"Goodness, no!" moaned the Unwiseman. "I want you to pour it on those waves and sort of clam them down and then, if you don't mind, take the carpet-bag——"
"Yes," said Mollie.
"And chuck it overboard," groaned the Unwiseman. "I—I don't feel as if I cared ever to hear the dinner-bell again."
Poor Unwiseman! He was suffering the usual fate of those who cross the British Channel, which behaves itself at times as if it really did have an idea that it was a great big ocean and had an ocean's work to do. But fortunately this uneasy body of water is not very wide, and it was not long before the travellers landed safe and sound on the solid shores of France, none the worse for their uncomfortable trip.
"I guess you were wise not to throw me overboard after all," said the Unwiseman, as he came out of the carpet-bag at Calais. "I feel as fine as ever now and my lost French has returned."
"I'd like to hear some," said Mollie.
"Very well," replied the Unwiseman carelessly. "Go ahead and ask me a question and I'll answer it in French."
"Hm! Let me see," said Mollie wondering how to begin. "Have you had breakfast?"
"Wee Munsieur, j'ay le pain," replied the Unwiseman gravely.
"What does that mean?" asked Mollie, puzzled.