Biff clambered over the side and crawled over Chet, who gladly moved over to allow him to take the tiller. In a few moments the boat slackened speed. Shortly afterward, Biff had the situation well in hand, turned the boat about, and drove alongside the Hardy boys.
“Are you satisfied?” said Biff, glaring at Chet.
“Must have been something wrong with the steering gear,” Chet explained weakly.
“Steering gear, nothing!” snorted Biff. “Something wrong with the fellow who was steering, that’s all. After this, I’ll take charge of the boat myself.”
“You’re welcome. I’ve had plenty.”
“Thank goodness!”
“What was the big idea?” shouted Frank “Trying to wreck us all, Chet?”
“No harm done. We’d better forget it,” muttered Chet sheepishly. “I can’t seem to get the hang of this steering business. I’d rather be just a passenger, anyway.”
“That suits everybody,” growled Biff. “When I go out ice-boating I don’t care to spend half of my time chasing the boat.”
Joe snickered. The recollection of Biff slipping and sliding across the ice in pursuit of the runaway craft, and then slipping and sliding with the boat in pursuit of him, appealed to Joe’s sense of humor. That snicker was like a match touched to gunpowder, for Frank also laughed, then Chet, and finally Biff himself had to grin. So, in high good humor again, the lads got back into the boats and resumed their journey toward the village.