“You can’t throw,” he shouted.
“You can’t catch,” called a girl. “Doesn’t he look little down there?” she said to her companions.
Sound travels plainly over water and Pee-wee heard them. “It’s on account of the distance,” he shouted.
“If we come down will you take us for a row?” (giggling).
“Positively,” said Townsend (more giggling).
And so on, and so on. They flopped lazily around on the river until mid-afternoon, when Townsend realized to his surprise that the ebbing tide had carried them far down-stream. It was aided and abetted now by a freshening breeze against which it was almost hopeless to struggle. Rowing against wind and tide is a thankless task.
Townsend could have made shore easily enough, but it is the scout way to leave a thing where one finds it. He did the only thing he could do striving against such odds, which was to keep close in shore where the current was less strong, and pull the boat along by clutching the overhanging foliage where there was any. It was slow work, but of such a nature that Pee-wee could assist.
At last, by dint of rowing and pulling, they reached the spot where they had embarked. The Irish woman was not in evidence but the smoke was curling up out of the chimney of her little house, which reminded the returning voyagers that it was getting on toward suppertime, unless indeed, the smoke was from her trusty pipe.
“It’s six o’clock if anybody should ask you,” said Townsend, looking at his watch.
“And we’ve got more than two miles to walk,” said Pee-wee.