“Why, we can pretty well tell where the river is.”
“Where is it then?”
“Due north from where we sit.”
“Humph!” said Chumbley. “Sun sets in the west. I’m looking at the sun, and the river, then, is straight away from my right shoulder?”
“Of course!”
“Then if we got out of this window, and walked straight through the jungle—which we could not do—we should come right upon the river?”
“Sooner or later,” said Hilton. “Then all would be plain sailing.”
“Don’t see it. No boat,” said Chumbley, spitting again.
“Why, my dear boy, we should journey along with the stream till we came to some campong, and then cut adrift a boat and escape in that.”
“But suppose the owner objected?”