“I never did like sailors, except in stories,” Marmaduke muttered; “they are always a mean and sneering set of fellows, except on the ocean.”
“I never knew such fellows,” muttered the sage; “I—I shouldn’t be surprised if they turn out to be ex-pirates!”
“I’ll bet they are!” said Steve, who took kindly to this brilliant idea. “Jim, I say, Jim,” he whispered slyly, “it’s too bad you’re in your good clothes; for you’ll have to change ’em for the old ones! Now, we can change for our best.”
“Let me row!” he said suddenly to the furrow-faced rower, so coaxingly that the row-locks creaked in sympathy.
“No, I came to save you, and I’ll be hanged if I don’t,” the man said roughly. “You did the punting; just leave me alone for the rowing.”
Poor Stephen! He longed to take a turn with the sailors in rowing, but this crushed him, and he was mute.
“They’re not a bit like sailors,” he mumbled to himself, drawing his water-soaked hat down over his gleaming eye-balls.
The men’s surliness, on this occasion, was because they were disgusted with the worthies whom they had come so far to save.
Soon afterwards they reached the wharf, where a knot of people had assembled to welcome them. A hearty hand-shaking followed, and then the six, mighty heroes, in their eyes, were marched off home in triumph.