“Don't be afraid of a wetting,” Stine sneered. “Other men have gone off to-day wetter than you. Now I'm going to take her out.”
This time it was he who got the wetting and who announced with chattering teeth the need of a fire.
“A little splash like that!” Sprague chattered spitefully. “We'll go on.”
“Shorty, dig out my clothes-bag and make a fire,” the other commanded.
“You'll do nothing of the sort,” Sprague cried.
Shorty looked from one to the other, expectorated, but did not move.
“He's working for me, and I guess he obeys my orders,” Stine retorted. “Shorty, take that bag ashore.”
Shorty obeyed, and Sprague shivered in the boat. Kit, having received no orders, remained inactive, glad of the rest.
“A boat divided against itself won't float,” he soliloquized.
“What's that?” Sprague snarled at him.