Then deep silence fell on the little party, and Macey’s eyes sparkled.
“Yes, he has made me vicious now,” he said to himself; and, as he sat back, he saw something which sent a thought through his brain which made him hug his knees. “Let me see,” he mused: “Vane can swim and dive like an otter, and Gil is better in the water than I am. All right, my boy; you shall pitch me in.”
Then aloud:
“Keep her straight, Distie. Don’t send her nose into the willows.”
The rower looked sharply round, and pulled his right scull. Then, a little further on, Macey shouted:—
“Too much port—pull your right.”
Distin resented this with an angry look; but Macey kept on in the most unruffled way, and, by degrees, as the rower found that it saved him from a great deal of unpleasant screwing round and neck-twisting, he began to obey the commands, and pulled a little harder, so that they travelled more swiftly down the winding stream.
“Port!” shouted Macey. “Port it is! Straight on!”
Then, after a minute,—
“Starboard! More starboard! Straight on!”