"Some other fellow take it," said the boy who had done all the talking. "I
would"--he lifted a red and ashamed face--"only my arm----"
"Is it hurt?" asked Joel, rescuing the other oar from Mike, whose nerves
seemed to have all gone to pieces.
"D'no; never mind," said the other boy, looking more ashamed still. "Here,
Jimmy, you take the oar, and row lively now." So, with Jimmy's help, the
boat ran up to the bank.
"There you are," cried Joel, as they were dumped out, to keep company with
the big, black dog, who sniffed them contemptuously and walked around their
dripping bodies as they sank on the bank. This wasn't the kind of fun he
had meant when he followed his master out, and not at all to his taste.
But Joel was just in his element, and when he brought the rest off from the
overturned boat, he couldn't conceal his satisfaction.
"Some one has got to tell about that boat." He pointed to the overturned
one.
"I knew you would blab." Mike turned, his shame disappearing, to grow red
with passion.
"Shut up." It was the other boy that roared at him, who, injured arm or
not, could somehow inspire the former leader with fear. "I'm going to tell
myself; an' if any of you fellows has got spunk, he'll tell, too." It was
such a battle cry that Mike's head went down. He knew as well as afterward
that his leadership was gone, and that every one of the crew had gone over
to the other boy.
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