Then when
he understood "sharks" he gathered speed in their direction.
By this time the dock seemed as far away as the schooner, and was in
reality probably farther. On the wall of the dock, they could see
Hogan's microscopic figure apparently having a fit, against the coppery
sky. No doubt from his height he could make out the monsters. Perhaps
Hogan could see the great fish shooting along with sinister,
exertionless ease toward these clumsy adventurers--a school of trout
striking at three awkward beetles.
"Hey, Caradoc! Caradoc!" screamed Madden. "Straight for the schooner!"
The American stared around with tense nerves for the little swishes on
the surface that betray the attack of a shark.
From something near middle distance, the Englishman raised a hand toward
his comrades and motioned them forward.
"Go on! Go on!" he gasped in a tired voice. "I'll catch you!"
Indeed, there was little to be gained from waiting. Caradoc moved toward
his friends with a long overhand stroke that gave him the queer
appearance of some huge water bug striding along. Madden and Greer
propelled themselves slowly toward the schooner, waiting for their
friend to close up. They could not keep their eyes off the Englishman.
Every moment they expected to see him jerked under, or they expected to
see a huge shadowy form strike at themselves through the clear green
water.
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