“Oh, yes. Please tell us,” pleaded Bert, in mock eagerness.
“No, I can’t stop—”
“You’re right. You can’t tell, and you can’t stop, either, till you’re run down.”
“As a result of the interview, Cartier left two of his vessels there, and, taking the L’Emérillon, he sailed up the river as far as Lake St. Peter, but he found a bar there—”
“What?” exclaimed Bert, sitting suddenly erect.
“A bar. That’s what I said.”
“Was he looking for a bar all this time? Didn’t they have any farther down the river? I’m ashamed of Carter. I didn’t believe he was that kind of a man.”
“This was a sand bar,” laughed Bob, “and blocked his way, so he left the ship’s crew there—”
“The ship’s screw?” interrupted Bert. “Now I know you’re giving us a fairy tale. Ships didn’t have any screws then. They hadn’t been invented. Even side-wheelers weren’t known then.”
“I didn’t say ship’s screw. I said ship’s crew. Can’t you understand plain English?”