“Aha!” cried Clarence, picking up the oars and becoming melodramatic. “There she is! I can see her. Somewhere, Master Abe, in that boat is the bright-eyed goddess of adventure, and I’m going to meet her.” As he spoke he set vigorously to rowing out towards mid-stream.
“Say, you boob,” roared Abe, dropping his paddle in dismay: “You’re going to get run down. Do you want to get drownded?”
“Not at all. Now just sit tight, don’t rock the boat, and let me do it all by myself. We’re going to shoot right across her bow. You just leave it to me. We can do it easily.”
They were now quite near the steamer and it looked to Abe, as it looked to the captain of the boat, as though the little craft were almost certain of being run down. Abe fell back, his cheeks grew white, his teeth chattered; he turned his face from the approaching vessel. Meantime, there was a whistle, a clanging of bells, and hurried movements on the St. Paul. As the forward deck filled with excited passengers, the steamboat came almost to a full stop; observing which Mister Clarence, who had been rowing with all his might and main, lessened his efforts most perceptibly, and gazed enquiringly at the big boat.
“Say, do you know, Abe, I believe that boat’s in trouble? Maybe they want our help.”
Abe sat up and once more took notice.
“You young jackass!” roared the captain leaning as far as it was safe over the deck.
“Which one of us do you mean, sir?” asked Clarence.
“You, gosh blame you! You, drat your hide! If there were more idiots on this river like you, I’d give it up and take to farming. I’ve stopped my boat on your account.”
“Go right ahead, sir. I didn’t want you to stop.”