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She's gotta get over to the other side, ain't she? Cert'nly she's gone." She looked at him interested. "Do you want to be on board her?" "Of course I do." "Then, for the love of Pete, wotcha doin' walloping off'n her like a sack of potatoes?" "I slipped. I was pushed or something." Sam sprang to his feet and looked wildly about him. "I must get back. Isn't there any way of getting back?"
"Yes, wotcha do it for? How come? Wotcha do a Brodie for off'n that ship? I didn't see it myself, but pa says you come walloping down off'n the deck like a sack of potatoes." Sam uttered a sharp cry. He had remembered. "Where is she?" "Where's who?" "The liner." "She's off down the river, I guess. She was swinging round, the last I seen of her." "She's not gone?" "Sure she's gone.
"I am wet," admitted Sam. "Yessir, you're wet! Wet's the word all right. Good and wet, that's what you are!" "It's the water," said Sam. His brain was still clouded; he wished he could remember what that appointment was. "That's what has made me wet." "It's sure made you wet all right," agreed the girl. She looked at him interestedly. "Wotcha do it for?" she asked. "Do it for?"
"Yes, wotcha do it for? Wotcha do a Brodie for off'n that ship? I didn't see it myself, but pa says you come walloping down off'n the deck like a sack of potatoes." Sam uttered a sharp cry. He had remembered. "Where is she?" "Where's who?" "The liner." "She's off down the river, I guess. She was swinging round, the last I seen of her." "She's not gone!" "Sure she's gone. Wotcha expect her to do?
Wotcha expect her to do? She's gotta to get over to the other side, ain't she? Cert'nly she's gone." She looked at him interested. "Do you want to be on board her?" "Of course I do." "Then, for the love of Pete, wotcha doin' walloping off'n her like a sack of potatoes?" "I slipped. I was pushed or something." Sam sprang to his feet and looked wildly about him. "I must get back.
"Wotcha doin'?" he asked Eugene curiously, looking over his shoulder, for it was at the blacksmith's table, in the sun of his window that he was sitting, looking out at the water. Eugene had bought a lunch box and was carrying with him daily a delectable lunch put up under Mrs. Hibberdell's direction.
"I am wet," admitted Sam. "Yessir, you're wet! Wet's the word all right. Good and wet, that's what you are!" "It's the water," said Sam. His brain was still clouded; he wished he could remember what that appointment was. "That's what has made me wet." "It's sure made you wet all right," agreed the girl. She looked at him interestedly. "Wotcha do it for?" she asked. "Do it for?"
He, too, watched Drew move the furniture. And when the scout did not pay any attention to him he spoke. "Wotcha gonna do wi' us, Reb?" Hatch's eyes, over the gag, were glaring evil; Jas' was watching the two Confederates with an intent measuring stare; but Simmy wilted a little when Drew looked at him directly. "You're prisoners of war. As Union scouts...."
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