"Hadn't you better bring your coat and boots?"
Whitney found it a relief to laugh as he went back for the things; and Andrew pushed the punt off when he got on board.
"I'll paddle while you keep the young ass in the well," he said. "Knock him down if he tries to get up."
"Don't want to get up," Dick remarked. "Quite snug down here. Only trouble is I'm sitting in the eggs."
"I think that's correct," said Whitney. "In is the proper word. There's rather a mess on your face, too."
"Good shot, ole man," Dick observed with a grin.
Andrew said nothing as he swung the long paddle, for the ripples were getting larger as they left the sand, and the breeze was freshening, but at last the yacht's light twinkled in the mist. Getting on board, they hustled Dick below, where Andrew stripped off his wet clothes and put him into his berth, while Whitney got the stove to burn.
After a time, Dick put out his head.
"Feel I'd like some supper, before I go to sleep."
"You can go to sleep without it," Andrew said sternly. "I suppose there's no use in talking about it now, but you've been warned that this kind of thing may kill you."