"Good!" cried the boys on the shore.
"I didn't think he'd do it," remarked "Bricktop" Norton, so called from his shock of red hair.
"Me either," added Fred Murdock. "Now it's up to you, Dick."
"That's right."
Dick Hamilton rose from a log on which he was sitting. He was a tall, clean-cut chap, straight as an arrow, with an easy grace about him, and it needed but a glance to show that he was of athletic build. His red bathing suit, from which protruded bronzed arms and legs, was particularly becoming to him.
"There—let's—see—you—do—that!" spluttered Frank, as he came up, some distance from where he had gone down. He shook his head to rid his eyes and ears of water, and struck out for shore.
"Stay there!" called Dick. "I'll swim out farther than you did."
"Dick's cutting out some work for himself," remarked Bricktop, in a low tone to Bill Johnson. "Frank's a dandy swimmer."
"Yes, but Dick Hamilton usually does what he sets out to do," replied Bill. "There he goes."
Dick walked to the end of the spring-board. He teetered up and down on it two or three times, testing the balance of the long plank. Then he took a few steps backward, poised for an instant, and ran forward.
"There he goes!" called Walter.
