“Now,” cried Vane, “we’re going back.”
“Can’t work ’em backwards.”
“No, no, forward,” said Vane. “I’ll work backwards. Work away.”
Macey obeyed, and a fresh burst of cheers arose as, in obedience to the reverse paddling, the boat turned as if on a pivot. Then as soon as it was straight for the mill, Vane reversed again, and accompanied by their sympathisers on the bank and working as hard as they could, the two engineers sent the boat slowly along, right back into the pool, and by judicious management on Vane’s part, alongside of the wooden staging which acted as a bridge to the mill on its little island.
Here plenty more cheers saluted the navigators.
“Bravo! bravo!” cried the rector.
“Well done, Vane,” cried the doctor.
“Viva,” shouted Distin, with a sneering look at Vane, who winced as if it had been a physical stab, and he did not feel the happier for knowing that the cheers were for nothing, since he did not want Macey’s words to tell him that his machine was a failure from the amount of labour required.
“Why, I could have taken the boat there and back home myself with a pair of sculls, and nearly as fast again,” whispered the boy.
It was quite correct, and Vane felt anything but happy, as he stepped on to the top of the camp-shed, where the others were.