“Meaning Big Gabe,” said Teddy. “That’s right. But if his stripe of lumbermen could only drink more coffee, and less whiskey, it would be better for them. Some people say coffee is bad for the nerves, but it never makes men crazy, and want to fight, like the other stuff does.”
An hour passed.
“No Amos yet?” asked Teddy, coming up from the canoes, where he had been doing something to fill in the cut made by the snag, under the impression that all such serious bruises weakened a canoe, and made it unreliable in case it was used in the rough water of rapids.
“Nothing doing,” replied Dolph. “Kind of expecting him any time, though. Come here, and see how you looked taking that header.”
“Hello! been developing a roll of films in your daylight tank, have you? And did they turn out good?” Teddy asked.
“Look for yourself; I’ve given them a hypo bath, and fixed them. Now they’re being washed. That one with the teetering canoe, and you taking a backward plunge, is just immense, aint it, Teddy?”
“Well, that proves one thing, anyhow,” the other declared, with a laugh, “I know now that I went over backwards. Couldn’t just decide before how I did it. And as sure as you live, there are the deer’s horns actually tilting the canoe.”
“Great, ain’t it, Teddy?”
“You never got such a picture before in all your life, and I don’t believe you ever will again. It beats anything I ever saw. But I wish Amos would come in,” and Teddy frowned a trifle.