“All I’ve got to say is that you’re a bad judge of tubs,” said I.
“You’re a fool!” he exclaimed, and jumped up.
“Now, you know, Paul, if your opinion was of any consequence at all I should be angry,” I replied, still with exaggerated calmness.
“I’m going to take the skiff and row ashore,” said he. “You can bring your old tub in when you like.”
“Thank you; but I guess not! I’d gladly be relieved of your company; but I shall want to get ashore myself some time tonight,” I rejoined.
“I tell you I’m going ashore!” cried Paul, coming aft to where the painter was hitched.
“Get away!” I commanded, my own temper rising. “You’re not going to leave me without means of landing after we reach our buoy.”
“Oh, somebody will see you and take you off,” he said, selfishly.
“Maybe somebody will; then again, maybe they won’t.”
“I’ll come out for you after dinner,” he said, with a grin that I knew meant he had no such intention.