“Now, Bob,” Charles began, as they floated the raft into its harbor; “now, Bob, you will be tried by us for your misdoings.”
“He has surely had punishment enough; let him go;” said tender-hearted George, sitting down on the bank and looking pityingly at the wild-eyed captive.
“Yes, Steve; let him go; for how on earth can we punish him?” Will supplemented.
“No!” Charles said resolutely. “The boy who can float another boy’s dog over these falls is a scoundrel, and—”
“I never did!” Bob here put in.
“And,” continued Charles, “he ought to be court-martialed!”
Bob did not know what this meant; neither did Charles; the former looked awe-struck, the latter, wise and august.
Steve, however, added promptly: “Of course. His father must have court-plastered him the other night for his bruises; and now we must court-martial him for his wickedness.”
“Well,” said Marmaduke, seating himself with great composure, “I am going to be neutral.”