“No, just gives us a chance to show who is the best swimmer. You can swim, of course?” asked Wyn.
“No, not a stroke,” replied the frightened Nora.
“Don’t you mind Wynnie, Nora,” spoke up Betta. “There’s no possibility of any one having to swim. This boat would sail the rapids, wouldn’t she, Jimmie?”
“Here’s another hat,” offered Thistle. “Say, Jim! At least you ought to bring a tin can,” she said in her jolliest tone.
They were actually bailing out. The water managed to make cold little puddles in the bottom of the boat, and with the “large party aboard” as Pell charged Wyn because she happened to weigh a few more pounds than the others, the inflow threatened to bear the little craft down to the water’s edge, uncomfortably close.
But the girls were making a lark of it. Every time a hat emptied a shout went up, and every time a hat leaked a groan moaned out.
“All in a life time,” boomed Thistle. “But don’t any one dare tell that story about the philosopher and the boatman.”
“Never heard it,” responded Betta, lifting a particularly well filled hat to the boat’s edge.
Jimmie was now rowing. “Assisting him in that capacity,” as Pell expressed it, was Wyn.
“We gotta reach the Ledge,” joked Thistle, “and I for one hate walking on the water.”