“Yes, it’s all very well,” said Mike, whose conscience was pricking him, “but it always seems so precious easy to do what you oughtn’t to.”
“Pooh!” cried Vince; “this is nothing.”
“Some one is sure to say he has seen the boat out.”
“Well, I don’t care if he does. Joe ought to have lent us the boat; I’m sure we’ve done things enough for him. There, don’t talk; let’s get her. He might come back for something, and stop us.”
Chapter Eighteen.
A Risky Trip.
But the old fisherman did not return, and they took down mast, sail, oars, and boat-hook, cast the little craft loose, jumped in, and skilfully sent her along the channel, without startling any mullet this time. Then the tunnel was reached, passed through, a good thrust or two given, and the boat glided out over the transparent waves, Mike thrusting an oar from the stern and sculling her along till they were well out from the shelter of the rocks, when he drew in his oar and helped to step the little mast and hoist the sail. In a few minutes more they were gliding swiftly along, with Vince cautiously holding the sheet and Mike steering.
“As if we couldn’t manage a boat!” cried Vince, laughing. “Starboard a little, Ladle. Rocks.”