“And slide gently,” added David. “Not as if you were making for third base with the ball getting there before you. Remember the Professor’s at the helm and we don’t want to tilt the boat.”
“Don’t you worry,” sang out Ben. “I’ll drop in so you’ll think I’m as light as a feather.” And as the Argo slipped along under the headland he let himself down, lightly and easily, but, as it happened, right on the shoulders of David.
The big fellow gave a growl. Ben’s legs had somehow contrived to twine themselves around David’s neck, and Ben was sitting there on the broad shoulders, his hands on the other boy’s head.
“Hi there! Look out!” cried Tuckerman. “You’ll upset the whole shebang!”
But Tom came to the skipper’s rescue. A steadying hand on the tiller and the Argo moved out from the shore.
Slowly Ben pushed David forward until they both came down in a heap in the little cockpit. “Behave yourselves,” ordered Tom. “I’ve got a dipper here and I’ll souse you both with cold water!”
The threat was enough. The two sat up. David grinned. “The little feller’s all right; he’s got some muscle. I shouldn’t wonder if I could make a real man out of him some day.”
Under Tom’s teaching John Tuckerman was learning something about handling a sailing dory, just as Ben had given him lessons in flounder fishing, David in making flapjacks, and the three in various swimming strokes. It was true that he still regarded the Argo’s sail, when a sudden puff of wind filled it, as an inexperienced driver regards his horse when the animal shows signs of shying—his muscles grew tense, and he frowned, and stopped talking—but he didn’t ask Tom what to do and he managed to keep the dory fairly close to the course he intended. And he was a good sport! He didn’t try to crawl out of his mistakes by arguing about them; he admitted them with a grin, and that grin was always so whole-souled and hearty that it made one want to slap him on the back and tell him that he hadn’t really made a mistake after all.
When Tuckerman had the Argo well in hand again and could think of other matters, he said to Ben, “We’ve seen plenty of rocks and ledges, but nary a thing that could properly be called a cliff. A cliff, I take it, is something fairly high and mighty, not so steep as Gibraltar perhaps, but as large as a good-sized barn-door.”
“While we’ve been hunting for cliffs,” said David, “I suppose Ben has worked this all out. What are your conclusions, oh wise one?”