CHAPTER V
TWO MEN
“And the red oar won out,” Cora remarked, looking at the old relic with something akin to reverence. “Perhaps, after all, there is something in luck.”
“Looked like it,” agreed Denny. “And after we got back Len couldn’t pay any attention to the half-frozen men, or to me, that had been pretty well chilled—all he could do was talk about the luck of that oar.”
“I don’t blame him,” Freda put in. “Your rope had nearly burned, your light oar broke, one of the heavy pair went overboard and this one did most of the work getting back, I suppose.”
“Right,” said Denny, “for while we had another pair to work with, they were slim, and weak, but that fellow, it sure was tough then; but lately when I take it down it seems to have shrunk, for it’s gettin’ lighter, somehow.”
“And how did you come to get it?” asked Cora.
“That’s the end of my story,” said Denny. “When Len was taken very sick, of course I used to stay with me friend as much as I could.”
Freda unconsciously pushed her chair nearer the old man. Surely to hear of the last days of her good grandfather’s life was a matter too important to pass over lightly.
“Your father was livin’ then, Freddie,” Denny went on, “and a fine healthy young man, too.”