"I'm sure you are not a boating man," said he.
"Oh, no! oh, dear no! I never rowed a boat before. Though I have been at sea: I have crossed the Channel with Mr. Burnet. But not rowing myself, of course."
"Who's Mr. Burnet?" asked Rowles.
"We are staying at the hotel," replied the stranger; "and what's more, I must be getting back, for he likes his breakfast at a quarter-past ten sharp. Can I get back another way? Can't I go down that river?"
He pointed up the stream which came swirling from the weir.
"No," said Rowles, "you can't go up the weir-stream, any more than you could leap a donkey over a turnpike-gate. Get into your boat, and pull yourself quietly up under the left-hand bank."
"I have no rope to pull it by," said the stranger meekly.
"They come down here," remarked Rowles with infinite contempt, and speaking to the river, "and don't know what you mean by pulling. They think it is the same as towing. If you'd rather tow your boat I will lend you a line, provided that you promise faithfully to return it. It is the missus's clothes-line. And you will keep her close under the bank of the towing-path, and you will pass under all the other lines which you meet. Do you see?"
"Oh, yes, thank you," said the stranger, anxious to be off. "My name is Roberts, with Mr. Burnet at the hotel; and you shall have the rope back again."
"Tie it round the bow thwart, as you have no mast," said Rowles.