“No, not quite—yet,” said Dexter. “But how are we going to manage!”
“Well, if ever!” exclaimed Bob. “You are a rum chap, and no mistake. Of course we shall take the boat, and I’ve got that table-cloth ready for a sail, and a bit of rope to hoist it up.”
Dexter winced about that table-cloth, one which he had borrowed at Bob’s wish from the housekeeper’s room.
“But must we take that boat?”
“Why, of course, but we shall send it back some day as good as new, hanging behind a ship, and then have it sent up the river. I know lots of fellows who’ll put it back for me if I ask ’em.”
Dexter felt a little better satisfied, and then listened to his companion’s plans, which were very simple, but effective all the same, though common honesty did not come in.
The conversation was carried on across the river, and to ensure its not being heard, Dexter lay down on the grass and put his lips close to the water, Bob Dimsted doing the same, when, it being quite a still evening, conversation became easy.
“What are your people doing now?” said Bob, after they had been talking some time.
“Dr Grayson is writing, and Miss Grayson reading.”
“Why, we might go now—easy.”