"Beg pardon—did you call them repeaters? what's that?" inquired Poddie, politely.
"Repeaters? Why, repeaters is boys who go from bath to bath, only waiting to get their heads dry; then they rubs mud on their faces to make 'em dirty, so we can't know 'em, consequentially they gets in half a dozen times at different baths. How are we to know them? bless your eyes!"
"Have you any fine swimmers among them?" inquired Uncle Fritz, pleasantly.
"Yes, sir," replied the keeper, "some o' these chaps are reg'lar fishes—nat'ral-born eels, you may say. Here, Patsy Miller, 'Roxy,' 'Spider,' come along and show these young gentlemen some o' your tricks."
The three boys, hearing their names shouted by the keeper and their playmates, come forward, looking sheepishly pleased at their momentary importance.
"Go to the roof and dive," commands the keeper.
In a few seconds they appear on the pebbled roof opposite, thin-limbed, brown, and lithe as Arabs.
"Ready—dive!"
One after another the heads are bowed, hands are clasped palm to palm and pointed forward, and away they go, head-first like frogs. Three splashes mark where they go under; three lines of bubbles across the bath tell where the glossy heads will come up.
"Bravo! bravo! well done!" cries Uncle Fritz.