He uttered a sharp bark of ecstasy,
pressed his Derby hat firmly upon his brow and dived in. A moment later
he had risen to the surface and was gathering up money with both hands.
He was still busy with this congenial task when a tremendous splash at
his side sent him under again; and, rising for a second time, he
observed with not a little chagrin that he had been joined by a young
man in a blue flannel suit with an invisible stripe.
"Svensk!" exclaimed Mr. Swenson, or whatever it is that natives of
Sweden exclaim in moments of justifiable annoyance. He resented the
advent of this newcomer. He had been getting along fine and had had the
situation well in hand. To him Sam Marlowe represented Competition, and
Mr. Swenson desired no competitors in his treasure-seeking enterprise.
He travels, thought Mr. Swenson, the fastest who travels alone.
Sam Marlowe had a touch of the philosopher in him. He had the ability
to adapt himself to circumstances. It had been no part of his plans to
come whizzing down off the rail into this singularly soup-like water
which tasted in equal parts of oil and dead rats; but, now that he was
here he was prepared to make the best of the situation.
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