Presently Blake came out from among the mangroves, and walked across to the beach, a few yards away from the huge bathers. To all appearances, they paid as little attention to him as he to them. Miss Leslie glanced about at Winthrope. He was fast asleep. She waited a few moments to see if the hippopotami would attack Blake. They continued to ignore him, and gaining courage from their indifference, she stepped out from behind the thicket, and advanced to where Blake was crouched on the beach. When she came up, she saw beside him a heap of oysters, which he was opening in rapid succession.
“Hello! You’re just in time to help,” he called. “Where’s Win!”
“Asleep behind those bushes.”
“Worst thing he could do. But lend a hand, and we’ll shuck these oysters before rousting him out. You can rinse those I’ve opened. Fill the pot with water, and put them in to soak.”
“They look very tempting. How did you chance to find them?”
“Saw ’em on the mangrove roots at low tide, first time I nosed around here. Tide was well up to-day; but I managed to get these all right with a little diving. Only trouble, the skeets most ate me alive.”
Miss Leslie glanced at her companion’s dry clothing, and came back to the oysters themselves. “These look very tempting. Do you like them raw?”
“Can’t say I like them much any way, as a rule. But if I did, I wouldn’t eat this mess raw.”
“Yes?”
“This must be the dry season here, and the river is running mighty clear. Just the same, it’s nothing more than liquid malaria. We’ll not eat these oysters till they’ve been pasteurized.”