“O we will.”
Gov. Grimes and Wort had been very anxious to pull an oar, and Will gratified them. But the governor could not row. Will had urged him to stop. The governor’s resoluteness sometimes ran into obstinacy, and it did now.
“Just see me row—away,” cried the governor, refusing to stop, but as he was about to say “away,” his oar slipped out of the rowlock, and he finished the sentence, his feet going up into the air and his head going down into the bottom of the boat!
“Caught a crab, governor?” shouted the president.
The boat stopped in the midst of the commotion that followed the governor’s tumble, and when Will started his craft again, he did not appreciate the fact that its bow had shifted its aim.
“Where are we goin’?” inquired Aunt Stanshy.
“Home,” answered Will. “I’m all right. A few more strokes must fetch us all right to the wharf,” and he pulled lustily on his oars.
“It is my fear that we are all wrong,” said Aunt Stanshy. “I know something about this river, and about fogs, and about people rowing round like fools and getting nowhere.”
The members of the club now looked serious, and Will was provoked at Aunt Stanshy’s remark.
“Halloo there!”