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 for Mr. Mifflin, discovered that great thinker treading water a few feet away.

"Get to work, George," he remarked.

It is not easy to shake one's fist as a man when in deep water, but George managed it.

"For twopence," he cried, "I'd leave you to look after yourself."

"You can do better than that," said Mr. Mifflin. "I'll give you threepence to tow me in. Hurry up. It's cold."

In gloomy silence George gripped him by the elbows. Mr. Mifflin looked over his shoulder.

"We shall have a good house," he said. "The stalls are full already, and the dress-circle's filling. Work away, George, you're doing fine. This act is going to be a scream from start to finish."

With pleasant conversation he endeavoured to while away the monotony of the journey; but George made no reply. He was doing some rapid thinking. With ordinary luck, he felt bitterly, all would have been well. He could have gone on splashing vigorously under his teacher's care for a week, gradually improving till he emerged into a reasonably proficient swimmer. But now! In an age of miracles he might have explained away his present performance; but how was he to And then there came to him an idea—simple, as all great ideas are, but magnificent.

He stopped and trod water.

"Tired?" said Mr. Mifflin. "Well, take a rest," he added, kindly, "take a rest. No need to hurry."

"Look here," said George, "this piece is going to be re-cast. We're going to exchange parts. You're rescuing me. See? Never mind why. I haven't time to explain it to you now. Do you understand?"

"No," said Mr. Mifflin.

"I'll get behind you and push you; but don't forget, when we get to the shore, that you've done the rescuing."

Mr. Mifflin pondered.

"Is this wise?" he said. "It is a strong part, the rescuer, but I'm not sure the other wouldn't suit my style better. The silent hand-grip, the catch in the voice. You want a practised actor for that. I don't think you'd be up to it, George."

"Never mind about me. That's how it's going to be."

Mr. Mifflin pondered once more.

"No," he said at length, "it wouldn't do. You mean well, George, but it would kill the show. We'll go on as before."

"Will we?" said George, unpleasantly. "Would you like to know what I'm going to do to you, then? I'm going to hit you very hard under the jaw, and I'm going to take hold of your neck and squeeze it till you lose consciousness, and then I'm going to drag you to the beach and tell you I had to beat you up because you lost your head and struggled."

Mr. Mifflin pondered for the third time.

"You are?" he said.

"I am," said George.

"Then," said Mr. Mifflin, cordially, "say no more. I take your point. My objections are removed. But," he concluded, "this is the last time I come bathing with you, George."

Mr. Mifflin's artistic misgivings as to his colleague's ability to handle so subtle a part as that of rescuer were more than justified on their arrival. A large and interested audience had collected by the time they reached the shore, an audience to which any artist should have been glad to play; but George, forcing his way through, hurried to the hotel without attempting to satisfy them. Not a single silent hand-shake did he bestow on his rescuer. There was no catch in his voice as he made the one remark which he did make—to a man with whiskers who asked him if the boat had upset. As an exhibition of rapid footwork his performance was good. In other respects it was poor.

He had just changed his wet clothes—it seemed to him that he had been doing nothing but change his wet clothes since he had come to Marvis Bay—when Mr. Mifflin entered in a bath-robe.

"They lent me this downstairs," he explained, "while they dried my clothes. They would do anything for me. I'm the popular hero. My boy, you made the mistake of your life when you threw up the rescuer part. It has all the fat. I see that now. The rescuer plays the other man off the stage every time. I've just been interviewed by the fellow on the local newspaper. He's correspondent to a couple of London papers. The country will ring with this thing. I've told them all the parts I've ever played and my favourite breakfast food. There's a man coming up to take my photograph to-morrow. 'Footpills' stock has gone up with a run. Wait till Monday and see what sort of a house we shall draw. By the way, the reporter fellow said one funny thing. He asked if you weren't the same man who was rescued yesterday by a girl. I said of course not—that you had only come down yesterday. But he stuck to it that you were."

"He was quite right."