A year or two after he had left school Willie’s parents went with their family to spend the summer months near the sea. Before they had been in their new quarters many weeks, much to Willie’s vexation and disappointment, he found that Walter and his parents were also staying in the same town, and quite close to him.
The two lads frequently met, but they could get on no better now than they had done in the old days. Walter still looked upon Willie as a contemptible little milksop, and Willie was inclined to consider Walter’s exploits more the result of foolhardiness than bravery.
One day they met on the beach. Walter had come down with a friend to take a boat.
“Rather rough for rowing,” Willie called out as he passed, “but I suppose you’re a good oar.”
“What’s that to you?” responded Walter, insolently; “I suppose you’re afraid of a little sea.”
“I don’t see the pleasure of going out when there’s any risk,” Willie replied, good-humoredly.
“How precious careful you are over yourself!” replied Walter.
The boat pushed off, and away started the two friends. Willie, not caring to watch them after the haughty, rude manner in which his remark had been received, turned away; but before he had gone far his attention was attracted by a succession of shouts and ejaculations.
The tiny boat had come to grief before they had got much more than fifty yards from the shore. In the unskilful hands of the two lads the little bark was a mere plaything in the angry sea. Carried on with a swiftness they were unable to check, they rushed headlong on to one of the hidden rocks with which the coast abounded. The boat turned over and disappeared, leaving its occupants struggling in the water.
There were but few bystanders, and of these no one did more than talk and gesticulate and ask wildly what was to be done.