“I hope we’ll land at the nearest point opposite.”
“We’ll try to land there,” amended Mr. Clark, gravely. “Matter of fact, the tide’s stronger to-day than I’ve ever known it before.”
“We seem to be drifting further and further down the river,” observed the other, now clearly falling prey to nerves. “Do you think it would be better to turn round and go back?”
“Turn round, sir—with the tide running out?” asked Mr. Clark, in accents almost scandalized. “Why, we should be capsized for dead, certain sure, in less than no time. Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s plain you’re no sailor, to talk like that. No, we can’t turn back.”
“Well, perhaps if you were to—to keep the—the front of the boat pointed straighter for the bank opposite—”
“I can’t!” stated Mr. Clark. “The tide’s too strong. We must land as near as we can, that’s all. I never knoo such a tide!” he ended, pettishly.
“You—you don’t think there’s any chance of being carried out beyond that lighthouse there at the very end, do you?”
“I ’ope and pray not!” soberly returned Mr. Clark.
He bent to his sculls with the greatest determination. A more sophisticated passenger might have noticed that the ferryman was pulling far harder with one arm than the other. The present fare, however, was engrossed in observing more and more of the opposite bank slip by.
“I do believe we shall be carried right out to sea!” he said at last, with the utmost concern.