The Chelton river was a busy place in the neighborhood of the town where our friends lived. On the way up the Corbelbes passed a number of craft, some of them slow-moving coal or grain barges, others passenger steamers, and not a few pleasure craft. Those in charge of the latter recognized the Corbelbes and saluted her with the regulation three whistles, which Cora returned.
“We couldn’t have had a better day,” remarked Paul, as he sat beside Cora.
“No, it’s perfect. If the weather only behaves when we get to camp we’ll be in all sorts of ways obliged to it.”
“Oh, I guess it will,” was the comment. “Look out for that fellow, Cora. He doesn’t seem to know which way he wants to go.”
“I’ve been noticing him,” and Cora looked at a man in a rowboat who was yawing from side to side as though unfamiliar with the proper method of navigation.
Cora blew the whistle sharply as the man seemed about to cross her bows, and this further confused him so that he was really in danger of being run down.
“Look out!” cried Paul again, instinctively, though he knew Cora knew how to manage the boat.
And she proved that she did by quickly reversing the propeller, while a series of sharp blasts informed any craft coming astern to look out for themselves.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Paul, as the Corbelbes passed the man in the rowboat. “You ought to take lessons before you come out on the river.”
The man looked frightened but did not answer, pulling awkwardly away.