“Hark at him now!” cried Dinny. “Why the river swarms wid ’em. Did they ate the black boys?”
“No, of course not. What nonsense! Come, catch hold, and let’s go.”
“Masther Dick, dear, I’ve a mother at home in the owld country, and if anything was to happen to me, she’d never forgive the masther.”
“Catch hold, Dinny. I tell you there’s nothing to fear.”
“Sure, Masther Dick, dear, an’ I’m not afraid—not the laste bit in the worrld; but I couldn’t go across there to-night. Wouldn’t ye fetch one of the horses, Masther Dick?”
“No,” cried Dick impatiently. “I couldn’t do that. Here, I’ll get down and wade, and you can ride.”
“Thank ye, Masther Dick, dear. Sure, it’s an honourable gintleman ye’ll make, if ye don’t let the crockydivils get ye before your time. That’s betther,” he said, mounting. “Howlt on very tight to the horse’s mane, Masther Dick; and if ye feel one of the bastes feeling and poking ye about wid his nose before getting a good grip, jist you call out, and I’ll put on the speed to drag ye away.”
“I wouldn’t let my feet dabble in the water, Dinny,” said Dick, wickedly. “The crocodiles snap at hands or feet held over in their track.”
“What’ll I do, then?” cried Dinny, in alarm.
“I’d put my feet in my pockets, if I were you,” said Dick.