"Not it," George said. "It was against us, you know, all the way down, and could only have turned a little while before we got in the boat. Look at that line of barges sailing down on the right-hand side. I vote we pull to them and ask the men what we had better do. Anyhow we could row to the land and get out there and wait till tide turns. It turned at about eleven, so that it will turn again somewhere about five. The steamer is not to start till eight, so we shall be back in plenty of time to catch it. We shall lose the dinner and the fun in the gardens, but that can't be helped."
"That don't make no odds," Bill said cheerfully; "this is a regular venture, this is; but I say, shan't we have to pay a lot for the boat?"
"Yes," George assented mournfully; "but perhaps the man will let us off cheap when he sees we couldn't help it. He looked a good-tempered sort of chap. Come, let us set to work. Every minute it is taking us further away."
They set steadily to work. The boat was a large and heavy one, and their progress was by no means rapid.
"How thick it's getting!" George exclaimed suddenly.
"Aint it just!" Bill assented. "My eye, George, I can't see the barges!"
Unobserved by them a fog had been steadily creeping up the river. They were just at its edge when they made the discovery. Another two minutes and it rolled thickly over them, and they could not see ten yards away. They looked at each other in silent bewilderment.
"What's to be done, George?" Bill said at length in awe-struck tones.
"I don't know, Bill; I haven't an idea. It's no use rowing, that I see, for we don't know which way the boat's head is pointing."
"Well, it can't be helped," Bill said philosophically. "I am going to have a pipe. Oh, I say, aint my hands blistered!"