Mr. Red stalked majestically along the shore. Mr. Dick swam to meet him. His heart was light. He broke into a song of greeting-- “Come o’er the sea, Stranger to me, Mine through sunshine, storm and cloud!” Mr. Red walked straight to the place where Mr. Dick’s clothes lay. It seemed possible that he was bringing down a towel. Mr. Dick swam on towards the shore, intending to express his gratitude for the civility. Mr. Red reached the clothes, picked them up one by one and walked away with them. Mr. Dick shouted after him, but without effect. He swam for the shore as quickly as he could. If the proprietor of the place objected to people bathing on the shore, Mr. Dick was prepared to apologize. He would apologize humbly, get back his clothes, and then point out that a notice ought to have been erected to warn the public not to bathe. Mr. Red deposited the clothes on the grass at some distance from the beach, turned round, and walked towards the sea again. Mr. Dick felt bottom with his feet, and plunged forward until he stood in water which only reached his knees. Mr. Red, standing on the very brink of the sea, took a revolver out of his pocket and pointed it at Mr. Dick. “Come on shore,” he said. By way of reply Mr. Dick sat down suddenly, rolled over on his side, and lay with no part of him above water except his head. He did not like standing naked in front of a revolver which might be loaded. “Come!” said Mr. Red. Mr. Dick put his head under water, and kept it there as long as he could. When he came up, gasping, he saw the revolver still levelled at him. “Come at once,” said Mr. Red, “or I shall fire!” Mr. Dick struggled to his feet and stumbled forward a few steps. Then his self-respect, the self-respect which is the birthright of every free-born Briton, asserted itself within him. “I presume,” he said, speaking with a certain cold dignity, “that this beach is private property, and that I have trespassed by bathing here. If so, I offer my apologies; but I cannot refrain from saying at the same time that the aggressive violence of your conduct----” Mr. Red pulled the trigger of the revolver. A bullet struck the water so close to Mr. Dick that his leg was splashed. He stopped short in his protest and waded as rapidly as possible towards the shore. He pushed his way through the seaweed and jellyfish and stood at last, a pitiful, dripping figure, on dry land. “Go on,” said Mr. Red, fingering the revolver. The fear of instant death impelled Mr. Dick over the sharp stones. He travelled rapidly for five or six yards, and then collapsed suddenly on to all-fours. “Go on quickly,” said Mr. Red. Mr. Dick went on as quickly as he could on his hands and feet. He looked like a large hairless ape of some bleached kind. Then, overcome by the pain of both hands and feet, he sat down and faced Mr. Red. “This is an outrage,” he said. “I protest against it in the strongest possible manner. You have absolutely no right----”