“Come on. You get into my boat, and I’ll get into yours.”
“No, yer won’t,” said Bob. “I won’t sell it.”
“What!” cried the man angrily, and he raised one of his oars from the water.
“I won’t sell,” cried Bob, seizing the oars as he dropped his rod into the boat.
“You mean to tell me that you’re going to make a fool of me like that!”
He began to pull the little tub in which he sat toward the gig, but Bob was too quick for him. The gig glided through the water at double the rate possible to the old craft, and though it was boy against man, the former could easily hold his own.
Fortunately they were not moored to the bank or the event might have been different, for the man had raised his oar as if with the intention of striking the boat in which the boys were seated.
“Here, you, stop!” he shouted.
Bob replied in dumb show with his sculls, dipping them as fast as he could, and looking very pale the while, till they were well out of reach, when he rested for a moment, and yelled back in defiant tones the one word—
“Yah!”