“It was no credit to me to swim back,” said Wilfred; “I had to or else drown. Call it one mile—you can’t call it two.”
“You make me tired!” laughed Wig. “Why, that was farther than across Black Lake and back. Were you tired?”
“No, just wet,” said Wilfred.
“You’re a wonder!” said Wig; “I don’t see why you don’t keep in practise. Just because you don’t live near the ocean any more—gee whiz! Is a mile the most you ever swam? I bet you’ve done a whole lot of things you’ve never told us about. You’re one of those quiet, deliver-the-goods fellows.”
“C. O. D.” said Wilfred; “I mean F. O. B.; I mean N. O. T.”
“Yeees, you can’t fool me,” said Wig. “How far have you sw——”
“Swum, swimmed, swam?” laughed Wilfred, amused. “Well, about two and a half miles—maybe three.”
“More like four, I bet,” said Wig. “Why don’t you go in now, anyway? I mean up here at camp.”
“It’s because my shoe-lace is broken and it’s too much trouble unfastening a knot more than once a day.”
“There’s where you give yourself away,” laughed Wig. “Because you can tie and untie every knot in the handbook.”