When they were out of hearing the Countess Courteau repeated:  “I don’t understand it.  They could have gained a week.”

“We could, too, if we’d built one scow instead of those small boats,” Pierce declared.

“Kirby is used to taking chances; he can risk all his eggs in one basket if he wants to, but—­not I.”  A moment later the speaker paused to stare at a curious sight.  On the beach ahead of her stood a brand-new rowboat ready for launching.  Near it was assembled an outfit of gear and provisions, divided into two equal piles.  Two old men, armed each with a hand-saw, were silently at work upon the skiff.  They were sawing it in two, exactly in the middle, and they did not look up until the Countess greeted them.

“Hello!  Changing the model of your boat?” she inquired.

The partners straightened themselves stiffly and removed their caps.

“Yep!” said Quirk, avoiding his partner’s eyes.

“Changing her model,” Mr. Linton agreed, with a hangdog expression.

“But—­why?  What for?”

“We’ve split,” Mr. Quirk explained.  Then he heaved a sigh.  “It’s made a new man of me a’ready.”

“My end will look all right when I get her boarded up,” Linton vouchsafed, “but Old Jerry drew the hind quarters.”  His shoulders heaved in silent amusement.

“‘Old’ Jerry!” snapped the smaller man.  “Where’d you get the ‘old’ at?  I’ve acted like a feeble-minded idiot, I’ll admit—­bein’ imposed on so regular—­but that’s over and I’m breathin’ free.  Wait till you shove off in that front end; it ’ain’t got the beam and you’ll upset.  Ha!” He uttered a malicious bark.  “You’ll drownd!” Mr. Quirk turned indignant eyes upon the visitors.  “The idea of him callin’ me ‘old.’  Can you beat that?”

“Maybe I will drown,” Linton agreed, “but drowning ain’t so bad.  It’s better than being picked and pecked to death by a blunt-billed buzzard.  I’d look on it as a kind of relief.  Anyhow, you won’t be there to see it; you’ll be dead of rheumatism.  I’ve got the tent.”

“Huh!  The stove’s mine.  I’ll make out.”

“Have you men quarreled after all these years?” the Countess made bold to inquire.

Jerry answered, and it was plain that all sentiment had been consumed in the fires of his present wrath.  “I don’t quarrel with a dam’ old fool; I give him his way.”

Linton’s smoky eyes were blazing when he cried, furiously:  “Cut that ‘old’ out, or I’ll show you something.  Your mind’s gone—­ senile decay, they call it—­but I’ll—­”

Quirk flung down his saw and advanced belligerently around the hull of the boat.  He was bristling with the desire for combat.

“What’ll you show me?” he shrilly challenged.  “You’re bigger than me, but I’ll cut you down:  I’ll—­”

The Countess stepped between the two men, crying, impatiently: 

“Don’t be silly.  You’re worn out and irritable, both of you, and you’re acting like perfect idiots.  You’ll have everybody laughing at you.”