"What's the matter with those microbes? Can't they have a little fun without drowning the child? Red Phillips is as gentle as a wild dog, and Cloudman's no better——"
Phillips' hectic thatch shot to the surface. He rose breast high, dashed the water from his eyes, and squawked:
"Where is he?"
"Hasn't come up!" roared Midkiff. "He's tangled up in that nightshirt somewhere down there."
Red disappeared, and John wrenched his way into the clinging woolen upper half of his bathing suit. Cloudman's red face appeared. He blew like a whale.
"Didn't the kid come up, fellers?" he gasped, having cleared his mouth of water.
"No. He's down there. Get after him!" commanded Midkiff, preparing to throw himself over the boat's side.
A mellow chuckle from behind him made the big fellow pause. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what Rex Kingdon found to laugh about in this serious moment. There were two hands clinging to the port rail, and the grinning face of Peewee was in sight above it, as he hung on. He had dived under the catboat's keel, and was perfectly safe while Red and Cloudman combed the depths on the other side.
"Let 'em look," he begged. "Big loafers! Took two of 'em to throw me in, at that."
This amused Kingdon much more than it did his roommate. Midkiff glowered at the shrewd face of the youngster.