III.
At last the wonderful boat was pronounced finished. It had obviously not been modeled with an eye to beauty—was flat as the barn floor, square at both ends, and entirely lacking in the curves which constitute the grace of the seabird-like craft which are the delight of yachtmen. Nevertheless, the boys were proud of it. It was their own: they had built it themselves.
"There she is, complete from bow to stern!" exclaimed Jack, with a satisfied air.
"Yes," responded Leo, admiringly. "But"—hesitating—"but—which is the bow and which the stern, you know—eh?"
"Why, this end, stupid! Don't you see I've marked it with a cross?" answered Jack.
"Perhaps I am stupid," thought Leo; "for I don't understand now how one end can be both. I wish Jack would be a little more particular about explaining a thing. It's queer how few fellows are! They jumble their words all up, and think that because they know what they mean, you ought to understand, of course."
"Well," observed Jim, quizzically, "she isn't quite as handsome as the barges on the lake in the park, that float up and down, looking like white swans. Yes, I guess she'll do."
"We didn't set out to build a gondola, to paddle children and nursery maids around in," retorted Rob, with a withering glance. "She's a good, serviceable boat, and safe—"
"Oh, safe as a tub!" agreed Jim, hastily, intending the remark as conciliatory.
"Huh! Perhaps you never tried to pilot a tub," interposed Leo. "I did the other day, just for practice, so I'd know how to row when the time came to use this here punt—if that's what you call it. Jimminy! I got tipped over into the creek, and a scolding besides when I went home! I'd be sorry to have her act like that."
"A tub is a tub and a boat is a boat," said Jack, sententiously. "This one couldn't tip over if it tried. Don't you see it's most square? In fact, we didn't mean to get it quite so wide; but, after all, it is better than those canoe-like things, which are always rocking from one side to the other."
"What are you going to name it?" asked Jim.
Jack looked nonplussed. This necessity had not occurred to him before.
He appealed to Rob.
"Suppose," replied the latter, after mature deliberation,—"suppose we call it the Sylph? There's a, story in the Boys' Own about a beautiful boat called the Sylph."
"Cricky! it looks about as much like a sylph as—well, as Mary Ann does!" said Jim. Since the stout, good-natured cook was heavy, and nearly square in figure, the comparison was amusingly apt.
"Do you remember the tents at Coney Island in summer, where a regular wooden circus procession goes round in a ring, keeping time to the music?" asked Leo.
"Yes, and by paying five cents you can take your choice, and ride on a zebra or a lion or a big gold ostrich, or anything that's there. And once we chose a scrumptious boat, all blue and silver, and drawn by two swans," responded Jim.
"Well, what was the name of that?" said Leo.
"I think the man told us she was known as the Fairy," answered Jim.
Again they looked at the boat and shook their heads. It would not do.
"I did not mean the name of the blue and silver barge, but of the whole thing—the ring and all?" added Leo.
"Oh, the Merry-go-Round," said Jack.
"Why would not that be a good name?" argued Rob, pleased with the sound, and, like many a person whose fancy is caught by the jingle of a word, paying little attention to its sense.
"That is what I thought," began Leo, delighted to find his motion seconded, as he would have explained in the language of the juvenile debating society, which met periodically in that very barn.
"Why! do you expect this boat to keep going round and round when we get it out into the middle of the creek?" said practical Jack, pretending to be highly indignant at the imputation.
"No indeed," disclaimed Rob. "Only that she would go around everywhere—up and down the stream, you know; and on an exploring expedition, as we proposed."
"That is not so bad," Jack admitted. "Still, I think we could get a better name. Let us see! The Merry Sailor,—how's that?"
"N—no—hardly," murmured Bob.
"The Jolly Sail—I have it: the Jolly Pioneer!"
"Hurrah!" cried Jim. "The very thing!"
"Yes, I guess that fits pretty well," acknowledged Rob.
"It's capital!" volunteered Leo.
And so the matter was finally settled. The Jolly Pioneer was still destitute of paint, but the boys were in so great a hurry to launch her that they decided not to delay on this account. They carried her down to the creek, and by means of a board slid her into the water. Jack got into the boat first, while the others held the side close to the bank. After him came Rob. Jim and Leo were to follow, but the Jolly Pioneer seemed to have dwindled in size, and did not look half so big or imposing as when in the barn.
