"Who's going to do the work first?" asked Betty. Then she added: "I love to paddle."
"If nobody has any objection," said Allen, "you shall. Grace, you drop into the middle with Frank, until it comes your turn to do the work. Betty may like it, but I must say I'd rather watch you people slave."
"All right, we'll go fifty-fifty with you," Frank agreed cheerily. "Here, Grace, step in the middle—that's the way. Now we are all settled. Let her go, Captain."
Allen swung himself into the stern, and deftly pushed the canoe clear of the swaying float. "All right," he sang out. "Left hand or right, Betty? It makes no difference to me. Now for the moon."
"Look out, Allen, you are getting poetical," warned Betty, as she dipped her paddle into the clear water. "Many a man has reached for the moon, only to find that he had plucked some green cheese."
"Are you sure it wasn't limburger?" asked Frank, mildly for so strong a subject.
"Ugh, don't!" cried Grace. "How I hate even the name of the horrid stuff!"
"And on a night like this, too," said Betty. "Can't we talk about something less odoriferous?"
"Remember you started it," said Frank defensively.
"Yes, I know, but what I spoke of is such a wee little cousin to——"