“Haven’t lobsters got shells?”
“Yes.”
“And aren’t they red?”
“Why, of course they are.”
“Well, don’t they always throw the shells out on the heap by the pig-sty?” cried Bigley. “And there hasn’t been one there since I came home. Old Bill has been too busy making a new net to go lobstering.”
“I say, what a day for a bathe!” cried Bob suddenly, as we approached the big rock which formed out here a point, from which a series of smaller rocks ran right to sea, for the heads of some were level with the surface, and others only appeared at times.
“Why, you couldn’t bathe here,” said Big; “you ought to know that.”
“Why not?” cried Bob.
“Because the tide hits against those rocks, and then runs right out to sea like the river runs down the Gap after a storm.”
“Oh, I don’t believe all these old stories,” cried Bob contemptuously; “and suppose it did run out, couldn’t I swim out of the stream and come ashore?”