“And you’re a pretty sort of a fellow who lives by the shore and don’t know. You seem to know nothing.”
“Bother the spring tides,” said Aleck, testily. “I know there are spring tides, and that sometimes you can walk dry-shod half way down our gully; but I can’t tell the times. Tom Bodger would know.”
“What, that wooden-legged sailor?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’d better go and fetch him here.”
“I wish I could,” said Aleck, sadly. “What’s the good of wishing? Here, I’m hungry. Let’s have something to eat.”
“No, we mustn’t do that,” said Aleck. “We had better eat as little as we can so as to make the food last as long as possible.”
“No, we hadn’t,” replied the middy, roughly. “We may just as well eat while we can. There’s plenty to keep us alive; but if we can’t get out we shan’t be able to live all the same.”
“Why?”
The middy was silent for a few moments before he could master himself sufficiently, the horror that he as a sailor foresaw not having been grasped by his shore-going companion.