I put the bird-shot in your leg." He giggled softly.

The agitated tall man made a gesture of supreme eloquence. His companion
up-reared and turned a startled gaze shoreward.

"Lord!" he roared, as if stabbed.

The land was a long, brown streak with a rim of green, in which sparkled
the tin roofs of huge hotels. The hands from the sea had pushed them
away. The two men sprang erect, and did a little dance of perturbation.

"What shall we do? What shall we do?" moaned the freckled man, wriggling
fantastically in his dead balloon.

The changing shore seemed to fascinate the tall man, and for a time he
did not speak.

Suddenly he concluded his minuet of horror. He wheeled about and faced
the freckled man. He elaborately folded his arms.

"So," he said, in slow, formidable tones. "So! This all comes from your
accursed vanity, your bathing-suit, your idiocy; you have murdered your
best friend."

He turned away. His companion reeled as if stricken by an unexpected
arm.

He stretched out his hands. "Tom, Tom," wailed he, beseechingly, "don't
be such a fool."