I should say there's not a youngster in Templeton in greater peril at this moment than Pledge's fag, and the worst of it is there is no one to help him." Dick suddenly felt his sofa uncomfortable.

The boards underneath cramped him; the sun, too, for some reason or other, became too hot, and the breeze fidgeted him; the last sandwich he had eaten had had too much mustard in it; he was getting fagged of fishing.
Although the talk of the two seniors had not been intended for his ears, it had been impossible for him to avoid overhearing it, even if he had tried, which he had not, and the Hermit's last words had stung him to the quick and spoilt his enjoyment.
"What's the matter, youngster ?" asked Cresswell.

"Getting sea-sick ?" "No," replied Dick, trying to compose himself.
"What do you say to a header ?" Dick was stripped in half a minute.

Anything for a change.

And what change more delightful than a plunge in the lovely green sea?
The seniors smiled at his hurry, as they proceeded in a more leisurely fashion to follow his example.
"Don't wait for us; over you go," said Cresswell, "and tell old Neptune we are coming." Dick waited for no further invitation, and sprang from the gunwale.
They watched the spreading circles that tracked his dive, and marked the white shining streak as it darted past, under the water.
"He'll be a shark, before long," said Cresswell.