"Twenty miles makes a big difference in this part of the country," said Sam Randall.
"So far, we have had some pretty lively times," put in Bob. "Perhaps nothing will happen for the rest of the trip."
He reduced speed as they were approaching a bend. Loud laughter and voices reached their ears.
"The Trailers again," sniffed Sam Randall.
"Having lots of fun, eh?" observed Bob. "This is a pretty risky place to do any cutting-up in. It's a wonder they haven't sunk five or six boats already."
Almost immediately the point was rounded. Just ahead, the "Nimrod" rested motionless, facing a small canoe. The occupant of the latter, a light-haired young fellow, seemed to be considerably annoyed.
"If you had bumped into me," he was shouting, "I would have had you taken up."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Nat. "It would have been worse than a pumpkin falling on a frog. Christopher!" he cried, in wondering accents, as the "Rambler" approached. "So you got the old tub fixed up. I didn't expect to see you again for—"
"A week," chimed in Hackett. "Have a blacksmith at the next corner hammer the old thing in shape, eh? Look out there, Jack, in the duck boat. Give 'em plenty of room. They have everybody on the bounding deep afraid of their lives. Navigation all tied up."
"Be careful," admonished the young man, darting an angry glance at Hackett; "my father will—"