“Maybe we can use my belt,” Dud suggested. But at that moment they came near enough to see into the white canoe and discovered that it was far from empty, since two forms were stretched out flat on the bottom. One had the colored pages of a Sunday paper over his face and was consequently unrecognizable, but the other was unmistakably Nick Blake himself. Jimmy signaled to stop paddling and the canoe floated silently alongside.
“Asleep!” whispered Jimmy. Dud nodded. Their eyes questioned. Here, plainly, was a Heaven-sent opportunity to perpetrate a joke, but what form the joke was to take was not easily decided. Dud watched Jimmy expectantly, and Jimmy frowned thoughtfully, benignantly down on the recumbent forms. If, he pondered, there was some way of fixing a line to the white canoe without waking the occupants it would be a lark to tow it down to the Falls and tie it up there in plain sight of the trolley bridge. But Nick or his companion would probably wake before they had accomplished that deed. And, besides, there was no rope handy. Jimmy was for once at a loss. So, evidently, was Dud, for the latter returned Jimmy’s inquiring look blankly. The precious moments passed. And then, while Jimmy still racked his usually prolific brain, Nick’s lips opened, although not his eyes, and Nick’s voice murmured: “Hello, Jimmy! How well you’re looking. Isn’t he, ’Ighness?”
And from under the newspaper came the reply in dreamy accents: “Oh, rather! Perfectly ripping!”
CHAPTER XII
ON THE RIVER
“You chumps!” growled Jimmy in deep disgust. “What do you think you’re doing, anyway?”
“It’s a sad story,” murmured Nick. “We were shipwrecked six—seven—how many days ago was it, Mr. Ordway?”
“Seven, Mr. Blake.”
“Ay, seven days ago, sir, and ever since we have been tossed about in this tiny boat at the mercy of the sea and tempest and——”
“Elements,” suggested the voice from under the comic supplement.