The transition from the very broad expanse of river to the narrowness of the gorge was novel and interesting. Here and there the steep slopes jutted out into the stream, and Jack kept far enough from shore to hold a straight course.
They soon found that the Horse Race was well named. The water surged and swirled along as if angry that the clumsy house-boat should invade its domain. A fresh breeze helped to agitate the surface, and the blue waves sometimes rose high enough to splash on deck.
“Could anything be finer?” asked George, enthusiastically.
“I don’t see how,” responded Norman.
“I thought the Palisades were pretty high,” said Jack, “but they are not much compared with these.”
“Now we are going to be tossed about a bit—here comes an excursion steamer,” remarked Fred.
A huge white boat, standing out clearly against the dark background, rapidly approached, the smoke from its funnels floating backward in a long, bluish streak. Jack got his clumsy craft as far out of the way as possible, and the “Gray Gull” rode out the huge swells with many a lurch and wobble.
“Hooray!” cried Joe. “Never even touched the bottom.”
George took his hand off the support which had enabled him to remain erect, and said, “Guess I needn’t bother about Uncle Dan just now.”
“An automobile along here ought to make a hit,” said Aleck.