"Don't crowd him," grinned Phil.
"Oh, of course not," snickered Sam, and the next minute, Tom, neatly tripped, hit the water with a loud splash and a yell.
For the next half hour, they had great sport. The water was shallow and well suited to their purpose. Tom made a little progress, and by actual count was able to keep afloat for seventeen seconds. Then he paddled around, while Sam and Phil, both good swimmers, raced out to the end of the cove and back, Sam leading by a few feet.
When they were again dressed, the three resumed their place on the rock.
"Most time for Fenton to come," observed Phil Levins.
"I'll bet he won't turn up," grumbled Sam, as he shied a rock into the water. "I'd give a lot to have that race, too."
"Let's take a walk," suggested Tom.
"Where—up on the cliff?"
"No siree! Around the base as far as we can go."
"All right, son, we'll do it," agreed Sam. "If Fenton comes along, he'll know how to find us."