"Forget about it, Han! You'll
worry yourself to death over that poison-ivy. Maybe it didn't bite you,
after all."
"Of course it did!" replied the other resentfully. "It always does. If I
had some alcohol, though--"
"Well, come on and get some. We've got to find the boat first, haven't
we?"
"Yes, but I don't think it's that way."
"Then you try the other way, and if you find it, sing out so I'll hear
you."
"All right." They separated, each following the edge of the water, and
presently Perry's voice rang out. "Here she is, Han!" he called. A faint
hail answered him and Perry stowed the milk-can in the bow of the little
boat and seated himself to wait. A few minutes later, as Han still
tarried, he shouted again. This time there was no reply however, and
Perry muttered impatiently and found a more comfortable position. When
some five minutes more had passed he got to his feet and yelled at the
top of his lungs. "Get a move on, Han! The milk's getting sour and I'm
getting cold!" he shouted. An answering cry came from closer by, but
what it was that Han said Perry couldn't make out. He turned his coat
collar up, plunged hands in pockets and viewed the grey mist
scowlingly. Then he began to listen for footsteps crunching the sand.
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