“Oh, Shaddy, do hold your tongue!” cried Rob. “I say, Joe, how long will it take to tire him?”
“Don’t know,” said the lad, laughing. “He’s tiring you first.”
“Yes; but how are we to get him on board?”
“Hullo, Rob, lad! caught a fish or a tartar?” said a fresh voice, and a bronzed, sturdy man of about seven-and-thirty stepped up behind them, putting on a pith helmet and suppressing a yawn, for he had just risen from his nap under the awning.
“Think it’s a Tartar,” said Rob between his set teeth.
“Or a whale,” said the fresh comer, laughing. “Perhaps we had better cut adrift.”
“No, no, sir,” cried Rob excitedly. “I must catch him.”
“I meant from the schooner, so as to let him tow us if he will take us up stream instead of down.”
“No; don’t move; don’t do anything,” cried Rob hoarsely. “I’m so afraid of his breaking away.”
“Well, he is doing his best, my lad.”