“Do you funk it?”
“No.”
“Then go in! Hurry up, or we’ll come and help you!”
“I’d—I’d rather go in from the edge,” said the boy.
“You funk the board then?”
The boy looked at the board, then at his tyrants, then at the water.
“I suppose I do,” said he, sulkily.
“Then put on your clothes and cut it,” said Swinstead, scornfully. Then, turning to Heathcote, he shouted. “Now then, young ’un, in you go.”
Heathcote plunged. He was nervous, and splashed more, perhaps, than usual, but it was a tolerable header, on the whole, for a new boy, and the spectators were not displeased with the performance or the swim across the pool and back which followed.
“All right,” said Swinstead; “stick to it, young un, and turn up regularly. Can your chum swim?”