“There may be something in that,” the Captain replied.
None the less, Alvin continued his tooting, without abating his speed. The tender, however, did not mean to tantalize them, and all quickly saw the cause of his action. A heavily loaded wagon had come upon the bridge from the Woolwich side, and waited while the draw was held open. The driver must have had a “pull” with the attendant, who immediately closed the draw so he could cross before the second boat passed through.
At this juncture fate showed how perverse she can be when in the mood. Directly over the draw, something connected with the wagon or the harness of the team got askew and the driver paused to set it right. Possibly it was pretence on his part, for many men will do such things, but, all the same, he took ten minutes before he climbed back on his seat and started his horses forward again. Alvin reversed the screw, so that the launch became motionless when a few yards from the bridge.
I am afraid the driver purposely delayed the Deerfoot, for when Mike shouted an angry reproach, he looked around, put his thumb to his nose, twiddled his fingers, and then moved slowly over the rattling planks toward Westport.
“I suggist that ye turn about, Captain, and scoot for home,” was the ironical advice of the Irish youth.
“For what reason?”
“I’m afeard that man is real mad and he might take it into his head to git down off his wagon and saize aich of us by the nape of the neck as the boat goes through, and slam us down so hard he’d jar us.”
“Better wait, Captain, till he’s a little farther off,” advised Calvert; “there may be something in what Michael says.”
As for Mike, feeling he could not do justice to the subject, he held his peace for the moment.
Gliding through the draw and entering Montsweag Bay, the occupants of the Deerfoot were surprised to see nothing of the other launch. She was as invisible as if she had been scuttled and sunk in fifty feet of water.