sh! Splish-Splosh! The water bubbled round his
legs as Stanley Burnell waded out exulting. First man in as usual! He'd
beaten them all again. And he swooped down to souse his head and neck.

"Hail, brother! All hail, Thou Mighty One!" A velvety bass voice came
booming over the water.

Great Scott! Damnation take it! Stanley lifted up to see a dark head
bobbing far out and an arm lifted. It was Jonathan Trout--there before
him! "Glorious morning!" sang the voice.

"Yes, very fine!" said Stanley briefly. Why the dickens didn't the
fellow stick to his part of the sea? Why should he come barging over to
this exact spot? Stanley gave a kick, a lunge and struck out, swimming
overarm. But Jonathan was a match for him. Up he came, his black hair
sleek on his forehead, his short beard sleek.

"I had an extraordinary dream last night!" he shouted.

What was the matter with the man? This mania for conversation irritated
Stanley beyond words. And it was always the same--always some piffle
about a dream he'd had, or some cranky idea he'd got hold of, or some
rot he'd been reading. Stanley turned over on his back and kicked with
his legs till he was a living waterspout. But even then... "I dreamed I
was hanging over a terrifically high cliff, shouting to some one below."
You would be! thought Stanley. He could stick no more of it. He stopped
splashing. "Look here, Trout," he said, "I'm in rather a hurry this
morning."

"You're WHAT?" Jonathan was so surprised--or pretended to be--that he
sank under the water, then reappeared again blowing.

"All I mean is," said Stanley, "I've no time to--to--to fool about.
I want to get this over. I'm in a hurry. I've work to do this
morning--see?"

Jonathan was gone before Stanley had finished. "Pass, friend!" said the
bass voice gently, and he slid away through the water with scarcely
a ripple... But curse the fellow! He'd ruined Stanley's bathe. What an
unpractical idiot the man was! Stanley struck out to sea again, and
then as quickly swam in again, and away he rushed up the beach. He felt
cheated.

Jonathan stayed a little longer in the water. He floated, gently moving
his hands like fins, and letting the sea rock his long, skinny body. It
was curious, but in spite of everything he was fond of Stanley Burnell.
True, he had a fiendish desire to tease him sometimes, to poke fun at
him, but at bottom he was sorry for the fellow. There was something
pathetic in his determination to make