"By George! He's picked up some girls," exclaimed Armstrong.
There were certainly two parasols, a pink and a blue, at the stern of the boat.
"The young dog!" cried Warrender. "And got them stranded on a sandbank. But 'Three Blind Mice!' He's a rummy idea of entertaining girls."
The sound of the banjo ceased. "Ahoy!" came from the boat, and the two parasols were agitated. The scullers pulled on.
"Heavens! It's Mrs. Crawshay and her daughter," said Warrender, after glancing over his shoulder. Armstrong grinned.
"Twig?" he said. "Master Percy has been showing off."
"Silly young ass! Jolly lucky he hasn't wrecked 'em! I shall have to talk to him."
They rowed almost up to the boat, keeping clear of the sandbank.
"Hullo, old sports," said Pratt. "Really, Phil, you ought to carry a chart--an up-to-date one, you know, that would show all the coral reefs and other traps for the hapless navigator. The Admiralty ought to mark 'em with buoys or lightships or something, but you can never expect anything from the Government. There's no danger, of course. I assured the ladies that they needn't be the least bit nervous or frightened, but it's annoying to be pulled up when you don't want to be. I'm sure a 'bus conductor must get frightfully annoyed when the old 'bus is spanking along and somebody wants to get in or out. I dare say you've noticed it, Mrs. Crawshay; the conductor is so ratty at being interrupted that he simply won't see the umbrella you're waving at him from the kerb. Mrs. Crawshay and Miss Crawshay were kind enough to pay a call on us at the camp this afternoon. It was just after you had gone, and as it was far too early for tea, I thought it would be interesting--what they call a treat, you know"--Pratt's impetuous tongue had fairly run away with his savoir faire--"to take the ladies for a spin, especially as they had never been in a motor-boat before. I promised faithfully to bring them back to tea; you got some meringues and things, of course--and I have a distinct grudge against fate for making me out to be not a man of my word. There's no armour against----"
"Oh, Mr. Pratt, please!" Lilian Crawshay implored. "Mr. Warrender, can you get us off?"