The Portuguese boy had as an incentive two things. One was the hope of a pecuniary reward, and the other an overwhelming desire to defeat this insolent visitor from a foreign country who dared to try his skill against a native diver of Lisbon.
As for Clif, what was his incentive?
A smile, that was all.
The bottom of the Tagus is easily reached by a few vigorous strokes. The bracelet had settled upon the bottom where it glittered and gleamed as if mocking the two lads.
Clif, by his spurt, had obtained a slight advantage, but he suddenly felt himself grasped about the waist.
He was just in the act of reaching for the bracelet when the interruption came.
The touch of the Portuguese lad’s hand acted like a spur upon him, and he made a desperate clutch downward.
His fingers closed over the bit of jewelry, then with a wriggle and a savage kick he freed himself and shot toward the surface.
As he rose, gasping and spluttering, his rival was close beside him. Through the water streaming from his hair Clif caught sight of the boy’s face, and he marveled at the intensity of hatred it expressed.
“I pay you for dis!” almost screamed the Portuguese. “You come ashore and I kill you. Dog of a Yankee, you hear from Pedro! You see.”