"Not stopping to supper even? Well, you must be a darned looney!"

Adam sat down astride his wood-block with the words, and looked up at
his son with the aggressive expression of a Scotch terrier daring a
Newfoundland.

Rufus, with his hands in his pockets, leaned against the woodshed. He
made no reply of any sort to his father's brisk observation. Obviously
it made not the faintest impression upon him.

After a moment or two he spoke, his pipe in the corner of his mouth. "If
that chap bathes off the Spear Point rocks when the tide's at the spring
he'll get into difficulties."

"Who says he does?" demanded Adam.

Rufus jerked his head. "I saw him--from my place--this afternoon. Tide
was going down, or the current would have caught him. Better warn him."

"I did," responded Adam sharply. "Warned him long ago. Warned him of the
quicksand, too."

Rufus grunted. "Then he's only himself to thank. Or maybe he doesn't
know a spring tide from a neap."

"Oh, he's not such a fool as that," said Adam.

Rufus grunted once again, and relapsed into silence.