“Well, you see, sir, when we all come running down, the bags o’ wittles was chucked away in the jungo—in the wood, sir.”
“Then a couple of men must go after it—those who threw it away.”
“Well, sir, seeing as it were me and Billy Widgeon, we’ll go arter it, if you like.”
The necessary permission was given, the two men departed, and at the end of an hour returned to find their companions still watching the praus, which were both made fast to the ship.
“Thought as the crockydiles had been at it, sir,” said Small grimly; “but we found it at last. I’ve brought Billy Widgeon back safe.”
“Of course,” said the mate quietly. “Why not?”
“Well, you see, sir, there was one crock took a fancy to him, and we see another lying on the edge of the pool, smiling at him with his mouth wide open; but Billy wouldn’t stop, and here’s the prog.”