Mark Tidd just looked at me disgusted.
“How far is it to t-t-town?” says he.
“Ten miles,” says I.
“How m-much lead d’you think you’d get on the Japs by rowin’ to the end of the lake?”
“Mile or so,” says I.
“Huh! Those men could run there ’most as fast as we could row. We’d gain some, but in the t-t-ten miles to town they’d catch us, and a f-fine chance we’d have.”
I guess he was right about it. We were safer where we were, though I’d have liked more water between us than there was.
“Mr. Ames ought to be here in three days,” says Binney. “Then Motu’ll be safe.”
“Yes,” says Mark, sarcastic-like. “I s’pose five Japs’ll be close to scared to death of one lame old man. Why, Mr. Ames hasn’t as much f-f-fight in him as any one of us.”
“But he might fetch somebody with him,” says Plunk.