The morning bath, or “soak,” as it was called, was compulsory as regarded every camper. Nothing save absence or illness was allowed to excuse a fellow from this duty. Tom and Nelson donned their bathing trunks and pushed their way out onto the crowded pier. Two of the steel boats were occupied by councilors, whose duty it was to time the bathers and keep an eye on adventurous swimmers. The boys lined the edge of the pier and awaited impatiently the signal from Mr. Ellery. Presently, “All in!” was the cry, and instantly the pier was empty, save for a few juniors whose inexperience kept them in shallow water along the little sandy beach. The water spouted in a dozen places, and one by one dripping heads bobbed above the surface and their owners struck out for the steps to repeat the dive. Nelson found the water far warmer than he was accustomed to at the beaches; it was almost like jumping into a tub for a warm bath. When he came to the surface after a plunge and a few vigorous kicks under water he found himself close to the boat occupied by Dr. Smith. He swam to it, laid hold of the gunwale, and tried to wipe the water from his eyes. “What’s the trouble, Tilford?” asked the councilor smilingly. “I guess my eyes are kind of weak,” Nelson answered. “The water makes them smart like anything.” “Better keep them closed when you go under. It isn’t the fault of your eyes, though; it’s the water.” “But they never hurt before, sir.” “Where have you bathed--in fresh water?” “No, sir--salt.” “That’s different. The eyes are used to salt water, but fresh water irritates them.” “I should think it would be the other way,” said Nelson, blinking. “Not when you consider that all the secretions of the eye are salty. Tears never made your eyes smart, did they?” “No, sir; that’s so. It’s funny, though, isn’t it?” “Well, it’s like a good many other things, Tilford--strange until you get used to it. I suppose you swim pretty well?” “Oh, I don’t know, sir. I’ve swam all my life, I guess, but I don’t believe I’m what you’d call a dabster.” “I wouldn’t think of calling you that, anyhow,” laughed the Doctor, “for I don’t think I know what it means. But how about diving?” Nelson shook his head. “I’ve never done much of that. I’ve usually bathed in the surf, you see. I’d be scared silly if I tried what those fellows are doing.” The fellows referred to were standing on a tiny platform built up a good ten feet above the floor of the pier. One by one they launched themselves into the lake, at least eighteen feet below, some making straight dives, some letting themselves fall and straightening out just as they reached the surface, and one, who proved to be Dan Speede, turning a backward somersault and disappearing feet first and hands high over head. “That was a dandy, wasn’t it?” asked Nelson with enthusiasm.