“Pray don’t touch you!” cried Kenneth. “Here, Scood, he has come down here to learn to swim, and he’s holding on like a girl at a Rothesay bathing-machine. Let’s duck him.”
Max uttered an imploring cry, but it was of no use. Kenneth swam up, and with a touch seemed to pluck him from his hold, and drew him out into the middle of the place, while directly after, Scood, who seemed more than ever like a seal, dived into the cave, and came up on Max’s other side.
“Join hands, Scood,” cried Kenneth.
Scood passed his hand under Max, and Kenneth caught it, clasping it beneath the struggling lad’s chest.
“Now then, let’s swim out with him.”
“Ant let him swim back. She’ll soon learn,” cried Scood.
“No, pray don’t! You’ll drown me!” gasped Max, as he clung excitedly to the hands beneath him; and then, to his horror, he felt himself borne right out of the cave, into the sunshine, the two lads bearing him up easily enough between them, till they were fully fifty yards away from the mouth.
Partly from dread, partly from a return of nerve, Max had, during the latter part of his novel ride through the bracing water, remained perfectly silent and quiescent, but the next words that were spoken sent a shock through him greater than the first chill of the water.
“Now then!” cried Scood. “Let go! She’ll get back all alone, and learn to swim.”
“No, no, not this time,” said Kenneth. “We’ll take him back now. He’ll soon learn, now he finds how easy it is. Turn round, Scood.”