Martin stood up in the boat, which had stuck, and peered into the water.
“The great thing,” he remarked, “as the White Knight said, is to guide against the bites of sharks. He had steel anklets. Ow! why do they take the sharpest stones in the world and place them where I want to step. I’m bleeding like a pig.”
He stood precariously on the other foot and examined the injury.
“A pig,” he remarked, fatuously, “that has not yet had its throat cut. Helen, how fat you must be getting. You weigh tons. We’ll have to throw the lunch overboard. Or perhaps it would be simpler if you stepped ashore for a moment. You can easily step on to the bank from there.”
He pulled the canoe over the shoal and took it where she could get in again. She laid her hand on his shoulder as she stepped in.
“You darling,” she said. “You can stop now. I’m better.”
“That’s good work,” said Martin. “Because, really I was beginning to run rather dry. You mightn’t have thought it.”
“I didn’t. I had no idea of it. I thought there was any amount more.”
“I can manage ten minutes more, if you like,” said Martin.
“No; I’m going to talk now. Martin, if you look suddenly grave like that I shall begin to laugh.”