“To be sure I did. Look sharp. I’ll wait.”
“Oh, thank you; I’ll just slip on my dressing-gown.”
“Nonsense! You don’t want a bathing-gown,” cried Kenneth. “Here! let me in.”
“Yes, directly,” replied Max; and the next minute he went to the door, where Kenneth was performing some kind of festive dance to the accompaniment of a liberal drumming with his doubled fists upon the panels.
“Ha! ha!” laughed the lad boisterously. “You do look rum like that. Slip on your outside, and come along.”
“But—the bath-room? I—”
“Bath-room! What bath-room?”
“You said you would show me.”
“Get out! I never said anything about a bath-room. I said a bath—a swim—a dip in the sea. Beats all the bath-rooms that were ever born.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Max, who seemed struck almost dumb.