"I've got to!" said Billoo, and he looked about in a fat, challenging way as if daring any one to say that he had not got to.
"You poor things," said Sally, "I hope to Heaven you can; but how?"
"Where there's a will, Mrs. Sam—" Billoo said. And he began to think hard. All of a sudden his face brightened.
"It's too easy," he said. "The wind's right; four or five of us have umbrellas—Sam, you'll have to lend us this float. We've only to cut it from its moorings, and sail it across—May we have it?"
"Yes," I said, "but you're crazy to try it."
"It's a case of sink or swim," said he. "Who's coming?"
Without exception the men agreed to sail with him on the float. It was a fine, big platform, floated on sheet-iron air-tanks, and moored at the four corners by heavy ropes.
Sally and I withdrew to the pier and watched Billoo and the others cut slowly through the ropes with their pocket-knives. Presently the float began to move, and a second or two later the float end of the gang-plank slipped into the water with a heavy splash. Those who had umbrellas opened them to catch the breeze, and the others lit cigars, and stood about in graceful attitudes. Sally and I cheered as loud as we could.
"I'll send you a tug or something," Billoo called back to us, "and try to find out what's happened to the Hobo."
"Thank you!" I called back.