“The rope slipped,” he muttered.
“Didn’t you tie it?” asked Dick.
“No, I sat on it. Turn her back, Roy; we’ll have to get the old thing.”
“You’re a nice one,” laughed Roy. “Why didn’t you hold the rope in your teeth?”
“Oh, he’d have to keep his mouth shut,” Dick scoffed, “and you know plaguey well he couldn’t do that.”
“Say, suppose you take a paddle and do some of the work,” suggested Chub, fretfully. “I’d like to know what we’re hauling you around for, anyway, you—you lump of dead weight! Let’s throw him overboard and lighten the ship, Roy.”
“Save your breath for paddling,” Dick advised cheerfully. “It’s a quarter of a mile to the boat and a quarter mile back. Don’t worry about me; I’m very comfortable,” and Dick proceeded to find an easier position, rocking the canoe perilously in the process.
“Sit still, you idiot,” said Chub, “or I’ll duck you again. Do you want to have us in the water?”
“Now, if I had my motor-boat—” Dick commenced.
“Oh, blow you and your old motor-boat,” spluttered Chub. “You’ve got to learn to paddle, that’s what you’ve got to do!”