“No, sir; it goes right down into it, and I’m sitting in a sort of fork, like a dicky bird as has been picking out a handy place for its nest.”
“Then what are you going to try to do?”
“Nothing, sir, but think.”
“Think?”
“Yes, sir—about what I’m going to say to the skipper if ever we gets back.”
“Why, what can you say?”
“That’s what I want to know, sir. I know what he’ll say to me. He’ll say, Look here, my lad, you were coxswain; I want to know what you have done with my gig.”
“Ah, the boat!” said Rodd. “Do any of you know what’s become of the boat?”
“I don’t,” said Briggs.
“Oh, she’s half-way to South Ameriky by this time, sir,” said Joe, “and I shall get all the credit of having lost her.”