“By Jove!” suddenly exclaimed Boswell, “I’ve got that torn handkerchief again,” and he held it up, showing where a strip had evidently been ripped from it. “I’ve got two,” he explained, “and this one got torn the other day. I thought I laid it aside, but, in my hurry, I must have grabbed it up.”
“How—how’d you tear it?” asked Tom, when he could trust his voice.
“Oh, it caught on a nail down at the boathouse, and a piece was ripped off.”
“Why—why couldn’t you have it sewed on?” asked Tom.
“What? Carry a mended handkerchief? I guess not. Anyhow the piece fell in the water and floated away. Hope you’ll be in the eight next time we practice, though I may get your place.”
“Maybe,” answered Tom, and he did not take the trouble to designate which clause the word modified.
[CHAPTER XI]
THE FIRST BREAK
“Say, where in the name of Diogenes’s lantern have you been, Tom?”