“We certainly ought to if there was any way,” said Cal, “but of course there isn’t.”
“Yes, there is,” answered Dick, confidently. “You’re the pessimist this time, Cal.”
“Go ahead and tell us your plan,” responded Cal. “I’m always ready for the hopeful prospect if I can find it. What do you propose, Dick?”
“To build a sort of catamaran. It can’t be much of a craft because we have no tools and no fit materials, but these waters are so closely land-locked that all we need is to make something that will float. We can paddle it to the village up there, ten miles or so away, and from there we can walk to the railroad.”
“So far, so good,” said Cal, when Dick ceased to speak. “Go on and tell us the rest.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why the ‘how’ of it all. What is the plan of your catamaran, and how are we to make it?”
“Don’t be sceptical, Cal, till you’ve—”
“I’m not sceptical—not a bit. I’m only asking what we are to do and how, so that we may get to work at it early in the morning, or to-night, for that matter, if there’s anything that can be done by fire light. You spoke of our parents awhile ago, and of the alarm they must feel if we don’t get back on time. I’ve been thinking of my mother ever since. She’s an invalid, you know, and a shock of that sort might kill her. So I’m ready to work by night or by day, or both, if it will help to spare her. Go on and tell us your plan.”