"What was it?" demanded Pete.
"The force of gravitation. I had all I could do to make this shore, let me tell you. I had on sneakers and I put in my best work, for I wanted to get on this side of the channel. At first I thought I was not going to make it but I did at last and here I am."
"Are you hurt any?" asked Fred.
"Hurt? No. I'm as sound as I was when we started."
"You may be as sound," laughed Fred, relieved now by the assurance that John was not injured, "but you're a woe-be-gone looking specimen. I think even you would laugh, String, if you could see yourself. You're like the definition of a line that Mr. Strong gave us in mathematics. You're the shortest distance between two points, a length without breadth or thickness."
"I've heard those words before," said John sharply. "I wish somebody could get up something new if he wants to make remarks concerning my physique. I'm not the one to blame if it doesn't suit you."
"Nobody blames you, Johnnie," laughed Fred. "We're just trying to face the cold facts."
"That's what I'm trying to do too," said John demurely. "I had in my pocket a copy we made, or at least what we thought was a copy, of the records from old Simon Moultrie's diary and they are gone now."
"Are you sure?" asked Fred, startled by the unexpected statement.
"Yes, I'm sure," replied John, turning the pockets inside out as he spoke. "I put them right in here," he explained as he placed his hand upon one pocket.