's an
extraordinary ass with a boat."

Her optimism was well founded. By shoving hard the spies ran their
boat into the water. The lady spy stopped at the brink. The man, with
reckless indifference to wet feet, followed the boat, still shoving.
It happens that the shore of the north side of Inishark shelves very
rapidly into the deep channel. The boat floated suddenly, and urged by
the violence of the last shove, slid rapidly from the shore. The man
grasped at her. His fingers slid along the gunwale. He plunged forward
knee-deep, snatched at the retreating bow, missed it, stumbled and
fell headlong into the water. The boat floated free and swung into the
channel on the tide.

Priscilla leaped up excitedly.

"Now they're done," she said. "They're far worse stuck than we are."

"Oh, do look at him," said Frank, "Did you ever see anything so funny?"

The man staggered to his feet and floundered towards the shore,
squeezing the salt water from his eyes with his knuckles.

"Of course, I'm sorry for the poor beast in a way," said Priscilla, "but
I can't help feeling that it jolly well serves him right. Oh, look at
them now!"

She laughed convulsively. The scene was sufficiently ridiculous. The spy
stood dripping forlornly, on the shore. The lady dabbed at various parts
of his clothing with her pocket-handkerchief. Flanagan's old boat, now
fairly in mid-channel, bobbed cheerfully along on the ebbing tide.

"I'd give a lot this minute," said Priscilla, "for a pair of glasses. I
can't think why I was such a fool as not to take father's when we were
starting."

"I can see well enough," said Frank. "What I'd like would be to be able
to hear what he's saying."

"I don't take any interest in bad language, and in any case I don't
believe he's capable of it. He looked to me like the kind of man who
wouldn't say anything much worse than 'Dear me.'"

"Wouldn't he? Look at him now. If he isn't cursing I'll eat my hat."

The spy had shaken himself free of his companion's pocket handkerchief.
He was waving his arms violently and shouting so loudly that his voice
reached the _Tortoise_ against the wind.

"I suppose," said Priscilla, "that that's his way of trying to get dry
without catching a chill. Horrid ass, isn't he? It'd be far better for
him to run. What's the good of yelling? I expect in reality it's simply
temper."

But Priscilla underestimated the intelligence of the spy. It appeared
very soon that he was not mere