"You don't want to forget what I said," warned Bob. "This is the last mean job you are going to work on us."
"That's so!" added Sam Randall. "We'll spill the whole bunch of you in the river next time."
"Listen to skinny," sneered Nat. "Ha, ha! Why don't you get out and blow the old scow off?"
"Come on, fellows, let's get to work," said Bob.
He pulled out a couple of oars, handing one to Dave.
These were stuck in the sand at the bow. They were placed diagonally, forming a sort of figure X, the centre of which rested against the cutwater.
This gave them a good leverage, but it was difficult to get a firm hold on the sandy bottom. Even the engine, reversed at full speed, accomplished nothing. The Ramblers, however, tugged away, until the perspiration streamed over their faces, compelled, all the while, to listen to a multitude of suggestions from the Nimrods.
Slow progress was made. With a tenacity that was most discouraging, the sand-bar held its captive, and every inch gained was at the expense of great effort.
"Mariners!" bellowed Nat, at length. "I say, brave sailor boys, we're off. Good-bye. Look out for pirates and other perils of the deep."
Bob could hardly repress a laugh, his manner was so comical.