But now, his eyes seemed still to hold some of the terror of last night when he had thought that his brother was killed. Roy had had other emotions to occupy his mind--pain, amazement, and self-preservation. Teddy had had nothing--nothing but an overpowering dread that increased hourly until, when dawn had come, it seemed to permeate his whole being, sickening him. When he had seen Roy wading ashore, happiness caught him a sudden blow, and he had staggered for a moment. Then he had rushed forward, unable to do more than cry: “Roy--Roy!” in a voice that was a hoarse whisper. His brother had returned. The world had lurched, hesitated, and then had gone on spinning merrily. They were together again. Now the repairs on the canoe were finished. Pop yawned, stretched, and pulled out his pipe. Then he followed Bug Eye to camp and spent the next fifteen minutes in disputing Teddy’s mastery over bean-eating. At length their appetites were satisfied. The pans were washed by the simple method of rubbing sand on them and rinsing them in the river. Blankets were folded. Then, having carried their possessions to the craft, they were ready to start once more. “Remember those old books in our school library?” Teddy asked Roy, as he stood with his hand on the stern, ready to launch the canoe. “The Amazon Adventurers, or something like that. Where the heroes always come bobbing up from tornadoes, volcanoes, or what have you, with a smile on their faces ready to stop a revolution single handed. Remember the verse Spike Murphy wrote--you know, he played tackle our second year at Hopper. Like this, I think: “‘The Amazon Adventurers are always to the mus-tard. They cut an elephant in half as if he was a cus-tard!’ “And a lot more, but I forget the rest. Spike used to walk around the campus singing it. Well, the point of this is that that’s the way I feel now. It’s a good thing there aren’t any elephants around. But something tells me I’ll have my work-out yet. There is still much to be done, as the cook said, turning the whale steak he was roasting. I’ll bet--” “You’ll bet nothing!” Roy interrupted, with a laugh. “What is this, a political speech? You’ve been talking an hour by the clock. Grab hold, and shove. Ready, Pop and Bug Eye? Then let’s go!” All four bent down and seized the gunwales. There was a straining of backs, and the canoe slid noiselessly into the river with scarcely a splash. “No leakee!” Teddy shouted, capering around the bank. “No leakee, no shirtee! Watch it, boys. I’ll bet two bits she don’t leak!” “Doesn’t,” Bug Eye corrected, a certain page of his English book before his mind. “A plural predicate takes the nominative singular. Or something. Anyway, ‘don’t’ ain’t nowheres near right.” “Did you say singular?” Teddy asked, grinning. “It is that, at least! But tell me, boys--I’m afraid to look. Does she leak?”