When I walked out, the boys acrost the river gave three cheers, but I was halted from behind before I'd got far sideways. "Now," says Whiskers, "signal, and pray that you won't be tempted to send erroneous messages."
"Remember," Bull shouts, "I can read Morse. No fooling."
"All right, Mr. Brooke," I called back, "then I'll use semaphore."
I heard Whiskers in tears directing his two youngsters to put Mr. Brooke's head in the meal sack, and sit hard on top. So I began to signal, explaining each word to Whiskers.
Swim. "That," says I, "means 'Dale.'"
Pool. "That's 'fool,'" says I, "because he don't give the answer."
Below. "That's 'Hello.'"
Rapids. "That's 'Hello' again."
"You lie," says Whiskers, miserable, through his teeth. "You made six letters."
"Sorry," says I, "it got spelt wrong first time."