“Tchah! Nonsense. That squat little wooden-legged man couldn’t swim.”
But at the end of what seemed to be a long period they heard a louder splash, followed by another, and the illuminated water began to dance and a curious ebullition to be faintly seen.
Then there was a panting sigh, and a familiar voice cried:
“Where’bouts are yer?”
“Here, here!” cried the lads, in a breath, and the next minute they were conscious of something swimming towards them, which took shape more and more till they saw that it was a man swimming on his back.
“What cheer-ho!” came now, in the midst of a lot of splashing. “Lend us a hand, my lads, for I’m all at sea here. Thanky! Steady! Let’s get soundings for my legs. Mind bringing that lanthorn a bit forrarder? That’s right; now I can see where I go.”
Tom Bodger had managed to find a hold for his stumps, and stood shaking himself as well as he could for the fact that he had a lad holding tightly on to each hand.
“Well, yer don’t feel like ghostses, my lads!” cried the sailor. “This here’s solid flesh and bone, and it’s rayther disappynting like.”
“Disappointing, Tom?”
“Yes, Master Aleck. Yer see, your uncle says: ‘You find the poor lad’s remains, Bodger,’—remains, that’s what he called it—‘and I’ll give yer a ten-pound Bank o’ Hengland note,’ he says.”