"It isn't so bad after all, is it, Podington? If we had a rudder and a
bit of a sail it would be a great help to the horse. This wagon is not
a bad boat."
The despairing Podington looked at his feet. "It's coming in," he said
in a husky voice. "Thomas, the water is over my shoes!"
"That is so," said Buller. "I am so used to water I didn't notice it.
She leaks. Do you carry anything to bail her out with?"
"Bail!" cried Podington, now finding his voice. "Oh, Thomas, we are
sinking!"
"That's so," said Buller; "she leaks like a sieve."
The weight of the running-gear and of the two men was entirely too
much for the buoyancy of the wagon body. The water rapidly rose toward
the top of its sides.
"We are going to drown!" cried Podington, suddenly rising.
"Lick him! Lick him!" exclaimed Buller. "Make him swim faster!"
"There's nothing to lick," cried Podington, vainly lashing at the
water, for he could not reach the horse's head. The poor man was
dreadfully frightened; he had never even imagined it possible that he
should be drowned in his own wagon.
"Whoop!" cried Buller, as the water rose over the sides.
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