“Then, where were you going to swim to—Swansea?” he cried.
“I don’t know, sir,” I said dolefully.
“No more do I,” he snarled. “’Cross the sea to Ireland, eh? And no biscuit and water. Ah, you ought to be all rope’s-ended. How came you on the rock?”
I told him.
“Lucky I saw you all standing on it white-skinned against the black rocks. I see you all dive in and took my spy-glass, and see you swimming this way, and when I told Binnacle Bill, he said just what I thought, that you was swimming out to the lugger, and wouldn’t do it, and so I took the boat and come to you, and I’m sorry I did now.”
“Sorry, sir?” I said.
“Ay, sorry. You’re a set o’ young swabs. What’s the good of either of you but to give trouble. Here, where are your clothes? Under the cliff?”
“No, sir,” I said dolefully. “We undressed on the big flat rock there, and tied them up in bundles.”
“Bundles? Where are they then?”
“Lost mine,” said Bob, speaking for the first time.