UP ROCKY RIVER
The second start of the flotilla—that from Lumberton—was a hilarious start indeed. Poor Prettyman Sweet was the butt of everybody’s laughter. The glare of rage he threw now and then at the ridiculous dog in the bow of the Duchess sent the boys into spasms of laughter.
The girls in the other motorboat—even Bobby—seeing that their laughter quite offended Lily Pendleton, began talking about something else and ignored the Barnacle, as the dog had been so aptly named.
Reddy Butts and Art Hobbs, however, loved to annoy the Central High dude. They told Purt that the Barnacle possessed a family resemblance to the Sweets that could not be denied.
“He smiles just like you do, Pretty,” said Arthur. “I declare I wouldn’t deny the relationship.”
“You fellows think you are funny,” snarled 73 the dude, losing his temper at last. “I’ll fix that beast!”
“How you going to do it?” demanded Reddy, grinning.
“You come here and take the wheel,” commanded the dude. “See that you steer right and keep in the channel, right behind Chet’s boat and his tow.”
“All right,” said Butts, and took the spokes in hand.
Purt, shooting an inquiring glance forward to see if the girls were watching, began to creep up on the dog. The beast was looking over the bow, his tongue hanging out, and evidently enjoying the rapid sail up Rocky River.
Somebody had removed the rope from his collar since he had come aboard the Duchess. There was nothing for Purt to grab had the dog observed his approach and sought to get away.
However, the dog remained unconscious of the attempt on his peace of mind. Purt crept nearer and nearer, while the giggling boys in the cockpit watched him narrowly.
Reddy looked knowingly at Arthur, and the latter pulled off his jacket and kicked off his sneakers. The water was warm and Arthur was a good swimmer.
The dude, earnestly striving to move softly, 74 got within hand’s reach of the dog. Suddenly he threw himself forward. At the same moment Reddy twisted the wheel ever so little to starboard.
The Duchess was traveling at a good clip. The wave at her nose was foam-streaked and spreading broadly. The water in her wake boiled.
The sudden thrust Purt gave the dog cast the surprised brute overboard; with a yelp of amazement he sank beneath the foam-streaked surface as the motorboat rushed on.
But another yelp echoed the dog’s; when Reddy Butts swerved the boat’s nose, the move was quite unexpected by Purt.
He dove forward, yelled loudly, and was cast over the edge of the deck just as sprawlingly as the Barnacle himself!
“Man overboard!” yelled Reddy, scarcely able to say it for laughter.
The crowd on the other powerboat heard the shout, if they had not all seen Purt’s exhibition of diving. The dude went under just as deep as the dog, and did not come to the surface anywhere near as quickly.
The Barnacle, whether he was a water-dog, or not, was a good swimmer. When his head shot above the stream he yelped, started to paddle after the Duchess and her tow, saw that that was 75 useless, and turned toward the southerly bank of the stream.
The river was half a mile wide at this place, and the Barnacle left a wake like a motorboat behind him. He was going to reach the shore all right.
How about the master he had adopted? Purt came to the surface more slowly, but when he got there he emitted a shriek like a steam whistle.
The Duchess had gone ahead of him. Arthur Hobbs was poised to leap overboard; but there swept close to the dude one of the trailing canoes, and just by raising an arm Purt reached it.
He clung to the gunwale and was dragged on behind the Duchess. At first the canoe tipped and threatened to turn over; Purt slipped along to the stern, and there got a grip on both sides, and so trailed on behind, getting his breath.
“He’s all right,” said Reddy, chuckling. “Let him cool off a little, Art.”
The girls aboard the Bonnie Lass were somewhat worried over Purt Sweet’s predicament. “He’ll be drowned!” Lily Pendeton declared, first of all.
“I’m not afraid of that,” Bobby said. “But if that suit of his shrinks, what a sight he’ll be!”
“This is no time for light talk,” declared Jess Morse. “Purt isn’t a very good swimmer.” 76
“Well!” exclaimed Nellie, rather tartly for her, “how did he know whether that poor dog could swim, or not?”
“Looks as though he had finally gotten rid of the Barnacle, just the same,” laughed Laura.
“We’ll see about that,” responded her brother, darkly. “That dog has the stick-to-it-iveness of fish-glue. Wait and see.”
Meanwhile Arthur Hobbs drew in the canoe Purt was clinging to, and soon helped the gasping dude into the large boat.
“Oh! oh!” cried Purt. “I might have known that horrid dog was bad luck.”
Having seen the exquisite dragged aboard the Duchess, most of the girls on the other powerboat gave their attention to the dog. Indeed, his fate all the time had attracted more attention from Lizzie Bean, than had the trouble Purt Sweet was in.
“Why! he might have been drowned!” Lily exclaimed in answer to something Bobby said.
“That’s right. And it would be too mean,” spoke up Lonesome Liz, as Billy Long secretly called the sad-faced girl. “He’s a smart dog.”
“Mercy! who cares about that horrid dog?” snapped Lily.
“I do, for one,” said Nellie Agnew.
“Me, too. He was pushed overboard by Purt, 77 and it just served Purt right that he went into the water,” Bobby declared.
The mongrel cur had swum nobly for the shore. Before Purt was dragged aboard by Art the dog was nearing his goal.
They were well above the town of Lumberport now, and the shore along here was a shelving beach. After fighting the current the dog would have been unable to drag himself out had the bank been steep.
“He’s done it!” exclaimed Liz, eagerly. “Well! I declare I’m glad.”
“Gladder than you were over Purt?” chuckled Bobby.
“Well, if you ask me,” drawled the maid-of-all-work, “I think the dog’s wuth a whole lot more than that silly feller in the green pants.”
“How horrid!” ejaculated Lily.
“Gee!” said Bobby. “Don’t you know, Lizzie, that there is only one Pretty Sweet? I don’t suppose you could find another fellow like him if you combed the zones of both hemispheres.”
“Hear! hear!” drawled Jess. “How many zones do you suppose there are, Bobs?”
“Oh, a whole bunch of them,” declared the reckless Bobby. “There’s one torrid, two temperate, two frigid, and a lot of postal zones.”
“How smart!” sneered Lily, in no very good temper. 78
Meanwhile the dog had crawled out of the water. They saw him shake himself and then sink upon the shore, evidently exhausted.
“Well,” said Laura, “I guess Purt has finally gotten rid of the poor creature. But it was too funny for anything.”
The shores of Rocky River, as they advanced, were very pretty indeed. There were several suburban villages near Lumberport; but the farther they sailed up the stream the less inhabited the shores were and the wilder the scenery became.
“My!” ejaculated Dorothy. “I had no idea this country was really so woodsy.”
“You know there is scarcely anything but forest south of us, until you reach the B. & P. W. Railroad.”
“Maybe there are bad people up in these woods, after all,” suggested the timid Nell.
“Never you mind. Purt’s got his revolver,” chuckled Jess. “Lance says that it is one that hasn’t been fired for twenty years and belonged to Purt’s father.”
“Goodness!” exclaimed Laura. “I shall be afraid of that. It’s those old guns that nobody supposes are loaded, that are always going off and killing the innocent bystander. You ought to confiscate that gun, Chet.”
“Don’t worry,” returned her brother, laughing. 79 “I’ve taken the trigger screw out of Purt’s gun and he couldn’t shoot it if he had forty cartridges in it. But I haven’t told Purt, for the dear boy seems to place implicit confidence in the old gat as a defense against anything on two or four legs in the Big Woods.”