"Hold on!" cried Jack. "I'm afraid you will be too heavy. It won't do to crowd at first. We'll just row gently with the current a short distance, and then come back and let you have a turn."
Though disappointed, the little fellows did not demur, but handed him the oars, and waited to see the two boys glide away. But, alas! though the Jolly Pioneer moved a little, it was not with the freedom and confidence which was to be expected of her in her native element. She seemed to shrink and falter, "as if afraid of getting wet," as Jim laughingly declared.
"Hello! what's that?" exclaimed Rob, as he felt something cold at his feet. He looked down: his shoes were thoroughly wet; the water was coming in through the crevices of the boat.
"Pshaw!" cried Jack. "That is because it is new yet; when the wood is soaked it will swell a bit. Hurry and bail out the water, though."
"But we haven't anything to do it with," returned Rob, helplessly.
"Oh, take your hat, man! A fine sailor you'd make!" Jack answered, setting the example by dipping in his own old felt. Rob's was a new straw yet. Unfortunately for its appearance during the remainder of the summer, he did not think of this, but immediately went to work. Their efforts were of no use: the Jolly Pioneer sank slowly but surely.
"Don't give up the ship!" cried Jack, melodramatically.
So as neither of the boys attempted to get out, and thus lessen the weight, down, down it went, till it reached the pebbly bed of the creek, and they found themselves—still in the boat to be sure, but standing up to their waists in water. The worst of the mortification was that the little fellows, high and dry on the bank, were choking with laughter, which finally could no longer be suppressed, and broke forth in a merry peal.
"What do you want to stand there guffawing for?" called Jack, ill-naturedly. "Why don't you try to get the oars?"
Thus made to realize that they might be of some assistance, Jim and Leo waded in heroically, unmindful of the effect upon shoes, stockings, and clothing generally, and rescued the oars, of which poor Jack had carelessly relaxed his hold in the effort to bail out the boat, and which were being carried swiftly away by the current.
In the meantime Jack and Rob succeeded in raising the Jolly Pioneer and hauling her up on the bank. While they stood there, contemplating her in discouragement, and regardless of their own bedraggled condition, who should come along but Uncle Gerald.
"Hie! what is the matter?" he called from the road, suspecting the situation at once.
"Something is wrong with the blamed boat, after all!" Jack shouted back, impatiently.
Uncle Gerald leaped over the low wall, which separated the highway from the meadow, and was presently among them, surveying the unfortunate Pioneer, which now did not look at all jolly, but wore a dejected appearance, one might fancy, as if out of conceit with itself at having proved such a miserable failure.
"There! I suppose he'll say, 'If you had not been so positive that you knew all about boatbuilding—if you had come to me for the advice I promised you,—this would not have happened,'" thought Jack; feeling that (like the story of the last straw placed upon the overladen pack-horse, which proved too much for its strength) to be thus reminded would make the burden of his vexations greater than he could bear.
Uncle Gerald might indeed have moralized in some such fashion, but he considerately refrained, and only remarked, kindly:
"Do not be disheartened. This is not such bad work for a first attempt. The boat would look better if it were painted, and that would fill up a few of the cracks too. As some of the boards are not dovetailed together, you should have calked the seams with oakum."
"To be sure!" responded Jack. "How could we have had so little gumption as not to have thought of it?"
"Oakum is hemp obtained from untwisting old ropes," continued Uncle Gerald. "In genuine ship-building, calking consists in crowding threads of this material with great force into the seams between the planks. When filled, they are then rubbed over with pitch, or what is known as marine glue,—a composition of shellac and caoutchouc. It will not be necessary for you to do all this, however. Oakum is often used for packing goods also. I dare say if you hunt around in the barn you will find a little lying about somewhere. But, bless me, you young rogues! Here you are all this time in your wet clothes. Leo, your mother will be worried for fear you may take cold. Run home as fast as you can and get into a dry suit. And you other fellows, come! We'll take the Jolly Pioneer back to the workshop without delay; and then you must hurry and do the same."