"Why, no, I was referring to something strange about this hole in the bottom of my boat, that's all," answered the other.
"Hole?" cried Lanky. "Well, according to my notion a hole's only a hole. Perhaps we knocked it in on a snag while rowing up this beastly old river; or perhaps I wore the planking through with my heel, trying to keep pace with your pulling."
"Got a match, Lanky?" asked Frank, ignoring this pleasantry.
"Sure, a dozen of them, if you say so. Always carry a bunch along," and as he spoke, with cheerful alacrity he brought out several.
"That's lucky, for I left my safe in my other coat at the boathouse," and Frank struck one of the matches.
"What about this funny old hole?" demanded Lanky, thrusting his head down.
"Look at it; don't you see something strange about it?" asked his comrade.
"Why, yes, it's as round as a ten-cent piece!" exclaimed Lanky.
"Ever see a snag push through planking like that? The wood's as sound as a dollar all around it, too. Don't it look different from any hole you ever doctored up in a rowboat?"
"It certainly does. I should say the worm that bored that hole——"