Distin’s teeth grated together as he sat and scowled at his fellow-pupil, muttering, “Chattering ape;” but he made no effort to put his threats into execution, and kept rowing on, twisting his neck round from time to time, to see which way they were going; Vane and Gilmore went on talking in a low tone; and Macey talked to himself.
“He has made me feel vicious,” he said. “I’m a chattering ape, am I? He’ll pitch me overboard, will he? I’d call him a beast, only it would be so rude. He’d pitch me overboard, would he? Well, I could swim if he did, and that’s more than he could do.”
Macey looked before him at Vane and Gilmore, to see that the former had turned to the side and was thoughtfully dipping his hand in the water, as if paddling.
“Halloo, Weathercock!” he cried. “I know what you’re thinking about.”
“Not you,” cried Vane merrily, as he looked back.
“I do. You were thinking you could invent a machine to send the boat along far better than old West Indies is doing it now.”
Vane stared at him.
“Well,” he said, hesitatingly, “I was not thinking about Distin’s rowing, but I was trying to hit out some way of propelling a boat without steam.”
“Knew it! I knew it! Here, I shan’t read for the bar; I shall study up for a head boss conjurer, thought-reader, and clairvoyant.”
“For goodness’ sake, Gilmore, lean back, and stuff your handkerchief in that chattering pie’s mouth. You had better; it will save me from pitching him into the river.”