“I don’t see why I can’t wear a life jacket if I want to,” said Malvin, at length, in a voice that, for the first time, held a note of sullen defiance. “I know these Gallops better than you do, Master Stetson. I have always worn a life jacket when running them.”
“Yes,” said Hardware dryly, “you are more timid than we thought you, Malvin.”
“Never mind, Harry,” struck in Ralph; “tend that searchlight and keep a bright lookout for the Needles. We must pass them to port.”
“All right,” responded Hardware cheerfully; “luckily, there’s no ‘needles in a haystack’ business about them. They are as clear as the freckles on Persimmons’ face. Don’t worry.”
He began swinging the search-light off to the left-hand side of the boat, searching for the group of sharp-pointed rocks known as the Needles, which were by no means the menace to navigation that Big Nigger was.
“So you always wear a life jacket in running the rapids?” insisted Ralph, as his companion carried out his instructions.
“Always, sir; yes, sir. It’s the safest plan.”
“Well, I guess you are entitled to considerable praise for your foresight, Malvin,” said Ralph meaningly. “You can go forward.”
“All right, sir. Very well, sir,” was the rejoinder. Malvin once more appeared to have full control of himself.
He descended the two or three steps leading from the raised bridge from which the navigation of the River Swallow was directed. As his figure vanished forward in the darkness, Harry Ware turned to his chum.