The owner of the boat, who had been thoughtfully gazing into the water, looked up in surprise.
“Well, that’s cool!” he ejaculated.
“I beg your pardon,” said Harry, still plying the oar; “I couldn’t help it; Mr. Fox is after me.”
John Fox, by this time, stood on the river bank shaking his fist, with a discomfited expression, at his intended victim.
“Come back here!” he shouted.
“Thank you, I would rather not,” answered Harry, still increasing the distance between himself and his guardian.
“You Willie Foster, row the boat back!” bawled John Fox,
“Is your name Willie Foster?” asked Harry, turning to his companion, who was looking, with a puzzled expression, from one to the other.
“Yes.”
“Then, Willie, if you will help me row over to the other side of the river and set me off there, I’ll give you a dollar.”