Sometimes, in the vicinity of locks, great confusion arose from the crowding of boats and the intertangling of tow-lines. Then Joe became practically helpless. But Captain Bill, after much pushing and angry shouting, always managed to straighten out matters and get the boat under way again.
At Rosendale there was a long delay. Something had gone wrong with the gates at the lock.
Joe was not sorry for this, for it was now late in the forenoon, and he was very tired from his long tramp.
Captain Bill had gone off up the wharf to a canal store, Blixey was busy in the cabin, and the horses were drowsily munching oats from baskets tied under their noses.
A drizzling rain was falling, and Joe took shelter under a shed a little back from the tow-path while he waited.
He had not been long there when a big, uncouth-looking boy came shambling in and sat down on a box near by.
“Hello!” said the boy.
“Hello!” responded Joe.
“Drivin’ for Bill Rosey?”