Mollie looked at him admiringly.
"Take these goloshes for instance. I'm the only person on board this boat that's got goloshes on," continued the old gentleman, "and yet if the boat went down, how on earth could they keep their feet dry? It's all so simple. Same way with this life preserver—it's nothing but an old bicycle tire I found in your barn, but just think what it would mean to me if I should fall overboard some day."
"Smitey-fine!" whistled Whistlebinkie.
"It is that. All I'll have to do is to sit inside of it and float till they lower a boat after me," said the Unwiseman.
"What have you done about getting sea-sick?" asked Mollie.
"Ah—that's the thing that bothered me as much as anything," ejaculated the Unwiseman, "but all of a sudden it came to me like a flash. I was getting my fishing tackle ready for the trip and when I came to the sinkers, there was the idea as plain as the nose on your face. Six days out, says I, means thirty-seven meals."
"Thirty-seven?" asked Mollie.
"Yes—three meals a day for six days is—," began the Unwiseman.
"Only eighteen," said Mollie, who for a child of her size was very quick at multiplication.
"So it is," said the Unwiseman, his face growing very red. "So it is. I must have forgotten to set down five and carry three."