“He pretty nearly got the laugh on us,” Frank remarked, honestly.
“Saw your ghost, old man,” Kenneth remarked airily when they entered the cabin, “and tied her up good and strong this time.”
“You don’t mean to say it was the mare?” Arthur had visions of the guying he was bound to get.
“Yep. Let’s call her ‘Ghost’ after this. What do you say, Frank?”
“Oh, quit! I’ll wash dishes if you let up.”
It was only necessary to say ghost to Arthur after this episode to reduce the swelling of his head to the humblest proportions.
“Step Lively” settled down to good, hard, steady work after her various adventures, and the “Gazelle” made her way over the “raging canal” at a good round pace.
The boys met many people on the way; some were pleasant and courteous, and a few were inclined to make disagreeable remarks. To these the boys paid no attention, and the remarks fell flat, having nothing to feed upon.
The locks, by means of which the boats passed from one level to another, were encountered at frequent intervals. Occasionally, a lock tender would be disinclined to take the trouble to let the yacht pass, and made it as hard for the boys as possible. And at one time it seemed certain that both the yacht and a member of the crew would be destroyed.
One afternoon the boys approached the great wooden portals of a lock and blew a horn to notify the keeper that they wished to enter; he was a surly chap, and grumblingly set to work to admit the yacht. The “Gazelle” once inside, the heavy wooden barriers were closed, two lines were run from the bitts forward to snubbing posts, in order to keep her straight in the lock; and Arthur, with a long, heavy pole in hand, stood ready to fend her off from the rocky sides. Frank looked after the horse, while Kenneth helped the keeper. Usually the water from the higher level was let in gradually, but this keeper was in an ugly temper, and allowed the water to come in with a rush. The “Gazelle,” bouyant, rose light as a cork, and Arthur pushed with all his might on the stout pole to keep her from being dented by the cruel rocks. The water came boiling into the basin, and the yacht rocked and strained at her mooring lines. Suddenly one of them parted, and, the strain being unequal, she swung sharply to one side. Arthur pushed with might and main, but the sidelong swing of the three-ton boat was too much for him; his pole was caught against the side of the lock and he was jerked overboard into the seething pool.