“Throw it over for one of the sharks we saw cruising about before sundown.”
“But what for? You don’t want to pet sharks with cold pudding.”
“No. Guess again.”
“Stuff! Speak out.”
“Poison—cold pison.”
“What! Why, you would never see the brute that took it turn up in the darkness.”
“Don’t want to, my son,” said the lad solemnly.
“Look here, Dick, it’s too hot, to-night, and I’m too tired and sleepy to try and puzzle out your conundrums, so if you want me to understand what you’re about you had better speak out. What a rum chap you are!”
“I am.”
“One hour you’re all a fellow could wish; the next you are red-hot to quarrel. See how you were this afternoon when the doctor was talking to you.”