“You—you—” he stammered.
“Because if you don't sit down,” I continued serenely, “you're likely to tumble overboard. I'm going to push this boat off.”
The first push helped to make up his mind. He sat, involuntarily. I pushed with all my might and, slowly and jerkily, the dingy slid off the shoal. But there were others all about. With one hand on the bow I guided her between them and to the edge of the channel. Then, wading along the slippery bank, I brought her to the skiff. My passenger had been making remarks in transit, but I paid no attention to them.
I made the rope fast for towing, took my oar from the dingy, pulled up the skiff's anchor and climbed aboard.
“Sit where you are,” I said to Victor. “Miss Colton, please keep as still as possible.”
I ventured to look at her as I said this, but I looked but once. All the way home I kept my gaze fixed on the bottom boards of the skiff.
I made the landing just in time. In fact, the squall struck before I was abreast the Colton place. The channel beyond the flat, which we had so lately left, was whipped to whitecaps in a moment and miniature breakers were beating against the mud bank where the dingy had grounded.
Under the high bluff it was calm enough. The tide was too low to make use of the little wharf, so I beached the skiff and drew the towed boat in by the line. I offered to assist Miss Colton ashore, but she, apparently, did not see my proffered hand. Victor scrambled out by himself. No one said anything. I untied the rope and pulled it in. Then I prepared to push off.
“Here!” growled Victor. “Wait a minute.”
I looked up. He was standing at the edge of the water, with one hand in his pocket. Miss Colton was behind him.