“Won’t you, now? Upon my word, you’ve got the impudence of twenty.”
“Look here,” said Duke, “I’m for paddling on. I don’t know your views as to dinner, Mr. Renalt, but mine are getting pretty vociferous.”
“My idea is to pull on till we sight a likely place, Mr. Duke Straw.”
We rowed up past Kingston, a cockney town we all fought shy of, and on by grassy reaches as far as Hampton bridge, where we disembarked. Here was a pleasant water-side inn, with a lawn sloping down to the embankment, and, sitting in its long coffee-room, we made a hearty dinner and a merry company. Dolly was flushed and happy as a young naiad when we returned to our boat, and she rippled with laughter and sweetness.
CHAPTER XVI.
A FATEFUL ACCIDENT.
We loitered on the river till the short day was threatening dusk, and then we were still no further on our homeward way than a half-mile short of Kingston. A little cold wind, moreover, was beginning to whine and scratch over the surface of the water, and Dolly pulled her tippet closer about her bosom, feeling chilled and inclined to silence.
“Come,” said Duke, “we must put our shoulders to it or we shan’t get into the lock before dark.”
“Oh!” cried the girl, with a half-whimper, “I had forgotten that horrible lock with its hideous weedy doors. Must we go through it?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Duke; “but,” he added cheerily, “don’t you be nervous. We’ll run you down and through before you have time to count a hundred—if you count slowly.”
She sunk back in her seat with a frightened look and grasped the rudder lines, as if by them only could she hold on to safety. The dusk dropped about us as we pulled on, strain as we might, and presently we both started upon hearing a strangled sob break from the girl.