“Huh,” says Catty, “you won’t mind it in a week.”
“In a week,” says I, “I won’t mind anything. I’ll be frozen to death.”
“Fiddlesticks,” says he.
“I’m hungry,” says I.
“You’re like to be hungrier before you eat,” says he.
Just then there came a bright flash of lightning and not more than fifty feet away we could see the shore—low, sandy shore.
WE CRANKED UNTIL WE WORE THE SKIN OFF OUR HANDS, AND UNTIL OUR BACKS WERE ’MOST BUSTED
“We’re drifting in,” says Catty. “We’re almost there.”
He was right for once. In about five minutes we did drift ashore, and you can bet we jumped out mighty spry and pulled the dink up on the beach.