“Of course I am,” snarled Distin; “any fool could see that. I must have struck my head, I suppose.”
“He doesn’t suspect me,” thought Macey, with a long-drawn breath full of relief.
“Here, I’ll try again,” continued Distin. “Where’s the boat? I want to get back, and change these wet things. Oh! my head aches as if it would split!”
Gilmore offered his hand again, and, forgetting everything in his desire to help one in pain and distress, Vane ranged up on the other side, and was about to take Distin’s arm.
But the lad shrank from him fiercely.
“I can manage,” he said. “I don’t want to be hauled and pulled about like a child. Now, Gil, steady. Let’s get into the boat. I want to lie down in the stern.”
“Wait a minute or two; she’s half full of water,” cried Macey, who was longing to do something helpful. “Come on, Vane.”
The latter went to his help, and they drew the boat closer in.
“Oh, I say,” whispered the lad, “isn’t old Dis in a temper?”
“Yes; I’ve heard that people who have been nearly drowned are terribly irritable when they come to,” replied Vane, in the same tone. “Never mind, we’ve saved his life.”