“About three thousand five hundred miles.”
“Very good. Toward this interesting spot the Rajah is plodding along at seven knots an hour, perhaps doing a little less, as her owners guarantee that speed. How long will it take her to reach the what-do-you-call-it river? There is no use of my attempting figures when I have an uncivil engineer in my employ.”
“About twenty-one days,” replied Mackeller.
“Very well. If my yacht goes only twice that speed, which she can accomplish in her sleep, we’d get there in half the time, wouldn’t we? I think that mathematical calculation is correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Then we’d be Johnnie-on-the-spot in about eleven days, wouldn’t we?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The Rajah has now four days the start of us. Then don’t you see we can spend six more days over our porridge in the morning, and still reach our river before she does? Now don’t you begin to be ashamed of yourself, Mackeller? Why rush me over my frugal meal when we have such ample time to spare? I’d much rather spend the six days here in London than up some malarious alligator-filled river on the west coast of Africa.” Mackeller’s stern face brightened.
“Then you do intend to chase them, after all, my lord?”
“Chase them? Lord bless you, no. Why should I chase them? They are the good Schwartzbrod’s hired men. He’s paying their wages. Chase them? Of course not; but I’m going to pass them, and get up the river before they do.”