“What’s the matter, Rob?” said Brazier, as he turned suddenly from where he had been laying various articles of clothing out in the warm sunshine to dry and found the two lads seated together in silence, Rob with his elbows on the side of the boat and his chin in his, hands, gazing back ashore.
“I can’t get a word out of him, sir,” said Joe. “I think it’s because the lion was left behind.”
“Nonsense! Rob is not so childish as to fret after a toy he cannot have. Come, my lad, there is plenty to do. We must make use of the evening sun to get everything possible dry. Come and help. Wet clothes and wet sleeping-places may mean fever.”
Rob looked reproachfully at Joe, and began to hurry himself directly, his movement bringing him in contact with Shaddy, who was dividing his time between keeping a sharp look-out along the shore for a good halting-place suitable for making a fire, giving instructions to his men, and using a sponge with which to sop up every trace of moisture he could find within the boat.
“There, Mr Rob, sir,” he said as he gave the sponge a final squeeze over the side, “I think that’ll about do. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. That storm has done one thing—given the boat a good wash-out—and if we make a big fire to-night and dry everything that got wet, we shall be all the better for it. Don’t see storms like that in England, eh?”
“No,” said Rob shortly, and he took down and began rubbing the moisture from his gun.
“Ah, that’s right, my lad; always come down sharp on the rust, and stop it from going any further. Why, hullo! not going to be ill, are you?”
Rob shook his head.
“You look as dumps as dumps, Mr Rob, sir. I know you’re put out about that great cat being left behind.”
Rob was silent.