When the dingy and the other boats crossed the flat the tide had been hours higher, of course; but I was in no mood to explain—to him.
“No,” I said, shortly.
“You won't? Then you give me an oar and I'll row the rest of the way myself.”
There were only two oars in the skiff, but I could get on perfectly well with one. And it would serve him beautifully right to let him go. But there was the girl. I hesitated.
“Give me that oar,” he repeated, angrily. “You won't? Then, by Jove, I'll do without it. Stop! Stop where you are! do you understand. We don't require your services any longer.”
He turned and began untying the tow line. I stopped rowing.
Miss Colton looked troubled.
“Victor!” she cried. “What are you doing?”
“I know what I'm doing. Can't you see this fellow's game? The longer the row the higher his price, that's all. He can't work me. I've seen his kind before. Don't be frightened. If we can't do anything else we can anchor and wait until they see us from the house.”
Idiot! At that point the channel was deep and the bottom soft mud. I doubted if his anchor would touch and, if it did, I knew it would not hold. I backed water and brought the skiff alongside the dingy, the rail of which I seized and held.