“A collision?”
“Yes, a collision between the latitude and the longitude, and they’re both standing stock still at 60.”
“I’ll explain,” said McBain, who had just joined them. “The good ship Snowbird, latitude 60 degrees North, longitude 60 degrees West.”
“Now do you see, Mr Obtuse?” said Rory.
“I do,” said Ralph, “but no thanks to you.”
Next morning land was in sight on the lee bow, and by noon they had cast anchor and clewed sails in a small bay near a creek.
“Not a very hospitable-looking shore, is it?” said McBain; “but never mind, here are birds in plenty, and no doubt we’ll find fur as well as feather. So be ready by to-morrow for a big shoot.”
“I’m ready now,” said Rory, “just for a small ‘explore,’ you know, and we’ll come back by sunset and report.”
“And I’ll go with him,” said Allan.
“Mind you don’t get lost,” cried McBain; “and we don’t expect a big bag, you know.”