“Oh, yes, I knew you did it,” sneered Distin; “but there are not brains enough in your head to originate such a dastardly trick. That was Vane Lee’s doing, and he’ll hear of it another time, as sure as my name’s Distin.”
“I tell you it was my own doing entirely,” cried Macey, flushing up; “and I’ll tell you something else. I’m glad I did it—so there. For you deserved it, and you deserve another for being such a cad.”
“What do you mean?” cried Distin, threateningly. “What I say, you ungrateful, un-English humbug. You were drowning; you couldn’t be found, and you wouldn’t have been here now, if it hadn’t been for old Weathercock diving down and fetching you up, and then, half-dead himself, working so hard to help save your life.”
“I don’t believe it,” snarled Distin.
“Don’t,” said Macey, as he thrust the boat from the side, throwing himself forward at the same time, so that he rode out on his chest, and then wriggled in, to seat himself close by Vane, while Gilmore and Distin began to row hard, so as to get some warmth into their chilled bodies.
They went on in silence for some time, and then Macey leaped up.
“Now, Vane,” he cried; “it’s our turn.”
“Sit down,” roared Distin.
“Don’t, Aleck,” said Vane, firmly. “You are quite right. We want to warm ourselves too. Come, Gil, and take my place.”
“Sit down!” roared Distin again; but Gilmore exchanged places with Vane, and Macey stepped forward, and took hold of Distin’s oar.