“I’ll be jib-boomed if I don’t think some one has moved the blessed islands!” exclaimed Abe, one day.
“It does look so,” admitted his mate. “I thought sure we would sight one before this. If we could only make a bigger sail we could move faster.”
“We can’t, unless we take our clothing, and we need that to protect us from the sun,” declared Abe. “Not being blooming cannibals that can stand any great amount of heat on our own skins.”
“Then what we need is a smaller boat,” decided Joe.
“What’s that, matie?” asked Abe.
“I said we needed a smaller boat, and then this sail would do.”
For a moment Abe stared at his companion, and then, bringing his hand down on his thigh with a report like a pistol, he cried:
“That’s it! You’ve struck it! A smaller boat is what we need, and we’re going to have it! We’ll set sail in that and make three times the speed we can in this bulk. Hurray for a smaller boat!”
Joe looked at him anxiously for a moment, and then said gently: