"Of course not, sonny; we can sleep on board the 'Rambler' for once," returned Bob.
"Yes, we don't want to do the same thing all the time," said Sam Randall, and Dave, likewise, heartily endorsed the idea.
Numerous craft, of many descriptions, were seen. A wheezing, puffing steam tug, drawing a line of heavily laden barges, passed close by, while an old-fashioned side wheeler, which Dave laughingly declared must have belonged to "the vintage of 1860," sent a rippling line of swells to rock the "Rambler" from stem to stern.
There were so many picturesque features connected with this part of the river that they were almost sorry when the canal was reached. Already, the ruddy glow had left the clouds and a few far-off lights began to twinkle.
Bob turned the "Rambler" into the artificial waterway without stopping. The boat was soon gliding along at the base of a steep hill, with about a quarter of a mile separating them from the river.
At length a roaring sound, which they knew to be the rapids, reached their ears, and soon after the canal lock loomed ahead of them.
"We'll have to wait here some time, I'll bet," observed Bob. "Look at those clumsy tubs ahead of us."
"Rub up against some of 'em, and there'll be a job for a painter," declared Dick.
"To say nothing of a boat builder, if we get crowded between two of them," added Sam. "Try to get in with that little steamer," he advised, indicating one manned by two men.
"Oh ho, but this waiting is tiresome," drawled Dave; "hope we won't be here all night. If I only had a duck's leg to help keep down my appetite."