"Try again," suggested Mortimer encouragingly and we repeated our efforts with the same result.
"I'm getting fed up with this," broke out Tommy. "There's only one thing to do, and that's to swim across and fetch the boat."
"What a pity we haven't got a salmon rod," I remarked. "We might kill two birds with one stone."
"Don't you worry," retorted Tommy. "We'll try that later."
He stripped off his clothes, and going to the edge of the bank, inspected the water.
"Seems clear enough," he observed; "here goes."
There was a mighty splash, and he disappeared from view, emerging a few moments later well out in the river. Mortimer and I gave him an encouraging cheer, and then watched him with some anxiety as he ploughed his way across the strongly running current. It seemed at first as though he would be swept past the island, but, with a big effort, he just managed to get clear of the stream in time and clutch an overhanging bough some way below the landing-stage. Then he drew himself out, and answering our hail with a triumphant wave of the hand, picked his way gingerly along the bank to where the boat was tethered.
Unhitching the rope, he climbed in, and with a few strong pulls, sculled back across the river.
"Bravo, Leander!" sung out Mortimer, as the boat bumped up against the bank. "How are you feeling after your great effort?"
"Deuced sore," returned Tommy, shipping his oars and stepping out on to the grass. "That seat's as hard as a millstone."