They moored the Inky Murk to a low-growing pom-pom tree, and then, stepping carefully, like those unaccustomed to dry land (or wet land either, for the matter of that), they gazed upon each other in silence.
No one, not even the most careful observer, would have recognised in the two dusty figures, the once spruce forms of Captain Thomas Tomb and Dingy David.
"Home!" said the young fellow, throwing a diamond at a wave-crest. (When I say "diamond"—they were always finding them in corners of their pockets.)
"Home once more!"