“I never dreamed camping out was such hard work,” grumbled Sleuth.
“Work!” returned Rod. “Why, we haven’t worked, any of us; it’s nothing but play. Hurry up, Pipe, for we’re going in swimming pretty soon.”
“And me all hot and reeking like this? Now that’s a pretty trick to play on a fellow, get him overheated and then announce that you’re going in swimming.”
“We’ll wait till you cuc-cool off some,” promised Springer.
Half an hour later, feeling secure from observation, they stripped off their clothes and went plumping, one after another, into the cool, inviting water off the bold rocks of the point. The delight of it set them tingling and shouting joyously as they disported themselves like porpoises.
“It’s great!” cried Crane. “Warm! I never saw the water so warm. Somebody get a white stone. Let’s dive.”
A white rock twice the size of a hen’s egg was found and tossed into the water, and one after another they took turns diving for it, casting it each time, when recovered, a little further from the shore. Grant proved himself the most expert at this diversion, for he brought up the stone, after all the others had failed to find it, in particularly deep water. In impromptu races, also, the Texan was able to defeat any one of them, although Springer pushed him hard.
“I took swimming lessons at school,” he explained. “After a fellow gets so he reckons he can swim about as well as anybody he will usually learn a lot by taking lessons from a good instructor.”
They were loath to come out, but presently Rodney urged them to do so, and, after a vigorous rubbing with rough towels, they dressed and found themselves bubbling with fresh vigor, like a lot of young colts.
As the sun declined and the afternoon waned Springer mentioned the fact that the time for evening fishing was approaching.