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"Could it be that city we be seeking?" "Would that we had a boat!" said Greg, which might have been quite proper if he'd been somebody else, instead of Baroo. We'd been sprawling on the sand again for quite a while, when Jerry suddenly jumped up and shouted: "Glory! Look, Chris!" not at all like Terry Loganshaw. I did look, and saw what he had seen.
The boat didn't leak badly enough to worry about, but I thought it might be just as well to keep it bailed. We talked in a very nautical way, though Jerry kept forgetting he was Terry Loganshaw and mixing up "Treasure Island" and Captain Moss. But I didn't feel so much like being Chris Hole, anyway, even to please the boys, and I didn't say much.
Jerry was "Terry Loganshaw," in charge of the party, and I was "Christopher Hole, shipmaster," and Greg was "Baroo, the Madagascar cabin-boy," because we couldn't think of what else he could be, with such clothes. We tidied up all the picnic things so that there was nothing left, and put the root-beer bottle into the kit-bag, because it was a good one with a patent top.
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