“How does a shingle scratch?” asked Nelson.
“With its nails,” chuckled Dan.
“Splash him for me, please,” Nelson begged, and Bob obligingly obeyed, sending a fine shower against Dan’s back.
“I suppose that’s Clapboard Island there off Shingle Point?” asked Tom.
“And that’s Shutter Cove yonder,” said Dan.
“Well, that looks like a boarding-house on the hill,” added Nelson.
“Maybe we could get a planked steak there,” Bob suggested.
“Oh, this is awful,” laughed Nelson. “Come on, Tommy, let’s get out of this atmosphere.” And they bent to their paddles in an endeavor to draw away from the other craft. But Bob and Dan were ready for a race and they had it out for a quarter of a mile, nip and tuck, Tom, who had yet to acquire skill at paddling, throwing water over himself and whoever came within six yards of him, but nevertheless managing to keep his end up. When they called the contest off, both parties claiming victory, they had reached a point where it was necessary to choose their course. Before them the island which Tom had dubbed Clapboard barred their direct path and it became a question of going to right or left. Bob consulted the map once more.
“It doesn’t make much difference,” he said. “The right is a bit nearer according to this.”
“Right it is, then,” answered Dan.