"No can wait," they explained, pointing distractedly ahead, in reply to Mark's protest about the student. They seized upon the box and bundled it into the boat, so there was nothing for it but to follow. And a moment after the boys were aboard the whole flotilla got under way with a huge amount of yelling from the native boats, banging of gongs, and general hubbub. The boys stood under the low mat-roof of their part of the little craft, looking at the stern of the next boat.
"This is crazy," Mark said. "Why did we ever do it? I suppose we should have risked offending the old chap."
"Well, you said we couldn't," Alan returned, shrugging his shoulders. "It's too late to stop this outfit now. We'll have to stick it."
"Think of poor little Goggles back there waiting for his rickshaw," Mark murmured regretfully.
The boat-coolies lived under the floor of the boys apartment, in the hull of the boat and apparently without light or air. Through cracks in the floor could be seen the faint, pulsing glow of their lamp, and there rose far from appetizing whiffs of their cookery.
