“We what?” asked the other, eagerly.
“I dunno,” said Mr. Clark, blankly.
There was dire silence. The little boat drifted further and further out, till it was clear of the harbour, and here the scour of the tide carried it well away from the roadstead.
Mr. Clark, opening one eye, shrewdly surveyed the locality.
“Just—just remembered,” he said. “We’ve got a anchor ’ere in the locker—a anchor and any amount of cable. We’ll chuck it over, and we’ll ride ’ere, as easy as easy, till the tide turns.”
“Don’t you feel strong enough to row us back now?”
“’Ave a ’eart, sir!” begged Mr. Clark, reproachfully. “It ’ud pull my arms out of their sockets to row against this current. But we’ll be all right ’ere. Once I get the anchor overboard, like this, we’ll be as safe as safe.”
“All very well!” fulminated the passenger, recovering a little spirit when he noted that the anchor had checked further seaward flow. “But why—”
“Ooh! Ooh, ah!” interrupted Mr. Clark. “For ’eaven’s sake, sir, don’t go a-hagitating of me. When I ’ave attacks like this, I’m sometimes liable to fits, and if I ’ave a fit ’ere, over goes the boat, and it’s all up with both of us!”
“Oh, dear—oh, dear!” wailed the other, subsiding.