"If you hear a footstep or a whistle or anything, shout," he said. "I do wish I hadn't let you in for this. I hate a fool."
"I don't mind a bit, except about your finger. The bone isn't broken, is it?"
"No," he said; "I've just made a fuss about nothing. I hate a fool, as I said before."
She thought of the wet patch on the tarred wood and the red patch in the water, and he felt her shiver.
"It's very decent of you," said she, "not to scold me about leaving the crowbar there."
"A good Medway boatman should never be separated from his crowbar," he said, monitorily.
"I know that now," she said. "I ought to have known before. I hate a fool, too."