“My, but you’re a corker,” exclaimed Timothy Peppercorn, breathlessly. “I thought Genevieve was pretty good, but you’re the best I have ever seen.”
“Thank you,” answered Billie, as she swung herself on the raft.
Many other swimmers dotted the surf that morning and groups of people in light clothes sat about on the shining strand. Splendid palm trees and poincianas made a cool green background to the lovely shore, and Billie half closed her eyes as she lay on the raft, so as to make a picture she might carry in her mind always. She had not noticed that Timothy was too winded to hoist himself on the raft.
Her attention was presently attracted by a frolicking group of swimmers coming toward the raft. In the midst of them, puffing and snorting like a Triton, was a jolly big fat man whom they called Duffy. Mr. Duffy had a red rubber ball—not much redder or rounder indeed than his own face—which he was tossing ahead of them on the water while the others raced to get it.
“Let’s get in the game,” called Timothy as the ball skipped toward them over the waves.
Billie dived off the raft and came up just where she had seen the ball strike, but some one seized it and tossed it a score of yards away. There is always a swimmer in a water party who does reckless and dangerous things. This time it was the individual who had seized the ball before Billie could get it. One by one the other swimmers left off chasing and made for shore. Mr. Duffy, turning his immense frame over, floated away on his back in happy oblivion. But the stranger, pitching the ball again as far as he could send it, challenged Timothy to race for it.
It was in vain that Genevieve, who had at that moment reached the raft, protested and looked coldly at the man whose back was turned. Timothy darted off in the water while the two girls watched his red head uneasily as it rose and fell on the white-tipped waves.
Both swimmers reached the ball at the same moment, struggled over it, and then that reckless, inhuman stranger tossed it further out to sea.
“Idiots!” cried Genevieve, beating her hands helplessly together as she sat on the side of the raft.
All the other swimmers had gone ashore now and were making for the bath houses, while loiterers on the beach were scattering to the tennis courts and golf links or the morning concert in Cocoanut Grove.