“That would be clever, wouldn't it?” said the ungracious Mr. Heard. “Starting to commit suicide, and then thinking better of it. Why, I should be a bigger laughing-stock than ever.”
“But suppose I saved you against your will?” breathed the tempter; “how would that be?”
“It would be all right if I cared to run the risk,” said the other, “but I don't. I should look well struggling in the water while you was diving in the wrong places for me, shouldn't I?”
“I wasn't thinking of such a thing,” said Mr. Dix, hastily; “twenty strokes is about my mark—with my clothes off. My idea was to pull you out.”
Mr. Heard glanced at the black water a dozen feet below. “How?” he inquired, shortly.
“Not here,” said the mate. “Come to the end of the quay where the ground slopes to the water. It's shallow there, and you can tell her that you jumped in off here. She won't know the difference.”
With an enthusiasm which Mr. Heard made no attempt to share, he led the way to the place indicated, and dilating upon its manifold advantages, urged him to go in at once and get it over.
“You couldn't have a better night for it,” he said, briskly. “Why, it makes me feel like a dip myself to look at it.”
Mr. Heard gave a surly grunt, and after testing the temperature of the water with his hand, slowly and reluctantly immersed one foot. Then, with sudden resolution, he waded in and, ducking his head, stood up gasping.
“Give yourself a good soaking while you're about it,” said the delighted mate.