"It's what they say in soldiering when the generals get into a fix," chipped in Tom.
"Oh, gollies! let us get home as quick as possible. If we don't they'll think we're drownded an'——"
"Look here, Jimmy, stow that rot! If we start talking in that fashion, we'll get unnerved. Billy, you first! Tell us what you think about the situation."
"Long's we're here we're safe. There's a 'possum in the spout above us. I'll climb up and get 'im for tucka."
"We can't cook 'possum in the boat, Billy. No dry wood; no matches. You're right enough about safety, though. These trees have borne the brunt of the flood stream at its highest, and things are getting easier. Jimmy, what do you think of it?"
"I—I—I dunno. Oh, my poor m-other!" cried Jimmy, whose emotions again overpowered him.
"Didn't I tell you to stow that water-cart business? Dry up, or I'll jolly well tan your hide for you, you soft milksop!"
Joe's severity was partly assumed. He was fighting himself about home thoughts. He knew the folly of giving way at this crisis to such a natural sentiment.
"You, Tom! You've a notion, I'm sure," said Joe to his chum.
"My opinion, chaps, is that we ought to be very thankful for bein' where we are, an' stay here a bit anyways. It'd be madness to attempt to recross the river. What's to prevent us pullin' over there?" pointing to a hillock nearly a mile away inland.