“Now, captain—or father—take your place on the bridge, where you belong.”
Clifton proceeded with the utmost seriousness to climb up on Thomason’s table. He stood at one end, so that there would be room for Bonnie May also.
“The sailors will now take their places on the raft,” was the next order. “You know, you’re not supposed to be visible until you hear the line, ‘the ship is sinking,’ and then you want to remember that you are in a violent storm.”
Jack and Thomason climbed to the middle of the bed and sat down awkwardly, both looking in the same direction, like rowers in a boat.
“And remember you have paddles in your hands,” reminded Bonnie May.
“I have a paddle,” responded Jack.
“I ain’t,” objected Thomason.
“Oh, yes, you have,” declared Jack, “one just like mine.” He took a stroke with an imaginary paddle, held suitably.
“Well—I have a paddle,” conceded Thomason.
Bonnie May then was helped to the “bridge,” beside Clifton.