“Don’t be a silly goat,” interrupted the other fretfully.  “I tell you I’ll be all broken out tomorrow!  And it’s perfectly beastly, too.  You have blisters all over you and they itch so you can hardly stand it.”

“Too bad,” said Perry, trying to sound sympathetic but failing because he caught his foot in a bramble at the moment and almost pitched on his face.

“Well,” continued Han, more cheerfully, “there’s one good thing.  Salt water is fine to bathe in when you have ivy poisoning, and there’ll be plenty of that around.”

“Sure; and it won’t cost you a cent, either.”  They reached the beach then and gazed hopelessly about them as they crossed the softer sand.  “If only they’d blow their old whistle we’d know where we are.”

“If I had some alcohol I might backen it,” observed Han.

“Alcohol?  Backen what?”

“The ivy poison.”

“Oh!  Well, there’s plenty of alcohol on board.  Wonder what time it is,” Perry drew out his watch and whistled surprisedly.  “Only a quarter to ten, Han!  We couldn’t have walked very far, after all.  And they won’t signal us until ten-thirty.  Here, I’m going this way.”

“It’s the alkali that counteracts the poison,” explained Han.  “They say that if you can bathe the places in alcohol soon after you come in—­in contact with the ivy—­”

“For the love of Pete!” exclaimed Perry.  “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.  But no sound save the lapping of water on the beach and the creaking of a boom on an unseen boat reached him.