"Steady, above there! We're full up. I can't take another pound, and I doubt if we can get this all home safely."
"Just this, man!" and Macro appeared up above with a small keg in his arms, and let himself and it carefully down on to the raft, with every appearance of a return to sanity.
"Man!" he said, with the afterglow of it all still in his face. "That was fine. We'll come again."
"We've got to get all these things home first."
"Easy that. This wind'll carry us fine," and he set to work with a couple of the broken oars and a blanket, and contrived a sail of sorts. Then, taking another oar and thrusting one into Wulfrey's hands, he propelled the clumsy raft along the side of the wreckage till it got clear, and the wind caught their sail and wafted them slowly towards the island.
"A grand grand place, yon!" he broke out again.
"There's stuff enough there to load a hundred ships.... Gosh, I've forgotten the pork!" and he uprooted the sail and began paddling back to the wreckage. "I stove in the head of a barrel and was smelling at it when I spied the wee keg."
"Was it eatable?"
"I've eaten worse."
"Couldn't we get it next trip?"