“Can’t wark it by mysen,” said the miller. “Won’t join me, I suppose, doctor?”
“Any one else, not you,” said the doctor, merrily.
“Come,” said the rector, “another trial. Gilmore, Distin, you have a turn.”
“All right, sir,” cried Gilmore, getting into the boat; “come on, Dis.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the young creole.
“He’s afraid,” said Macey, mischievously, and just loud enough for Distin to hear.
The latter darted a furious look at him, and then turned to Gilmore.
“Oh, very well,” he said in a careless drawl. “I don’t mind having a try.”
“It’ll take some of the fat conceit out of him, Weathercock,” said Macey, wiping his streaming brow. “Oh, I say, I am hot.”
Gilmore had taken off his jacket and vest before getting into the boat. Distin kept his on, and stepped down, while Vane held the boat’s side from where he kneeled on the well-worn planks.