“Kill the nasty, bloaty thing, and throw it in for bait for the fishes.”
“No, no,” I said, “put it down and let it creep back. It will grow into a fine crab, and we know its hole and can come and get it some day when the tide’s down.”
“That’s it,” said Big; and taking the pulpy, soft crab, which pinched at his hands without the slightest effect, he crept back and thrust it into its hiding-place once again.
We two were looking in after him when—thud!—plash!—came a wave, breaking just below us and drenching us from head to foot, while a quantity of the water rushed into our baled-out hole, filled it, and began running swiftly up the channel, so swiftly that we saw at a glance it would only take another or two to fill the upper pool.
“Here, come out, Big. Quick!” I cried. “Tide’s coming in. Now, Bob, get the baskets and nets.”
I ran down a few yards, and was only just in time to snatch mine up before a wave washed right over the spot where they had lain. For the tide was coming in rapidly, and, as I have shown, we were on a part of the shore that was only bare about once a month.
“All right,” cried Bob. “I’ve got mine and old Big’s.”
“Where are Big’s shoes?” I said.
“Down by the pool. Come on, Big, old chap,” shouted Bob.
“I’ll get them,” I said, and I ran to the bottom pool and had to fish them out of the bottom where they had been left.