“Going to take a swim, boys?” asked the “Y” man. Then he added in a tone of conviction, “That's great.”
“Better come in, too,” said Andrews.
“Thanks, thanks.... Say, if you don't mind my suggestion, why don't you fellers get under the water.... You see there's two French girls looking at you from the road.” The “Y” man giggled faintly.
“They don't mind,” said Andrews soaping, himself vigorously.
“Ah reckon they lahk it,” said Chrisfield.
“I know they haven't any morals.... But still.”
“And why should they not look at us? Maybe there won't be many people who get a chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever seen what a little splinter of a shell does to a feller's body?” asked Andrews savagely. He splashed into the shallow water and swam towards the middle of the pond.
“Ye might ask 'em to come down and help us pick the cooties off,” said Chrisfield and followed in Andrews's wake. In the middle he lay on a sand bank in the warm shallow water and looked back at the “Y” man, who still stood on the bank. Behind him were other men undressing, and soon the grassy slope was filled with naked men and yellowish grey underclothes, and many dark heads and gleaming backs were bobbing up and down in the water. When he came out, he found Andrews sitting cross-legged near his clothes. He reached for his shirt and drew it on him.