“Come on, then,” said Vince; and they started, after groaning as they rose. “I feel stiff all over,” sighed Vince, “and as if my head wouldn’t go.”
They parted at the corner, with the understanding that they were to meet as usual after dinner, and at the appointed time Vince came along the roadside to where Mike lay stretched upon the soft turf.
But there was not the slightest disposition shown for any fresh adventure, and the only idea which found favour with both was that they should stroll as far as the cliff known to them as Brown Corner, and sit down to go over the seascape with their eyes, and try and make out their course on the previous afternoon.
Half an hour later they had reached the edge of the cliff, sat down with their legs dangling over the side, and searched the sea for the rocks they had threaded and for signs of the swift current.
But at the end of some minutes Vince only uttered a grunt and threw himself backward, to lie with his hands under his head.
“I can’t make anything of it, Ladle,” he said impatiently; “and I’m not going to bother. It looked horribly dangerous when we were in it yesterday, but it only seems beautiful to-day.”
“Yes,” said Mike; “it’s because we’re so far off, and things are so much bigger than they look. But it was dangerous enough without having the boat leak.”
“Horribly,” said Vince. “I wonder we ever got back. Won’t try it again, then?” he added, after awhile.
“No, I won’t,” cried Mike, more emphatically than he had spoken that day.
“Well, I don’t think I will, Ladle; only I feel as if I had been beaten.”