“Well, there ought to be,” grumbled the lad. “Aren’t you going to have another try?”
“No. Are you?”
“Not if I know it,” replied the middy. “Once is quite enough for a trip of that kind.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to get out by swimming.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like it; but the smugglers get in.”
“Yes, at certain times.”
“Then this is an uncertain time, I suppose!” said the middy, beginning to dress.
“Hadn’t we better get round and have a good rub with a bit of sail?” asked Aleck.
“No; we can’t carry our clothes without getting them wet, and if we don’t take them it means coming all the way round here again. Let’s dress as we are; the salt water will soon dry.”
“Very well,” said Aleck, and he followed his companion’s example with much satisfaction to his feelings, listening the while to the middy’s plaints and grumblings, for he had been under water long enough to make him feel something like resuscitated people, exceedingly discontented and ill-humoured.