“Nay, he won’t come any more,” said Bob confidently. “Let’s go and get something to eat.”
It was a welcome proposal, and the boat being unmoored, Dexter took one of the sculls, and as they rowed slowly down with the tide he kept his eyes busy watching for the coming danger, but it did not appear.
Bob went ashore at a place that looked like a ferry, where there was a little public-house, and this time returned with a small loaf, a piece of boiled bacon, and a bottle of cider.
“I’d ha’ brought the bacon raw, and we’d ha’ cooked it over a fire,” said Bob, “only there don’t seem to be no wood down here, and there’s such lots of houses.”
Dexter did not feel troubled about the way in which the bacon was prepared, but sat in the boat, as it drifted with the tide, and ate his portion ravenously, but did not find the sour cider to his taste.
By the time they had finished, it was growing dark, and lights were twinkling here and there on either bank, showing that they were now in a well-populated part.
“Where are we to sleep to-night, Bob?” said Dexter at last.
“Dunno yet. Can’t see no places.”
“We must be near the sea now, mustn’t we?”
“Yes, pretty handy to it,” said Bob, with the confidence of one in utter ignorance. “We shall be there to-morrow, and then we can catch heaps of cod-fish, and soles, and mack’rel, and find oysters. It’ll be all right then.”