“Man, Harry; out with it at once, don’t be afraid,” said Charley.
“Well, no, I wasn’t going to have said that exactly, but I was going to have said a voyageur, only I recollected our doings this morning, and hesitated to take the name until I had won it.”
“It’s well that you entertain so modest an opinion of yourself,” said Mr. Park, who still smoked his pipe as if he were impressed with the idea that to stop for a moment would produce instant death. “I may tell you for your comfort, youngster, that we shan’t breakfast till we reach yonder point.”
The shores of Lake Winnipeg are flat and low, and the point indicated by Mr. Park lay directly in the light of the sun, which now shone with such splendour in the cloudless sky, and flashed on the polished water, that it was with difficulty they could look towards the point of land.
“Where is it?” asked Charley, shading his eyes with his hand; “I cannot make out anything at all.”
“Try again, my boy; there’s nothing like practice.”
“Ah yes! I make it out now; a faint shadow just under the sun. Is that it?”
“Ay, and we’ll break our fast there.”
“I would like very much to break your head here,” thought Charley, but he did not say it, as, besides being likely to produce unpleasant consequences, he felt that such a speech to an elderly gentleman would be highly improper; and Charley had some respect for gray hairs for their own sake, whether the owner of them was a good man or a goose.
“What shall we do, Harry? If I had only thought of keeping out a book.”