“And maybe a shark or two for company?” Dave laughed. “No thanks, pal. Those things can go a whole lot faster than I can. When it comes to swimming down there, I like it fine up here. Well, say something! Keep the conversation going before I fall asleep, and we do land down there—in a heap.”
“Keep the conversation going yourself!” Freddy growled back at him. “I’m quite content just to listen to the sound of your voice. Though, of course, I’ve heard much better voices, not so much like pebbles rattling around in a tin can.”
“Bum!” Dave snorted. “For that I should keep my trap shut and let you go quietly screwy by yourself. But seeing it’s you, I won’t. What do you know about the Panama Canal, Freddy?”
“A fair amount, I fancy,” the English youth replied. “I studied geography in school, you know.”
“Oh!” Dave echoed. “Then you did go to school? I’ve often wondered. Fine, then. Tell me this, student. Supposing you entered the Canal at the Colon end? Where would you be headed?”
“For the Pacific,” was the instant reply. “Or, to be exact, for the Bay of Panama.”
“Nuts to you!” Dave barked. “I mean, what direction?”
“What direction?” Freddy echoed. “The bloke must be mad, and completely off his topper. Why, west, of course!”
Dave twisted around in the seat and made a face.
“See?” he cried. “No brains, as I’ve always said. Or at least, what goes in there doesn’t stay for long. Stand in the corner for a while, my little man. Then take a good look at those map charts of yours back there.”