He reminded himself of those little kicking
toys that never get anywhere. He felt as if he were a June bug buzzing
helplessly at the end of a string. He kicked, kicked, kicked under the
broiling sun, in the hot water. The sweaty smell of his hat band
disgusted his nostrils. The crown of his hat seemed to coop the heat
over his face, sweat seeped into his closed eyelids and stung his eyes.
He gave his head a little shake. The buoy slipped out and he bobbed
under the tepid water head and ears.
This jerked him out of his dreamy state. He whirled over, struck to the
surface, spat out brine, blinked his eyes. Somebody was shouting
something in an urgent voice. The noise buzzed in his waterlogged ears.
"Hey, hello! What is it?" he cried, giving his head a shake and putting
on his hat.
"School of sharks!" shouted Greer, coming toward his leader at a foamy
speed.
"School of sharks!" echoed Madden with a sharp thrill. "Where? Which
way?"
"Must be toward the dock, sir!" panted Greer driving up.
"Where's Caradoc?"
"Yonder." He pointed toward a distant twinkle in the water.
"We must get together--yell to him, warn him!"
The two lads began a strenuous chorus that further used up their
exhausted strength. Caradoc responded by a wave of his hand.
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