“Not that sort of boxing, chump! All right, you’re engaged. Now, Mr. Mate, laugh at me if you dare!”
Whereupon the mate promptly laughed, and Jack as promptly hurled him overboard into the raging billows of sand. Jack then strolled aft and stood for a few moments, measuring the distance between the embedded sloop and the river.
The mate, clambering aboard again, shouted something which fell on deaf ears. Again George spoke, and again Jack made no answer. At last, however, he emerged from his abstraction, and, “Come here,” he called.
George obeyed, and Jack passed his arm through that of his friend.
“Now, use your brain,” he said. “How far is it from here to the stream?”
“Thirty feet,” the other guessed. “Why?”
“Wrong. It’s nearer twenty. And don’t ever ask the captain ‘why’ anything. He’s in supreme command; see? Tell me what is to prevent us digging the Sea-Lark out of this and getting her afloat.”
“Afloat!” gasped the mate. “Why, you can’t do it! She’s stuck here.”
“Why can’t I do it?”