“I’ll tell you that later,” said George doggedly, and he made as if to start down the beach. John, however, seized him and held him firmly.
“Please don’t try it,” he begged. “You’ll only drown.”
“Let me go,” exclaimed George.
“Think ob dem sha’ks,” said Sam. “Dey’s millions ob dem out dar.”
“That’s right, Pop,” cried Grant. “Think of those sharks. Even if you could swim that far the sharks would get you.”
“Put your clothes on again,” said Fred. “We need you worse than we do the boat.”
The argument about the sharks had more influence on George than anything else. He did not mind the ocean, but the thought of its hungry inhabitants was too much for him. He yielded to the pleas of his comrades and slowly began to put on his clothes.
“What’ll we do?” he said dazedly. “It looks as if we were stranded.”
“I guess we are,” agreed Grant grimly. “We’ll have to sit here and wait until some steamer happens by and picks us up.”
“But how will any one know we’re here?” said George.