking his head and spitting.
“Tread water!” he cried; and he seemed to be wading about with difficulty.
“Is it deep there?” I shouted.
“Look,” he cried; and raising his hands above his head he sank out of sight, his hands disappearing too, and then he was up again directly and swam to the bank.
“I wish I could swim like you do,” I said, looking at him with admiration.
“Well, it’s easy enough,” he said. “Come along.”
“Shall I?”
“Yes. Why, what are you afraid of? Nobody ever comes down here except us boys who want a bathe. Slip off your clothes and have a good dip. You’re sure to like it.”
“But I’ve never been used to it,” I protested.
“Then get used to it,” he cried. “I say, boys, he ought to learn, oughtn’t he?”