“You said forty-six a minute ago!”
“Or forty-six, is too cold for fast swimming. You ask any one.”
“How about the fellow that Arn told about who swam to Sandy Hook? I suppose some one went ahead of him in a boat and dragged a hot water bag, eh? Like fun! Look here, Frank, I’ll race you back to the launch and settle it. What do you say to that?”
“I say no. I’m tuckered out, and the water’s too cold——”
A cry of appeal interrupted him. Toby scrambled to his feet and gazed toward the launch.
“What is it?” asked Frank.
“Some one yelled. I thought it might be Arn.”
Toby gazed frowningly across the sunlit water, his eyes for the moment defeated by the dancing rays. Frank climbed to his feet and joined him at the edge of the float.
“I don’t see him on the launch,” he muttered uneasily. “And I don’t see——”
“I do! There he is!” Toby shot a swift arm outward, pointing, just as a second cry came across the water. “He’s in trouble! Come on now! Here’s you chance to show what you can do! If you don’t like to take my wash, swim!”