Tom suggested a swim before breakfast.
They stripped and dived out of the boat, and paddled round, and then they went ashore and boiled their billy in the scrub, and had breakfast.
Dave had commandeered two or three bottles of home-made jam from the farm cupboard, and they had enough bread to do for the meal.
After breakfast, Tom called a council.
“Look ’ere,” he began, “I reckon we better go an’ explore this island for a start. If she turns out all right we’ll stay on, and make it our headquarters till we see what happens.”
Tom, on a good sleep and a well-filled stomach, was already forgetting the tragic event of the night before. Not so Dave, who was younger, and probably less hardened.
“But,” he argued, “what about the people that’ll be goin’ up an’ down the river lookin’ for the cove that did the murder?”
“Nobody knows he did a murder except you an’ me,” responded Tom, “an’ we ain’t goin’ to tell till the trial. Then we’ll come up in court an’ be put in the box, an’ swore.”
“What box?” asked Dave. “Do they put you in a box?”
“Of course; the witness-box, you coot.”