“I can’t,” said Dexter; “it’s too deep.”
“Well, then, swim. I could swim that with one hand tied behind.”
“I couldn’t,” said Dexter, hesitating, for it was no pleasant task to plunge into the little gliding river at midnight, and with all dark around.
“Now then! Look alive! Don’t make a splash.”
“Oh!”
“What’s the matter?”
“It is cold.”
“Yah! Then, get back to bed with you, and let me go alone.”
“I’m coming as fast as I can,” said Dexter, as he lowered himself into the stream, and then rapidly climbed out again, as the cold water caused a sudden catching of the breath; and a nervous shrinking from trusting himself in the dark river made him draw right away from the edge.
“Why, you ain’t swimming,” said Bob. “Here, look sharp! Why, you ain’t in!”