[Silence.]
Giz. We'll each take a oar.
[Silence. A stentorian voice is heard calling "Stee'vun." The Doctor rises, hastily.]
Doctor. What d'yer say, Lut'er?
Lut'er. It's three an' a half mile ter Lavanny—an' three an' a half mile back.... Pretty fur.
Doctor. We kin come back on the current.
Lut'er. Three an' a half mile air three an' a half mile—current or no current.
[Again the masterful female voice calls "Stee'vun." There is no mistaking its meaning. The Doctor is torn between home and business. Lut'er takes up his rod, rebaits the hook with the fishing-worm from his pocket and casts his line into the river.]
Lut'er. I'll think it over ... but I ain't givin' yuh no hope.... Three an' a half mile one way air pretty fur ... but two ways—it's turruble.
Doctor. Come on, Giz. We'll talk it over.