“You won’t brag and chuck it in my face afterwards that you got us out of the hole?”
“Do you think I should be such a donkey?” cried Aleck. “Why, look here, I’m going to try and chance it, but I don’t believe I shall get through. Never mind about who’s to be first. Let’s do all we can to make sure of escaping. Now, then, shall we try now, or wait till the water’s at its lowest? It’s going down now.”
“If we wait till the tide’s at its lowest it will be slack water, and we shall get no help. It’s running out now, and we can see the shape of the arch.”
“Yes, and how rugged and weed-hung it is. I say, I don’t like the look of it. You’d better go first.”
“Very well,” said the middy, promptly, and he began taking off his jacket.
“Hold hard,” cried Aleck, hurriedly stripping off his own. “Come along.”
He led the way to the edge of the water where, though not the nearest, the best leap off seemed to present itself, and then stood perfectly still, gazing down into the softly illuminated water, quivering and wreathing as it ran softly out, and looking dim and blurred through being kept so much in motion by the retiring waves.
“Then you still mean to go?” said the middy.
“Of course. But what shall I do—strip, or try in my clothes?”
“Strip, decidedly,” cried the middy.