“Hi theer; howd hard,” cried the miller; “he’s too heavy. Coom out, lad, and I’ll tak thy place.”
There was another roar of laughter at this.
“Oh, I say, Mr Round, don’t chaff us or we can’t do it,” whispered Vane to the jolly-looking great twenty-stone fellow.
“Aw reight, lad. I’ll be serious enew now. Off you go! Shall I give you a shove?”
“No,” said Vane. “I want to prove the boat myself. Now, Macey, you sit still till I’ve worked her round even, and then when I say off, you keep on stroke for stroke with me.”
“All right,” cried Macey, and Vane began to work his crank and paddle on the boat’s starboard side with the result that they began to move and curve round. Then, applying more force and working hard, he gave himself too much swing in working his lever, with the result that his side rose a little. In the midst of the cheering that had commenced the little horizontal paddle came up level with the surface, spun round at a great rate, and sent a tremendous shower of spray all over those on the gangway, Distin getting the worst share, and in his effort to escape it nearly going off into the dam.
“You did that on purpose,” he roared furiously, his voice rising above the shout of laughter.
“Oh, I’ve had enough of this,” said Macey. “Let me get out.”
“No, no, sit still. It’s all right,” whispered Vane. Then, aloud, “I didn’t, Dis, it was an accident. All right, Aleck, keep the boat level. Now we’re straight for the river. Work away.”
Macey tugged at his lever and pushed with his feet; his paddle now revolved, and though the boat swayed dangerously, and Aunt Hannah was in agony lest it should upset, the paddles kept below the surface, and cheer after cheer arose.