The water closed over my head and stilled her hateful voice.
"No," she was saying as I came up for the third time; "I can't do it. If I make an exception of one I must make an exception of all."
Although I hated to be rude about it, having always disliked forcing myself upon people, I decided on my fourth trip down that unless I wanted to be a dead sailor I had better be taking steps. It was almost too late. There wasn't enough wind left in me to fatten a small sized bubble.
"There he is again!" she cried in a petulant voice as I once more appeared. "Why doesn't he go away?"
"He's just about to—for good!" said the other lady. With a pitiful yap I struck out feebly in the general direction of the shore. It wouldn't work. My arms refused to move. Then quite suddenly and deliriously I felt two soft, cool arms enfold me, and my head sank back on a delicately unholstered shoulder. Somehow it reminded me of the old days.
"Home, James," I murmured, as I was slowly towed to shore. Just before closing my eyes I caught a fleeting glimpse of a young lady clad in one of the one-piecest one-piece bathing suits I had ever seen. She was bending over me sympathetically.
"Private property!" cried my tormentor, shaking a finger at me. "What a pity!" I thought as I closed my eyes and drifted off into sweet dreams in which Mr. Fogerty, my beautiful rescuer, and myself were dancing hand-and-hand on the parade ground to the music of the massed band, much to the edification of the entire station assembled in review formation.
Presently I awoke to the hateful strains of this old hard-shell's voice:
"See what you've done!" she was saying to the young girl. "You've brought in a half naked man, and now that he has seen you in a much worse condition than he is, we'll have ten thousand sailors swimming out to this island in one continuous swarm."
"Oh, won't that be fun!" cried the girl. And from that time on, in spite of the objections of her mother, we were fast friends.