And they all did, for, to the surprise of every one, Ed leaped overboard with them and swam twice around the boat before coming out of the very cold water and into the still colder air. “Ed’s getting well, Phil,” said Irv. “Yes,” said Phil, as he watched his brother rubbing himself down. “Two weeks ago he would have come out of that water shivering as if with an ague, and the color of a table-cloth. Now look at him! He’s as red as a boiled lobster, and he’s actually laughing as he rubs the skin off with that piece of sanded tarpaulin that he has mistaken for a Turkish towel. Here, Ed, take a towel, or would you rather have some sandpaper or a rasp?” “Thanks, old fellow,” said Ed, who had of course heard all the remarks concerning himself, “but this cloth feels good. I believe I am getting better. I’ve quit ‘barking’ anyhow.” “That’s so,” said Irv. “You haven’t dared utter a cough since that morning when _The Last of the Flatboats_ tried to make the last of herself by quitting the river and coming off on this little picnic in the Mississippi swamps.” “If you young gentlemen have quite finished your discussion of past happenings, and are ready to give attention to present exigencies,” said Phil, in that mocking tone which he sometimes playfully adopted, “you’ll please put your clothes on and report for duty in the hold, where there’s some important work to be done. It’s your turn at the pump, Constant. Get thee to thy task, and don’t forget to remind me when your time’s up. “Now,” said Phil, when they threw open the forward door of the flatboat to open a passage for taking out freight, “I suppose we ought to divide up the loss by throwing out about an equal quantity of each owner’s freight. But we can’t do it, so there’s an end of that.” “Oh, the law will take care of all that,” said Ed. “The law? How?” “Why the law requires everybody interested in the boat or the cargo to share the loss, when freight must be thrown overboard to save the ship.” “But how can that be done?” asked Irv. “Why, we must keep account of what we throw overboard. When we sell the rest at New Orleans, we shall know just what was the value of the part jettisoned,--that’s the law term for throwing things overboard, I believe,--and that loss must be divided among the owners of the boat herself, the owners of cargo on board, and the insurance companies, if any of the freight is insured. Each one’s share of the loss will be in precise proportion to his interest.” “Illustrate,” said Will Moreraud. “Well,” rejoined Ed, “suppose we find the boat and her total cargo to be worth one thousand dollars--” “Oh, rubbish! It’s worth many times that,” broke in Will. “Why, I should value--”