The Master, still holding Lad's ruff, stood to one side during
the work of salvaging the canoe; and while Rice replaced the
paddles and cushions in it. Only when the two women were helped
sputteringly aboard did he interfere.

"One minute!" he said. "I think you've forgotten your lunch. That
and the ream or two of newspapers you've strewn around: and a few
wooden dishes. I--"

"I picked up all the lunch that was worth saving," grunted Rice.
"Your mangy collie trampled the rest of it, when he ran down here
at us. I wisht it'd had strychnia in it and he'd et it! We'll go
eat our dinner over to the village. And, before we go, I got this
much more to say to YOU:--If--"

"Before you go," interrupted the Master, shifting himself and Lad
between Higham and the canoe, "before you go, let me remind you
that you've left a lot of litter on my clean lawn; and that I
asked you to clean it up."

"Go clean it up, yourself!" snapped Rice, from the boat. "This
upstage talk about 'trespassing' makes me sick! As soon as a guy
has a three-dollar patch of bum land (with a mortgage eating it
up, most likely), he always blats about 'trespassing' whenever
decent folks happens to walk on it. Go clean up the papers,
yourself! We ain't your slaves. You're due to hear a lot from us,
later, too. Clean it, yourself!"

The ladies applauded these stirring proletariat sentiments right