“What’s the idea?” asked David, who never overlooked a chance to ask a question. “Are you going to teach the Professor how to paddle a canoe?”
Ben nodded. “I thought that ought to be part of his education. The Red Rover’s steady enough for any beginner to paddle.”
Tuckerman looked askance at the little craft bobbing up and down in the wake of the Argo. “Any canoe’s unsteady enough for me to upset in, I guess. However, I like Ben’s idea. It was thoughtful of you, my lad.”
At that they all laughed, for whatever Ben’s reason had been for wanting the canoe at the island it was fairly obvious that he was not taking it there to further John Tuckerman’s seafaring education.
That evening, however, Tuckerman reminded Ben of his suggestion. The water was calm, the breeze was light. “How about a paddle?” he asked. “Just along the shore? I promise not to rock the boat.”
“Righto,” said Ben. “Come on.”
They went to the landing-stage at the pier and put the canoe in the water. Ben got in at the stern and balanced the boat while Tuckerman gingerly stepped in and squatted down at the bow.
“Not much room for long legs,” said Tuckerman. “I’ll have to tie mine up in a bow.”
“You’ll get used to it soon,” encouraged Ben. “I’ll do the steering. All you have to do is to put your paddle in, give a long, slow push, and take it out again.”
“Sounds easy enough.” Tuckerman tried to shift the position of his knees, with the result that the canoe rolled over almost far enough to ship a gallon of water. He threw his weight the other way, and the canoe nearly capsized.