"Yes," said Smith, "and you've acted like an idiot over this, Baker."
"I could'n 'elp it," said the gay Lothario anything but gaily. "She's a reg'lar scorcher, she is, and she fair rushed me. And if 'er 'air was combed, and she was washed, she'd be good-lookin'."
"Um," said Smith, "lay her down, and let's start again."
So they paddled once more, and Kitty, who was not used to such exercise, lay on her arm and her matted hair, which would have defied anything less than a horse's mane comb, and slept like a child in a rocked cradle.
"If we get through, you'll have to marry your catch," said Smith, when they easied.
"I'd as soon do that as marry some as 'ave clawed after me," said the Baker. "I reckon she's a kind of princess, and if so be as we land some of the posh, and are rich, I'll 'ave 'er eddicated at a 'igh school. Lord, but she'd wake some of 'em up, if she got slingin' yarns about 'ead 'unting. 'Ow does a man who marries a princess call 'imself, Smith? is 'e a prince, too?"
"He's her husband, Baker," said Smith drily, "and is often mistaken for a waiter. But I'd hold on if I were you."
When they spoke again it was black dark, for the moon was lower, and the heavy timber made the river as sombre as a narrow cañon two hundred feet deep.
"Go easy," cried Smith, "and look out, Baker, for any snags. It won't do to get capsized. How's the girl?"
"Dreamin' of 'er 'appy 'ome!" said the Baker cheerfully. "I was just wonderin', Smith, as to what that long, sulky swine, 'Icks, would say, if 'e know'd what 'e'd missed. 'E could 'ave took up with the Brodarro, and been king, being big and hugly enough. And what the boys will say about Mrs. Mandeville 'ere rather does for me."