"Idiot!" I muttered, dragging the dog to the shore, where his yelps
brought the professor hurrying.
"Is _that_ the dog?" he inquired, adjusting his spectacles.
"That's the dog," I said. "He's full of points, you see?"
"Oh," mused the professor; "I thought he was full of--" He hesitated,
inspecting the animal, who, nose to the ground, stood investigating a
smell of some sort.
"See," I said, with enthusiasm, "he's found a scent; he's trailing it
already! Now he's rolling on it!"
"He's rolling on one of our concentrated food lozenges," said the
professor, dryly. "Tie him up, Mr. Gilland, and ask Mrs. Gilland to
come up to camp. Your room is ready."
"Rooms," I corrected; "she isn't Mrs. Gilland yet," I added, with a
forced smile.
"But you're practically married," observed the professor, "as you
pointed out to me. And if she's practically Mrs. Gilland, why not say
so?"
"Don't, all the same," I snarled.
"But marriages are made in--"