“You forget the fever,” she retorted mockingly, and Blake failed to catch the quaver beneath the light remark.
“Say, you’ve got me there!” he admitted. “Just pass over your flag, and scrape up some grub. I’ll be breaking out a big bamboo. There are plenty of holes and loose stones on the cliff. We’ll have the signal up before noon.”
Miss Leslie murmured her thanks, and immediately set about the preparation of breakfast.
When Blake had the bamboo ready, with one edge of the broad piece of white duck lashed to it with catgut as high up as the tapering staff would bear, he called upon Winthrope to accompany him.
“You can go, too, Miss Jenny,” he added. “You haven’t been on the cliff yet, and you ought to celebrate the occasion.”
“No, thank you,” replied the girl. “I’m still unprepared to climb precipices, even though my costume is that of a savage.”
“Savage? Great Scott! that leopard dress would win out against any set of Russian furs a-going, and I’ve heard they’re considered all kinds of dog. Come on. I can swing you into the branches, and it’s easy from there up.”
“You will excuse me, please.”
“Yes, you can go alone,” interposed Winthrope. “I am indisposed this morning, and, what is more, I have had enough of your dictation.”
“You have, have you?” growled Blake, his patience suddenly come to an end. “Well, let me tell you, Miss Leslie is a lady, and if she don’t want to go, that settles it. But as for you, you’ll go, if I have to kick you every step.”