sland another night. It struck me as odd. The night before he was so
positive the other way. How had the change come about?

Great crumblings of the banks occurred at breakfast, with heavy splashings
and clouds of spray which the wind brought into our frying-pan, and my
fellow-traveler talked incessantly about the difficulty the Vienna-Pesth
steamers must have to find the channel in flood. But the state of his mind
interested and impressed me far more than the state of the river or the
difficulties of the steamers. He had changed somehow since the evening
before. His manner was different--a trifle excited, a trifle shy, with a
sort of suspicion about his voice and gestures. I hardly know how to
describe it now in cold blood, but at the time I remember being quite
certain of one thing--that he had become frightened?

He ate very little breakfast, and for once omitted to smoke his pipe. He
had the map spread open beside him, and kept studying its markings.

"We'd better get off sharp in an hour," I said presently, feeling for an
opening that must bring him indirectly to a partial confession at any rate.
And his answer puzzled me uncomfortably: "Rather! If they'll let us."

"Who'll let us? The elements?" I asked quickly, with affected indifference.

"The powers of this awful place, whoever they are," he replied, keeping his
eyes on the map. "The gods are here, if they are anywhere at all in the
world."

"The elements are always the true immortals," I replied, laughing as
naturally as I could manage, yet knowing quite well that my face reflected
my true feelings when he looked up gravely at me and spoke across the
smoke:

"We shall be fortunate if we get away without further disaster."

This was exactly what I had dreaded, and I screwed myself up to the point
of the direct question. It was like agreeing to allow the dentist to
extract the tooth; it had to come anyhow in the long run, and the rest was
all pretence.

"Further disaster! Why, what's happened?"

"For one thing--the steering paddle's gone," he said quietly.

"The steering paddle gone!" I repeated, greatly excited, for this was our
rudder, and the Danube in flood without a rudder was suicide. "But what--"

"And there's a tear in the bottom of the canoe," he added, with a genuine
little tremor in his voice.

I continued staring at him, able only to repeat the words in his face
somewhat foolishly. There, in the heat of the sun, and on this burning
sand