“I don’t see why they don’t measure distance on the water by miles,” said Hal. “It’s beastly confusing.”
“If you come to that,” replied Jack, “the knot is the more sensible measurement. Every degree of the earth’s circumference is divided into sixty knots, making twenty-one thousand and six hundred knots. There are three hundred and sixty degrees, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I knew, of course,” laughed Bee. “Only I guess I’d forgotten. Now let’s see. A fathom is six feet, a cable is six hundred feet and ten cables make a knot. And a knot is—is eight hundred and sixty feet longer than a mile.”
“Eight hundred and two feet,” corrected Jack. “And now, as the lesson is over, say we go down and see what the neighbors have brought in for dinner.”
“Fine idea!” agreed Hal. “I’ve got just one question to ask, though, before the class is dismissed. Professor, how many knots are there in a knotical mile?”
“Why, he’s just told you,” began Bee. Then the pun dawned on him and he chased Hal down the hill with wild threats. They had some of the chops for dinner, with potatoes baked in a bed of ashes, bread and tea. And afterwards Jack made a batter of prepared flour and fried griddle cakes in the skillet. Unfortunately Bee had neglected to provide syrup, but sugar did pretty nearly as well, and by the time the last cake had disappeared the trio had no ambition beyond lying on their backs and staring sleepily into space.
“I wouldn’t look at a shovel for a million dollars,” muttered Hal. “And if any one mentions food to me I’ll die!”
“Those were some cakes,” groaned Bee. “Did you—did you put lead in them, Jack?”
“Lead? Get out! They were as light as feathers!”
“Were they? Then I guess I know how a feather mattress feels!” He rolled over in search of a more comfortable position and gave an exclamation of surprise. “There’s a man in a rowboat down there, fellows, and he’s coming ashore!”