It wasn’t long before Gerald reached the conclusion that Harry had made a very smart bargain, for paddling isn’t a thing that can be successfully taught; a fellow must pick it up himself. Gerald’s instructions consisted principally of the advice: “Now just do as I do, Gerald; see?”
And Gerald, occupying a most uncomfortable and cramped position at the stern of the canoe, did as Harry did till his arms ached. Harry insisted on staying close to shore.
“Faculty raises an awful rumpus,” he explained, “if you upset. Two Fourth Class fellows went over last Fall, and Collins wouldn’t let them go out again.”
Gerald tried to emulate the example of Harry, but wasn’t very successful that day. Harry’s work with the paddle was clean and graceful, while Gerald had difficulty in refraining from using his blade like an oar. Once, in shifting his position a little, he caused the canoe to rock. Harry almost dropped his paddle as he looked around in alarm.
“Here!” he cried. “What are you trying to do? Upset us?”
“No, I was just trying to get comfortable,” answered Gerald.
“Well, you want to be awfully careful in a canoe. It’s mighty easy to upset.”
“What of it?” asked Gerald, with a laugh. “I’d rather like a dip. Besides, we could almost wade ashore from here.”
“No, we couldn’t. This river’s awfully deep, even right along shore. I—I won’t go out with you if you’re not careful. The water’s too cold for a bath.”
“All right,” Gerald agreed. “I’ll be careful. Let’s go back now, though; my arms ache like anything.”