“I’ll steady you,” said McConnell, bracing Allan and watching the Oregon as her lines swung into favorable view.
“Click!” sounded the camera, and Allan rolled the film for another shot, this time getting an almost perfect profile of the ship.
“Now, McConnell, I’ll steady you.”
“Oh, never mind,” said McConnell, confidently; “I think I could stand better alone.”
“Pull up a few strokes,” Allan suggested to the oars-man, for the tide was carrying them north. “Better let me hold you, McConnell.”
But McConnell, who was studying his finder, protested that he was all right. And he did make a successful shot with no more assistance than Allan’s one hand at his back—assistance which he seemed to feel that he might have done without. Yet his confidence, if it had not been too great when he occupied a place on the seat, made him reckless in the moment of his success; for in stepping down his foot slipped, and the quick turn which he made to save himself sent him into the bay.
“‘I’ll steady you,’ said McConnell.”
Allan sprang forward to reach McConnell, and the boatman tugged at the oars in the moment of confusion when he did not realize on which side of the stern the boy had fallen. There was a stir among the jackies in the starboard bow of the Oregon.
“I’m all right!” shouted McConnell.