“Joe!”
There was no reply.
“Joe, old chap, I’m so sorry.” Still the young Italian gazed over the lake. “I say, Joe, it’s like being alone almost, you here and I out there. We can’t afford to quarrel. Shake hands, old fellow.”
Joe frowned more deeply.
“Oh, come, you shall,” whispered Rob. “I say, here, give me your hand like a man. I was put out about losing the puma, because I was sure I could tame it; and it would have made such a jolly pet to go travelling with. It could have lived on the shore and only been on board when we were going down the river. It put me out, and I said that stupid thing about the monkey.”
Joe started round with his eyes flashing.
“Do you want me to strike you a blow?” he hissed angrily.
“No; I want you to put your fist in mine and to say we’re good friends again. I apologise. I’m very sorry.”
“Keep your apologies. You are a mean coward to call me a name like that. If we were ashore instead of on a boat, I should strike you.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Rob sturdily.