But he altered his mind directly, and swam back toward the mouth of the cave.
“Why, you haven’t begun yet,” he cried. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“Ye–es, directly,” replied Max, but without making an effort to remove a garment, till he caught sight of a derisive look upon Kenneth’s face—a look which made the hot blood flush up to his cheeks, and acted as such a spur to his lagging energies, that in a very few minutes he was ready, and, after satisfying himself that the water was not too deep, he lowered himself slowly down, gasping as the cold, bracing wave reached his chest, and as it were electrified him.
“You shouldn’t get in like that,” cried Kenneth, roaring with laughter. “Head first and—”
Max did not hear the rest. In his inexperience he did not realise the facts that transparent water is often deeper than it looks, and that seaweed under water is more slippery than ice.
One moment he was listening to Kenneth’s mocking words; the next, his feet, which were resting upon a piece of rock below, had glided off in different directions, and he was beneath the surface, struggling wildly till he rose, and then only to descend again as if in search of the bottom of the great natural bath-house.
“Why, what a fellow you are!” was the next thing he heard, as Kenneth held him up. “There, you can touch bottom here. That’s right; stand up. Steady yourself by holding this bit of rock.”
Half blind, choking with the harsh, strangling water which had gone where nature only intended the passage of air, and with a hot, scalding sensation in his nostrils, and the feeling as of a crick at the back of his neck, Max clung tenaciously to the piece of rock, and stood with the water up to his chin, sputtering loudly, and ending with a tremendous sneeze.
“Bravo! that’s better,” cried Kenneth. “No, no, don’t get out. You’ve got over the worst of it now. You ought to try and swim.”
“No. I must get out now. Help me,” panted Max. “Was I nearly drowned?”