"What about your confounded fish?" sang out Macandrew, when his apparel was drying in the hot sun, and he was sitting unashamed amid the grass. "You won't catch any more." "I haven't caught any as it is," shouted Gerald, swimming back. "I want to come ashore. Pax, Toddy, Pax, you--you unclothed biped." "Wait till I get you here," cried Tod, shaking his fist. "He is not wise who ventures into the enemy's camp," quoth Haskins, and crossed to the opposite bank of the stream. Owing to the heat he had earlier shed all his clothing save a silk shirt and a pair of flannel trousers, so there was not much left to dry. In a few minutes he also was sitting in Adamic simplicity on the farther shore, imploring Tod to throw over a tobacco pouch and a pipe. But Tod wouldn't: and smoked, chuckling, on his side of the stream, while Haskins remonstrated. "I'll sleep then," announced Gerald, seeing that his efforts to soften Macandrew were unavailing. "No, don't," shouted Tod. "I want to talk about her." "Not a word, unless I get my smoke." "Here you are then," and Macandrew threw across the necessary materials for the pipe of peace. "Now then!" he cried, and the woods rang with his cry. "What am I to do about Charity?" "Marry her," cried back Haskins, lighting his briar; and after that introduction the conversation resolved itself into high-pitched talking from bank to bank, while the stream rippled between. It was lucky that no one was within hearing--as the young men well knew--for Tod shouted out his dearest secrets to the wide world. "How can I marry her?" bellowed Macandrew, lying on his stomach in the attitude of Caliban reflecting on Setebos. "She hasn't any money, and I have very little also; there is the Dowager to be considered." The Dowager was Lady Euphemia Macandrew, Tod's highly respected grandmother, who had looked after him since his parents had died. She wanted Tod to marry an heiress cousin, who was still at school, and Tod wished for his wife a charming dancer who was absolutely proper and extremely pretty. Consequently Tod and Lady Euphemia were fighting with all the ardor of their fiery race, and the domestic peace of the House of Macandrew was a thing of the past. "You should consider the Dowager," sang out Haskins, who knew and approved of the grim old lady, "she's your grandmother." "No one denies that," yelled Tod crossly, "talk sense!" "Hear then the sense of Gerald, son of his father," shouted the other in a high tenor. "Mrs. Pelham Odin, who is--as you know--the clever old actress who looks after Charity, won't let you marry her, seeing that you have no money. Lady Euphemia is equally opposed to the match, because Charity is not born, as the French say. If you marry against the wishes of these two Mrs. Pelham Odin won't leave Charity her savings, which must be considerable, and Lady Euphemia won't speak either to you or to your wife. Isn't this the case?"