“That reminds me,” said Clarence, his smile leaving him. “I’ve got to be back at noon, and it’s nearly eight-thirty now. Say, do you know this river?”
“I should say I do. Do you want me to row you?”
“Is there any place around here worth seeing?”
“Sure! Pictured Rocks! Everybody goes there. It’s a mile down the river.”
“Suppose I hire a boat, would you mind acting as my guide—salary, fifty cents?”
“I can do better than that,” said Abe, becoming all of a sudden obsequious. “That’s my boat down there—that little boat with the oars—and I’ll take you to Pictured Rocks and bring you back for one dollar. That’s fair enough, ain’t it?”
Abe was young and his imagination undeveloped. Had he been older, he would have tried to sell the boat and a few houses nearest the river bank, all together, for a slightly larger sum.
“That’s a go!” cried Clarence, running for the boat, jumping in and seating himself to row. “Come on quick. Cast off, old boy.”
The boat was locked to a post. Abe was accustomed to facing such difficulties. He broke the lock under Clarence’s unobservant eyes, and, shoving the skiff off and jumping in, seated himself in the stern.
“You row and I’ll steer,” he said, as he picked up the paddle.