Page:Cruise of the Dry Dock.djvu/117

 looked back at Hogan on the wall for signals, the dock still loomed above him, a vast glare of red in the dazzling sunshine. It seemed impossible to get away from it; the featureless red flare followed him as a mountain peak seems to follow a traveler.

The sun beat oppressively on his head and blistered his shoulders through his net undershirt. The warm water soaked the energy out of limbs and arms. He changed from breast to over-arm stroke, then he shifted to the crawl and trudgen stroke.

“Perhaps we'd better rest awhile, sir,” suggested Greer, who came puffing close behind.

“Beastly hot, this sun,” Leonard ducked head and shoulders under water for relief. His hat floated off and he grudged the slight effort to retrieve it.

“How far are we?”

“Dock looks as close as ever—where's Smith?”

Greer nodded toward a small head and shoulders bobbing behind a little white buoy.

At that moment, they heard the Englishman's voice calling, “To the right!”