They were wearing shorts with sneakers, and bright handkerchiefs knotted at their throats; no hats, but Sim had tied a ribbon like Alice in Wonderland around her head to keep her short curls in place. It was becoming, too, and perhaps Sim knew that.
“Now let’s see how good you are, Sim,” Terry suggested. “Hail the champion——”
“I’m not good at all, but I will be. Arden, you get in the what-do-you-call it—stern—the back, and, Terry, you sit there, too, then you can watch me and tell where we’re going.” Sim found a place to brace her heels and grasping the oars began to back water until they could turn.
“Don’t just row down there and bump into the houseboat. Pretend we’re going some place else,” Arden suggested. “We don’t want to appear so curious.”
“It won’t make much difference; the wind is taking us there, anyway. Oh—ouch!” Sim exclaimed. “I caught my fingers between the oars.” She shook her hands quickly to “throw off” the pain.
“Well, don’t let the oar go, silly!” Terry cautioned quickly. “Oh, Sim, you lovely chump, there it goes!”
The oar, as though pulled by the water, slipped out of the oarlock and floated away entirely unconcerned.
“Here, give me the other one, I’ll paddle,” Terry cried, reaching for the one faithful remaining oar.
Sim tried to hand it to her and in so doing gave Arden a little bump on the head.
“Oh, Sim, you’re hitting me,” Arden squealed.