“No; but you’ll feel it if you sit down on that snake, there.”
“Wow!” cried Fleet, who was nearly in a sitting posture. He sprang into the air with more speed than grace. “Snake!” he cried looking about him. “Where’s any snake?”
“In your boots,” said Pod, and again the laugh was on Fleet.
Then the boys hummed a few airs to get in tune with each other, and finally broke forth with a volume of song that rolled out across the water and probably carried to the other shore, for sound carries well on a still night:
Here’s to good old Winton, drink her down,
Drink her down!
Oh, here’s to good old Winton, drink her down!
She is merry, she’s sublime,
We are here from every clime,
And we’re having a good time,
Drink her down!
Fleet had an excellent bass voice, and the boys followed the usual custom of singing the song down to the three lines which rhyme. Then they would pause and Fleet would come in with some new lines out of his inexhaustible supply, and the other boys would join in again on the last “Drink her down!” For instance:
Here’s to good old Winton, drink her down,
Drink her down!
Oh, here’s to good old Winton, drink her down!
Then Fleet alone:
We are on a trip, you know,
But we’re moving mighty slow,
Get up, boys, let ’er go——
Then all together: