“I got him in—you get him out,” proposed Ned, shrewdly.
“Well, either he gets out, or we do,” declared Hal. And he tried to assist the unwelcome captive by putting an oar-blade under him. Every time, however, the turtle slid off, and meanwhile grew madder and madder—if such a condition were possible.
Hissing and clawing, he scurried over the bottom of the boat.
Finally his turtle cunning led him to settle upon the stern as the easiest point for escape; and never giving up he attacked the sloping board again and again, only to fall back. Each time that the boys would have boosted him with an oar-blade he turned and snapped, and appeared so ungrateful that they were fain to leave him to his own efforts.
At last he managed to insert the claws of a hind flapper into the little space left by the oar in the sculling-hole, and then was enabled to thrust one of his fore flappers over the edge of the stern.
Up he went. For an instant he balanced on the stern, his four legs and his stiff little tail, and his waving head all outstretched in air.
“Scat!” called Ned.
At the word Mr. Turtle disappeared with a fine splash.
“Good!” exclaimed Hal, much relieved.