“It’s what are you up to, Tom? Here, how are you now?”
“Quite well, thankye, Master Aleck. How are you? But, here,” he cried, changing his manner, “what does it all mean? Why, what—when—wh–wh–what—ah, I know now, Master Aleck! I say, don’t tell me the boat’s gone down!”
As he spoke he rose quickly into a sitting position and stared down through the opening where the steps began, uttered a sigh of content, and then said:
“I was afraid you hadn’t made them knots fast.”
“Oh, they’re all right. But has your faintness gone off?”
“Yes, sir, that’s gone.”
“To think of a big sturdy fellow fainting dead away!”
“Ah, ’tis rum, sir, arn’t it? All comes o’ having no legs and feet. I never knew what it was till I lost ’em, as I telled yer.”
“Well, you’re better now. But, I say, Tom, how did you manage to get the boat full of water like this?”
“Oh, come, Master Aleck,” cried Tom, indignantly. “I like that! How come you to chuck that great lump o’ paper down and make that great hole in her bottom?”