George floated alongside the Balsam until he came to the stern and a moment later had swung himself on board the boat. He was drenched to the skin but laughing in spite of himself.
“Do you want to change your clothes, Pop?” asked Grant.
“No, it’s hot to-day. They’ll dry out in no time.”
“Ease her off then, Fred,” Grant directed. “We may as well get started.”
Fred put the helm over, the sail filled and the Balsam began to slip through the water at a good rate. The four boys sat around the tiny cockpit, Fred at the tiller and Grant tending sheet. In a few moments they had emerged from the little harbor and had entered upon the open waters of the lake.
“Well, String,” observed George who was busily engaged in wringing water from the bottoms of his duck trousers, “you certainly did it well.”
“Did what well?” demanded John.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You meant to shove me overboard and I know it so there’s no use in you trying to bluff. You were very skillful about it and I guess you got square with me all right. We’ll call it even and quit.”