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“What does it matter?” said Sally. “You’ve all got to stay now. I think that’s splendid.”

“Mrs. Sam,” said Tombs hollowly, “do you realize that this accident may mean ruin for some of us?”

“Oh, dear!” said Sally “how dreadful!”

“Somehow of other,” said Billoo, “I’m going to get across.”

And the others said that somehow or other they were going to get across, too.

“I’ve got to!” said Billoo, and he looked about in a fat, challenging way as if daring any one to say that he had not got to.

“You poor things,” said Sally, “I hope to Heaven you can; but how?”

“Where there’s a will, Mrs. Sam–” Billoo said. And he began to think hard. All of a sudden his face brightened.

“It’s too easy,” he said. “The wind’s right; four or five of us have umbrellas–Sam, you’ll have to lend us this float. We’ve only to cut it from its moorings, and sail it across–May we have it?”

“Yes,” I said, “but you’re crazy to try it.”

“It’s a case of sink or swim,” said he. “Who’s coming?”

Without exception the men agreed to sail with him on the float. It was a fine, big platform, floated on sheet-iron air-tanks, and moored at the four corners by heavy ropes.

Sally and I withdrew to the pier and watched Billoo and the others cut slowly through the ropes with their pocket-knives. Presently the float began to move, and a second or two later the float end of the gang-plank slipped into the water with a heavy splash. Those who had umbrellas opened them to catch the breeze, and the others lit cigars, and stood about in graceful attitudes. Sally and I cheered as loud as we could.

“I’ll send you a tug or something,” Billoo called back to us, “and try to find out what’s happened to the Hobo.”

“Thank you!” I called back.

“Sam,” said Sally, “I don’t know what you think, but I call it good sand.”

“So do I,” said I, “but foolish.”

“Why foolish?” said Sally. “They’re really going quite fast, and they’ll be across in no time, and they’ll get the next train and everything.”

“They will not,” I said.

“Why?” said Sally.

“Because,” said I, “they will run on to the middle ground, and stay there.”

“Not at high tide!” exclaimed Sally.

“At high tide,” said I. “That float draws a good two feet, and it’s so heavy that once it runs on the mud it will stay on the mud–” And then I shouted to Billoo:

“Look out for the middle ground!”

“What?” he answered.

“Why do you warn him?” said Sally.

“Because it won’t help him,” said I.

“What?” called Billoo again, and Sally answered at the top of her lungs, “Look–out–for–the–middle–ground!”

“Right O!” Billoo answered; “where is it?”

“Just ahead,” Sally called.

Billoo turned to look, and at that moment the float, which was travelling at a good clip, ran into it.

Billoo and Randall fell flat on their faces; everybody staggered; one umbrella and two hats went overboard and drifted away, and Sally and I sat down on the pier and laughed till we were helpless.

V

The float had become a fixture in the landscape about two hundred and fifty yards out. We could converse with our friends by shouting only, and when we got tired of condoling with them and giving them assurances of our sympathy, we told them that we were going back to the house to get some more breakfast and think out what was best to be done,

“Sam,” said Sally, “that’s the maddest lot of men I ever saw.”

We looked back. Billoo was stamping up and down the float, waving his arms and orating like Falstaff; Randall and Tombs had their heads together, and were casting what appeared to be baleful glances at Billoo. It was evident that he was not popular on the float.

When we had had some more breakfast, and had sat around a little to digest it, the women began to come down-stairs. Mrs. Randall was the first to come down, and she was in great distress.