This was clearly the wiser proceeding of the two, and the man, feeling very foolish, scrambled out of the water into the boat.
Bending a ferocious gaze on the innocent boatman, he asked roughly, “Can you row?”
Will proudly answered in the affirmative, and the disgusted picnicker—elaborating a dolorous sigh as he flirted his eyes over his tousled and mud-spattered garments, and experiencing an emotion of regret as he thought of a new cabinet photograph of himself, that was tucked away in his coat-tail pocket—said snappishly:—
“Then take me to some sheltered place where I can wring out my clothes a little, and afterwards I’ll find my way to the fire on the island. Can I get dry there in peace, and alone?”
“I think so, after a few minutes,” said Will, tugging stoutly at his oars.
“Well,” mused the dripping newspaper man, as he sat dejectedly in the boat, with his head resting on his disordered cravat, “I—I—was very foolish to jump overboard; but it is strange that I should encounter this wretch when I least expected it. Much amusement I shall have to-day, in these wet clothes. Well,” firmly, “I will never return to this village while this bane of my life inhabits it!”
After landing the luckless Mr. Sarjent at a sequestered spot, Will pointed his way back to the island, to look after Stephen. He arrived just in time. Steve and a choice band of his school-fellows were grouped about the fire, and the little folk had sought other quarters.
At first Will feared that he was too late; but he was reassured on seeing Stephen dodging around the fire, evidently trying to shove the box into it without being observed.
Keeping a vigilant look-out, Will soon had the pleasure of seeing Steve poke the box into the extreme edge of the fire.