“Good idea, Pete!” And the two lads busied themselves in placing the boxes so that the moisture would drip away, with the possibility of their getting dry in the sunshine, which was already beginning to fill their shelter with semi-horizontal rays.
“Here, I say, sir, if we had known what a ramshackle old wreck this ’ere sampan is we should have stepped along pretty gingerly while we were poling—at least I should, for it looks to me as if you could shove your foot through anywhere. Look at the sides! Why, they are half-rotten!”
“Yes, Pete; it’s a wonder that the boat did not go to pieces when we ran up against that other one in the night.”
“That it is, sir. Why, if I’d known I believe I should have liked to travel outside, hanging on, with my legs in the water.”
“As a bait to tempt crocodiles, Pete?”
“Oh, I say, don’t, sir! You give one the shivers.”
As the lad spoke he peered over the side of the boat and half drew his bayonet from his belt.
“Might be one of those beauties under the bottom now, sir,” he said half-apologetically. “Nice morning, though, ain’t it? Talking about hanging one’s legs over the side, we might lay them up a bit to dry;” and he set the example of stretching his own out on the seat-like thwart, and sitting silently for a while gazing through one of the openings across the river.
Then, as if being silent wearied him, his tongue began to go again.
“Suppose you can’t make out exactly where we are, sir, can you?”