He struck out with his legs; he struck out with his arms; he dived with his whole body.  He skimmed beneath the green waters; he floated on the rolling wave-tips; he trod water; he turned heels over head in the emerald depths; and thus, gamboling like an Infant Triton, he passed out beyond the breakers.  It was very pleasant there.  Being a little tired, he found the change from the surging waves to the gentle chuck and flop of the deep water, most delightful.  Languidly, to rest himself, he threw his arm over a rock just peeping above the water.  But the rock gave a start and a yawn.

It was a sleeping shark!

The startled fish opened his eyes to their roundest, and backed water.

So did Mr. P.

For an instant they gazed at each other in utter surprise.  Then the shark began slowly to sink.  Mr. P. knew what that meant.  The monster was striving to get beneath him for the fatal snap!

Mr. P. sank with him!

With admirable presence of mind he kept exactly even with the fish.

[Illustration.]

At last they reached the bottom.

Mr. P. was nearly suffocated, but he determined that he would strangle rather than rise first.  The shark endeavored to crawl under him, but Mr. P. clung to the bottom.

The fish then made a feint of rising, but, in an instant, Mr. P. had him around the waist!

The affrighted shark darted to the surface, and Mr. P. inhaled at least a gallon of fresh air.  Never before had oxygen tasted so good!

On the surface the struggle was renewed, but Mr. P. always kept undermost.

At last they rested from the contest, and lay panting on the surface of the water, glaring at each other.

The shark, who was a master of finesse, swam out a little way, to where the water was deeper, and then slowly sank, intending, if Mr. P. followed him again to the bottom, to stay there long enough to drown the unfortunate man.  But Mr. P. knew a trick worth two of that.

He didn’t follow him at all!  He swam towards shore as fast as he could, and when the shark looked around, to see if he was coming, he was safe within the line of surf.

Need it be said that when he reached dry laud, Mr. P. became a hero with the crowds who had witnessed this heroic struggle?

That evening, as Mr. P. sat upon the portico of his hotel, there came unto him, in the moonlight, a maiden of the latest fashion.

“Sir,” she softly murmured “are you the noble hero who overcame the shark?”

Mr. P. looked up at her.

Her soft eyes were dimmed with irresponsible emotion.

“I am,” said he.

The maiden stood motionless.  Her whole frame was agitated by a secret struggle.

At length she spoke.

“Is there a Mrs. P.?” she softly said.

Mr. P. arose.  He grasped the back of his chair with trembling hand.  His manly form quivered with a secret struggle.