“Well?” questioned Laura, parting her lips in a smile.
“Excuse me,” said Webster helplessly; “but, upon my word, of all going-a-fishing, this is the funniest,” and he laughed again.
“I don’t see the joke,” growled Hume, as he looked through the steam of his coffee.
“Exactly; that’s what makes it so absurd. Lord, just think of it; we’ve been to great expense and enormous trouble, and have taken a year or a month—I don’t know for the life of me which—to get here, and now here we are adrift with about two weeks’ provisions.”
“I see no fun in that.”
“Man, it’s brimful of fun, if you only look at it in a proper light,” and carefully lifting up his tin, he began to sip his coffee, the light of laughter still gleaming pleasantly in his eyes.
“The most dreadful part, to my mind,” said Laura, “is the ease with which we adapt ourselves to the most sudden changes. Look at my hands; how coarse they are!”
It was now Hume’s turn to laugh. “That is an extraordinary ground for complaint,” he said, “when you have so many greater grievances at hand.”
“What greater grievance can a woman have than that of diminishing charms? I believe my face is freckling. Give me that tin plate. Thank you.”
She took the plate from Webster, polished the bottom of it, and then calmly studied her reflection.