"Young Hollister, maybe," thinks I. "And he's in for a smash."
Just then he manages to throw in his reverse; but it's a little late, for he's got a lot of headway. Honest, I didn't think it out. And I was achin' to butt into something. I jumped quick, grabbed the bow as it came in reach, shoved it off vigorous, and brought him alongside the fenders without even scratchin' the varnish.
"Thanks, old chap," says he. "Saved me a bad bump there. I—I'm greatly obliged."
"You're welcome," says I. "You was steamin' in a little strong."
"I haven't handled the Vixen much myself," says he. "You see, our boatman's laid up,—sprained ankle,—and I had to come down from the Rocks for some gasolene."
"Oh! Roarin' Rocks?" says I.
"Yes," says he. "Where's that fool float tender?"
"Just gone into the clubhouse," says I. "Maybe I could keep her from bumpin' while you're gone."
"By Jove! would you?" says he, handin' over a boathook.
Even then I wasn't layin' any scheme. I helps when they puts the gas in, and makes myself generally useful. Also I'm polite and respectful, which seems to make a hit with him.