“Or in September and get the shore hunting—the salt marshes.”
“Oh, which?—which?” Already I was following our course along curving beaches and amongst the yellow marshlands. But Jonathan’s mind was working on more practical details.
“Twelve feet, you said?”
“About that.”
“Pretty close stowing for our dunnage—still—let’s see—two guns—”
“Or the rods, if we went in the spring.”
“And rubber coats, and blankets—”
“Jonathan! Should we camp?”
“Might have to.”
“Let’s, anyway.”