'Old Triton waits.'
'Why?'
'We 're going to him.'
'Yes?'
'Customs of the sea.'
'Tell me.'
'He joins hands. We say, “Browny-Matey,” and it 's done.'
She splashed, crying 'Swim,' and after two strokes, 'You want to beat me, Matey Weyburn.'
'How?'
'Not fair!'