"I'm for it," he answered, with a nod. "I'm not going to be a poor fish any longer. I don't care if they meet us with a shotgun committee."
Their second landing place was devoid of a beach, but it had shelving, sunwarmed rocks, upon which they climbed out and sat down.
"I never suspected you were a fighter," observed Mary, the recent picture still fresh in memory.
"I'm not. I'm a baseball player, by rights. That was what they call the hit-and-run play."
"Well, I think you did excellently, Peter. I was just getting ready to do something like that myself. Was his nose bleeding?"
"Here's hoping. While I don't claim to be within a mile of Signor Antonio Valentino's class, I have a fixed impression that by this time the young gentleman has a beak like a pelican."
Mary glanced appreciatively at her knight. "I'm glad Mr. Marshall wasn't there," she said.
"Why?"
"If he had hit him the young man would probably be dead, and then we'd have lots of trouble."
"Now, that," said Pete, in an aggrieved tone, "is what I call ungrateful. I hit the bird as hard as I could, didn't I? I don't see any need of dragging the boss into this, by way of comparison. Of course, if you can't get him out of your head——"