"Won't swimming clear around the earth be difficult?" demanded Greer
hotly.
"Proceed," agreed Caradoc tersely. "It's all one to me."
The boys adjusted their floats and once more began their weary labor,
all three disgruntled at the false alarm. As they worked their way
forward, clumps of seaweed, similar to the first they had seen,
thickened in their path. After a long swim in and out, they reached a
point where these floating masses coalesced into an island, or a
continent, that swung far back toward the barge in the segment of a
great semicircle. Fortunately there were still open channels in this
main field, and one of them led toward the schooner. They struck out up
this estuary, which presently became so narrow that they were forced to
travel single file. Occasionally their kicking feet would strike slimy
filaments in the water, but for a while the channel cheered the
swimmers, for they could now see they were making progress toward the
ship.
Ten minutes later, however, they reached the end, and an inexorable
continent of slime lay between them and their goal. Madden paused in the
last yard of clear water, hung to his buoy, his big biceps flattened on
the canvas cover and slowly blistering in the sun.
"All right, boys, close up," he panted; "let's stay in helping distance
of each other.
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