On this occasion Roger was wild with impatience to get home. What his cousin had just told him had excited him more than anything he had ever heard; and the wonderful prospect that opened to them, if they could obtain the consent of their parents to follow after the President’s expedition in search of the distant Pacific, known only to Balboa’s party long, long before, thrilled him.
“ONCE EVEN DICK’S BEST WORK COULD NOT PREVENT THE DUGOUT FROM TURNING PARTLY, SO AS TO EXPOSE A SIDE TO THE WIND.”
No doubt it affected his paddling to some extent, for Dick noticed that he dipped deeper, and made more vigorous strokes, than he could ever remember Roger doing. In fact, he was put to his best efforts to counteract the “swing” that these furious efforts on the part of the head paddler gave the boat.
Once even Dick’s best work could not prevent the dugout from turning partly, so as to expose a side to the wind, and they came very near capsizing.
“Careful, Roger! Not so much ginger in your stroke! We’ll get there in good time, if only you keep up a steady gait. There are no Indians after us, and the supper horn has not blown yet, that I have heard!” Thus Dick chided his impetuous cousin.
After that the other lad, as though himself realizing the folly of allowing his excitement to have such sway over his actions, managed to moderate his speed and they had no more trouble.
Besides, the nearer the boat drew to land, the more shelter they obtained from the fact that the shore was covered with trees, which broke the force of the wind, so that presently they were in comparatively calm waters.
They ran their boat upon a shelving beach, where it was usually kept when the stage of water permitted. The painter was secured to a stake that had been driven into the ground, after which the two boys climbed the bank, and headed for home.
“After you’ve had a talk with your parents, when supper is done, get them to come over to grandfather’s cabin for a grand powwow,” said Dick, as he and Roger were about to separate.