“Yes, of course. We couldn’t steal the boat.”
“Yah, steal it! Who ever said a word about stealing? We’ve only borrowed it, and if we don’t send it back, old Danby’s got lots of money, and he can buy another. But, got no money! Well!”
“But we don’t want money, do we!” said Dexter, whom the excitement as well as his clothes now began to make comparatively warm. “I thought we were going where we could soon make our fortunes.”
“Yes, of course we are, stoopid; but you can’t make fortunes without money. You can’t ketch fish if yer ain’t got no bait.”
This was a philosophical view of matters which took Dexter aback, and he faltered rather as he spoke next, this time with his ears dry, his hair not so very wet, and his jacket buttoned up to his chin.
“I’m very sorry, Bob,” he said gently.
“Sorry! Being sorry won’t butter no parsneps,” growled Bob.
“No,” said Dexter mildly, “but we haven’t got any parsneps to butter.”
“No, nor ain’t likely to have,” growled Bob, and then returning to a favourite form of expression: “And you call yourself a mate! Here, come and kitch holt of this scull.”
Dexter sat down on the thwart, and took the scull after Bob had contrived to give him a spiteful blow on the back with it before he extricated it from its rowlock.