“The same to you and more of it,” responded Ned. “I guess we all bear the marks of the saw-grass.”
This was so, for the fine keen edges of nature’s peculiar weapons had left their record on the hands and faces of all the travelers.
“I think this is where some of the leaves the Indian chief used on Jerry’s foot would come in handy,” remarked Ned.
“If we only had some,” retorted Bob with a groan. “Even some witch hazel wouldn’t be so bad, though it smarts at first.”
“I have some of the leaves,” the professor said. “I observed what kind of a plant they were from and gathered a supply the other day. I will get them.”
Removing most of their soaked garments, and wringing out the water, the boys and the scientist were soon busy pounding up the leaves to make a sort of ointment for their scratches. The foliage gave out a sticky salve which, when applied to the cuts made by the grass, soothed them.
“We look like a lot of Seminole Indians with our war paint on,” remarked Ned, and indeed the four did present a curious sight, for they were daubed with green stuff in streaks and patches.
“Now for some hot coffee,” announced Bob, as he set the gasoline stove going. “That will make us feel as well inside as the leaves do outside.”