But Alberto seemed to have forgotten Ralph's existence, and was swimming, still with apparent awkwardness, near Ethan Plunkett, and conversing quietly with him. This entire ignoring of his threat provoked Ralph more than any reply could have done.
"Do you hear me?" he shouted angrily.
"I do," replied Alberto; "but your voice is powerful weak. You need a tonic." Ralph wasted no more words, but plunged into the water and swam with all his might toward this irritating fellow. At the same time the boy called Signor Alberto seemed to be making tremendous efforts to get away; but Ralph gained upon him and was soon so near that he could almost reach the boy's heels. Almost, but not quite. Ralph redoubled his efforts, making frantic plunges, and puffing out water like a Chinese laundryman, but, somehow, there was still just an inch or two between his hand and Alberto's heels.
The other boys roared with laughter, and it soon became clear, even to Ralph, that he was not going to catch the boy—much less duck him. It was humiliating, but Ralph's breath gave out, and he had to stop.
"You 're a pretty fair swimmer," he said, trying to put a good face on the matter. "Where did you learn to swim?"
"In the Desert of Sahara," replied Alberto, "with the Eskimos."
"Oh, see here, stop fooling!" said Ralph. "Who are you, anyway?"
"You can call me an Italian cousin of Ethan Plunkett's," replied the boy, and he swam further out.
Ralph made up his mind that there was not much to be made out of so odd a fish, and swam away. Soon after he waded ashore, and, dressing, waited for the rest to come out. Ralph was somewhat silent, and, indeed, was for the first time conscious that he had lost rank in the eyes of his companions. He knew no other way
