He made his way round the bow until he could feel the mast with his feet, and gingerly stood on it. It creaked, and the boat swayed over; and for a moment Nick prepared to jump off again. Then, however, as the boat showed no further sign of sinking, he sighed with relief.
"You wouldn't call it exactly comf'table, but it's better than hangin' on in the water," he said. "Can you see any sign of bein' picked up?"
'Possum scanned the lake.
"Not any one in sight," she said. "We're a bit off the usual track, aren't we? Do you reckon we'll drift into shore? It ain't far away."
"I don't," said Nick. "We're out o' the way o' currents, as well as boats. Still, you never can tell where people'll cut across the lake; an' them hotel launches ought to be comin' home about this way. Well, we just got to stick it out. I'd give a dollar if me matches an' baccy hadn't got wet!"
The slow hours of the afternoon crept on. No one came near the castaways. Once or twice their hopes rose high, as a fishing-boat or a launch crossed the lake; but they were not seen, and their shouts died unheeded on the water. It seemed extraordinary that they should not be perceived, for the shore was not a mile away, and houses looked peacefully down upon them; it was maddening to see the cheery smoke curling upward from the chimneys, and to realize how near lay deliverance.
They changed places after a while. Nick's great height made his position on the mast unbearably cramped, and when he had slipped off twice, 'Possum became firm.
"It's silly," she said. "I can stand on that stick quite easy; it's different for you, an' you six feet four. Why, it doubles you up something cruel." She descended into the water, and occupied the position on the mast before the cramped man could regain it.
"I b'lieve the boat'll hold you all right, if you get up gently," said she. "Go on—you're about due for a rest."
Nick scrambled to her former seat, the boat merely swaying beneath him. He looked at her gratefully.