“Not a bit,” said Lynton. “Look, I can ease off in a moment. See?”
“Yes,” said Brace, as, with a touch at the tiller, the boat grew more level instead of careening over as she ran; “that’s right.”
The boat glided smoothly along now on an even keel, and they all enjoyed the magnificent scenery as they passed near the bank, with the forest running right down to the brink of the stream and occasionally opening out into avenues of gigantic trees.
Lynton was busying himself with the tackle as they sailed on, when Brace turned to him and said:
“You don’t expect to catch anything with that great drag-hook, do you?”
And he laughed at the large triangle hanging beneath a huge spoon, and furnished with a double arrangement of swivels.
“Indeed, but I do,” was the reply. “Here, catch hold of the tiller, my lad. Steady. A little slower now.”
“Shall we take in a reef, sir?” said Dan, who was holding the sheet.
“Oh, no, that will do, only take care you don’t capsize us.”
He then turned to Brace once more and continued the conversation about the fishing-tackle.