“Well, but tell me this, old man,” said Rory; “I want to know if you’re going to do a flounder this morning?”
“To be sure!” said Ralph. “Listen!”
Rory listened, and could hear him plashing.
McBain passed along at the moment, and, hearing the conversation, he took part in it to this extent,—
“Boys that don’t have their baths don’t have their breakfasts.”
“In that case,” said Rory, “I’m in too!” And next moment he was plashing away like a live dolphin. But hardly was he dressed than there came all over him such a glorious warm glow, that he would have gone through the same ordeal again had there been any occasion. At the same time he felt so exhilarated in spirits that nothing would serve him but he must burst into song.
The frost held, they could tell that when they met in the saloon and glanced at the windows; the tracery thereon was so beautiful, that even at the risk of letting his breakfast get cold, Rory must needs run for his sketch-book and make two pictures at least. Meanwhile, Ralph had settled down to serious eating. You see, there was very little poetry about honest Ralph, he was more solid than imaginative.
After breakfast our trio took to the ice again. They soon had evidence that some one had been there before them, for about a mile along the shore, and a little way out to sea, they saw that several poles had been planted, and on each pole fluttered a red flag. They looked inquiringly at McBain.
“You wonder what the meaning of that is?” said McBain; “and I myself cannot altogether explain it.”
“But you had the flags placed there?”