“Warthah hot, won’t it be?” said Braintree, looking at the map.
“No, I believe not,” said Gayford; “there’s something about the Gulf Stream, you know, keeps it fresh.”
“Wum idea calling an island fwesh,” said Braintree, giggling. “It’ll be a fresh start for it when we take possession of it, anyhow,” said Bowler. “Of course you’ll bring your rifle, Braintree?”
“Warthah,” replied Braintree, “in case of niggers or wobbers.”
“Hope we shan’t quarrel when we get out,” said Wallas. “That’s the way these things generally end.”
“Bosh!” said Bowler; “there’s no chance of that—just like you, throwing cold water on everything. Wallas.”
“If you call what I say bosh,” said Wallas warmly, “it’s a pity you asked me to join you.”
It took some time to get over this little breeze and restore the party to good humour. This was, however, accomplished in time, and the consultation continued.
“We ought to have three more fellows, at least,” said Bowler. “I tell you what, each of you pick one. Who do you say, Gav?”
“Well, I fancy young Wester might do,” said Gayford.