“It won’t do for you to be sulky with me,” began his tyrant. “You’ve got to go along o’ me now you have come. You couldn’t go back after stealing this boat.”
“Stealing!” cried Dexter, flushing up. “I didn’t steal it. We borrowed it together.”
“Oh, did we?” said Bob mockingly; “I don’t know nothing about no we. It was you stole it, and persuaded me to come.”
“I didn’t,” cried Dexter indignantly. “I only borrowed it, and you helped me do it.”
“Oh, did I? We shall see about that. But you can’t go back never no more, so don’t you think that.”
Bob’s guess at his companion’s thoughts was pretty shrewd; and as Dexter sat looking at him aghast, with the full extent of his delinquency dawning upon him, Bob began to unloose the chain.
“Now then,” he said, “finish that there bread and cheese, or else put it in yer pocket. We’re going on again, and I want to catch our dinner.”
The idea of doing something more in accordance with the object of their trip roused Dexter into action, and, after helping to force the boat from among the branches, he willingly took one of the sculls; and in obedience to the frequently given orders, rowed as well as his inexperience would allow, and they glided swiftly down the stream.
“What are you going to do first, Bob?” said Dexter, who felt more bright and cheerful now out in the sunshine, with the surface all ripple and glow.
“Why, I telled yer just now!” said the boy surlily. “Mind what yer doing, or you’ll catch a crab.”