“Hang the stuff!” he exclaimed ruefully. “I’ve nearly broken my jaws with it. Wonder what sort of glue they put into it. Someone could make his fortune if he could find out. Gee, but my mouth aches!”
“What are you going to do with the rest of it?” inquired Martin.
“Throw it away as far as——”
“Wait a bit! Don’t be wasteful, Nep. I know something better. We’ll go back to Main Street or Prairie Boulevard or whatever they call that causeway down there and drop it along the pavement. Then we’ll wait until it gets nice and soft and make a lot of money prying folks loose.”
But Nelson didn’t think the scheme practical and so they compromised by laying the bag on a doorsill and hurrying off before they could be caught and made to take it back.
The south of Ireland has a delightful climate if you don’t mind being a bit damp. The sun disappeared behind a fog bank about noon and when they emerged from dinner—they had taken advice and been rewarded by a well-cooked meal—it was raining. At least, they called it rain, but the inhabitants spoke of it as a mist. Whatever it was, it made them wish they had their rubber coats. They retired to the Y. M. C. A. hut to wait for it to stop, but it showed no intention of doing anything so obliging, and so, after awhile, finding the hut deficient in excitement, they metaphorically shrugged damp shoulders and swaggered forth again. Perhaps it would have been as well if they hadn’t, as things turned out. Or perhaps, on the other hand, it was fortunate that they did. It all depends on how you look at it.
CHAPTER XV
THE MYSTERIOUS SIGNALS
An hour later they found themselves getting ashore on the farther side of the harbor in a dense mist. By now they had acquired a comfortable philosophy that took no account of dampness. They had hired a small boat that leaked cheerfully every minute and their feet were as wet as their noses, and the latter were dripping all the time. As one place was as good as another to two boys seeking adventure they had only attempted to keep from running into the sinking one of the numerous ships that dotted the channels. Just where they were, now that they had landed and pulled the boat up, was something they neither knew nor cared about. They could see about fifty feet ahead of them, which, as Martin pointed out, was quite sufficient to keep them from traffic dangers. After leaving the beach they crossed a field, pausing to read an interesting “No trespassing” sign, and came to a road. It wasn’t a bad road as south of Ireland roads go, but it looked uninteresting. So they disregarded it and broke through a hedge on the other side of it and walked into a bog.
Five minutes afterwards they were out again, their feet squishing musically in their shoes. It seemed to them intensely funny, and they laughed hilariously over their plight and tried to see who could make the more pleasing squishes. Martin ventured the opinion that it was one of the justly celebrated peat-bogs, which drew Nelson to murmur: “For the love of peat!” Beyond the bog—they had gone straight across it in spite of its tenacity—was a field that climbed upward through the fog, ending always fifty feet ahead. The danger of walking off into a railway cut or into the sea added excitement. That the sea was not far distant was evident from the salt tang in the air. They ultimately reached the summit of the hill and made out the shape of a small building which proved to be a tumbled-down cabin. There was nothing inside save a litter of stone and rubbish and the roof was gone except in one corner. Weeds and grass grew from the crevices, and Martin observed that it was without doubt extremely picturesque, and that if he had his camera with him he would snap it, but that as a place of sanctuary it was a fizzle. Nelson pointed out the remains of a fireplace and chimney, but there was nothing in sight that looked like fuel, and, as Martin said, they hadn’t brought away enough of the peat-bog to make much of a fire. So they went on again, unhurriedly, happily, hands in pockets and shoulders humped to keep the fog from trickling down their necks. After ten or fifteen minutes, during which they were twice turned back by a hedge and a ditch, it dawned on them that they were quite as thoroughly lost as any collar button that ever rolled under a bureau!