“Yes. A puff of wind would have slipped that knot.”
There was a pause.
“It’s plain he doesn’t guess anything,” said Dick.
“Not likely. And he’s not likely to say anything about it, if he does.”
“Of course not. It would mean transportation for him.”
“After all, some one may have gone off with the boat. We can’t tell. It was there all right when we saw it, wasn’t it?”
Dick looked at his friend. He could delude himself up to a certain point, but this plea wouldn’t quite wash.
“Most likely they’ll find it. It may have drifted round to Birkens, or some place like that. It’ll be all right, Georgie.”
But the thoughts of that unlucky boat haunted their peace. That Tom White had only got his deserts they never questioned; but they would have been more comfortable if that loop had slipped itself.
Days went on, and still no tidings reached them. The bills faced them wherever they went, and once, as they passed the boat-house with a crowd of other fellows, they received a shock by seeing Tom White himself sitting and smoking on a bench, and looking contemplatingly out to sea.