“I tell you, William,” said Thomas Buller to his friend Mr.
Podington, “I am truly sorry about it, but I cannot arrange for it
this year. Now, as to _my_ invitation—that is very different.”
“Of course it is different,” was the reply, “but I am obliged to
say, as I said before, that I really cannot accept it.”
Remarks similar to these had been made by Thomas Buller and William
Podington at least once a year for some five years. They were old
friends; they had been schoolboys together and had been associated
in business since they were young men. They had now reached a
vigorous middle age; they were each married, and each had a house
in the country in which he resided for a part of the year. They
were warmly attached to each other, and each was the best friend
which the other had in this world. But during all these years
neither of them had visited the other in his country home.
The reason for this avoidance of each other at their respective
rural residences may be briefly stated. Mr. Buller’s country house
was situated by the sea, and he was very fond of the water. He had
a good cat-boat, which he sailed himself with much judgment and
skill, and it was his greatest pleasure to take his friends and
visitors upon little excursions on the bay. But Mr. Podington was
desperately afraid of the water, and he was particularly afraid of
any craft sailed by an amateur. If his friend Buller would have
employed a professional mariner, of years and experience, to steer
and manage his boat, Podington might have been willing to take an
occasional sail; but as Buller always insisted upon sailing his own
boat, and took it ill if any of his visitors doubted his ability
to do so properly, Podington did not wish to wound the self-love
of his friend, and he did not wish to be drowned. Consequently he
could not bring himself to consent to go to Buller’s house by the
sea.
To receive his good friend Buller at his own house in the beautiful
upland region in which he lived would have been a great joy to Mr.
Podington; but Buller could not be induced to visit him. Podington
was very fond of horses and always drove himself, while Buller
was more afraid of horses than he was of elephants or lions. To
one or more horses driven by a coachman of years and experience
he did not always object, but to a horse driven by Podington, who
had much experience and knowledge regarding mercantile affairs,
but was merely an amateur horseman, he most decidedly and strongly
objected. He did not wish to hurt his friend’s feelings by refusing
to go out to drive with him, but he would not rack his own nervous
system by accompanying him. Therefore it was that he had not yet
visited the beautiful upland country residence of Mr. Podington.
At last this state of things grew awkward. Mrs. Buller and Mrs.
Podington, often with their families, visited each other at their
country houses, but the fact that on these occasions they were
never accompanied by their husbands caused more and more gossip
among their neighbors both in the upland country and by the sea.
One day in spring as the two sat in their city office, where Mr.
Podington had just repeated his annual invitation, his friend
replied to him thus:
“William, if I come to see you this summer, will you visit me? The
thing is beginning to look a little ridiculous, and people are
talking about it.”
Mr. Podington put his hand to his brow and for a few moments closed
his eyes. In his mind he saw a cat-boat upon its side, the sails
spread out over the water, and two men, almost entirely immersed
in the waves, making efforts to reach the side of the boat. One of
these was getting on very well—that was Buller. The other seemed
about to sink, his arms were uselessly waving in the air—that was
himself. But he opened his eyes and looked bravely out of the
window; it was time to conquer all this; it was indeed growing
ridiculous. Buller had been sailing many years and had never been
upset.
“Yes,” said he; “I will do it; I am ready any time you name.”
Mr. Buller rose and stretched out his hand.
“Good!” said he; “it is a compact!”
Buller was the first to make the promised country visit. He had not
mentioned the subject of horses to his friend, but he knew through
Mrs. Buller that Podington still continued to be his own driver.
She had informed him, however, that at present he was accustomed to
drive a big black horse which, in her opinion, was as gentle and
reliable as these animals ever became, and she could not imagine
how anybody could be afraid of him. So when, the next morning after
his arrival, Mr. Buller was asked by his host if he would like to
take a drive, he suppressed a certain rising emotion and said that
it would please him very much.
When the good black horse had jogged along a pleasant road for
half an hour Mr. Buller began to feel that, perhaps, for all
these years he had been laboring under a misconception. It seemed
to be possible that there were some horses to which surrounding
circumstances in the shape of sights and sounds were so irrelevant
that they were to a certain degree entirely safe, even when guided
and controlled by an amateur hand. As they passed some meadow-land,
somebody behind a hedge fired a gun; Mr. Buller was frightened, but
the horse was not.
“William,” said Buller, looking cheerfully around him,
“I had no idea that you lived in such a pretty country. In fact, I
might almost call it beautiful. You have not any wide stretch of
water, such as I like so much, but here is a pretty river, those
rolling hills are very charming, and, beyond, you have the blue of
the mountains.”
“It is lovely,” said his friend; “I never get tired of driving
through this country. Of course the seaside is very fine, but here
we have such a variety of scenery.”
Mr. Buller could not help thinking that sometimes the seaside was
a little monotonous, and that he had lost a great deal of pleasure
by not varying his summers by going up to spend a week or two with
Podington.
“William,” said he, “how long have you had this horse?”
“About two years,” said Mr. Podington; “before I got him, I used to
drive a pair.”
“Heavens!” thought Buller, “how lucky I was not to come two years
ago!” And his regrets for not sooner visiting his friend greatly
decreased.
Now they came to a place where the stream, by which the road ran,
had been dammed for a mill and had widened into a beautiful pond.
“There now!” cried Mr. Buller. “That’s what I like. William, you
seem to have everything! This is really a very pretty sheet of
water, and the reflections of the trees over there make a charming
picture; you can’t get that at the seaside, you know.”
Mr. Podington was delighted; his face glowed; he was rejoiced at
the pleasure of his friend. “I tell you, Thomas,” said he, “that——”
“William!” exclaimed Buller, with a sudden squirm in his seat,
“what is that I hear? Is that a train?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Podington, “that is the ten-forty, up.”
“Does it come near here?” asked Mr. Buller, nervously. “Does it go
over that bridge?”
“Yes,” said Podington, “but it can’t hurt us, for our road goes
under the bridge; we are perfectly safe; there is no risk of
accident.”
“But your horse! Your horse!” exclaimed Buller, as the train came
nearer and nearer. “What will he do?”
“Do?” said Podington; “he’ll do what he is doing now; he doesn’t
mind trains.”
“But look here, William,” exclaimed Buller, “it will get there just
as we do; no horse could stand a roaring up in the air like that!”
Podington laughed. “He would not mind it in the least,” said he.
“Come, come now,” cried Buller. “Really, I can’t stand this! Just
stop a minute, William, and let me get out. It sets all my nerves
quivering.”
Mr. Podington smiled with a superior smile. “Oh, you needn’t get
out,” said he; “there’s not the least danger in the world. But I
don’t want to make you nervous, and I will turn around and drive
the other way.”
“But you can’t!” screamed Buller. “This road is not wide enough,
and that train is nearly here. Please stop!”
The imputation that the road was not wide enough for him to turn
was too much for Mr. Podington to bear. He was very proud of his
ability to turn a vehicle in a narrow place.
“Turn!” said he; “that’s the easiest thing in the world. See; a
little to the right, then a back, then a sweep to the left and we
will be going the other way.” And instantly he began the maneuver
in which he was such an adept.
“Oh, Thomas!” cried Buller, half rising in his seat, “that train is
almost here!”
“And we are almost——” Mr. Podington was about to say “turned
around,” but he stopped. Mr. Buller’s exclamations had made him a
little nervous, and, in his anxiety to turn quickly, he had pulled
upon his horse’s bit with more energy than was actually necessary,
and his nervousness being communicated to the horse, that animal
backed with such extraordinary vigor that the hind wheels of the
wagon went over a bit of grass by the road and into the water. The
sudden jolt gave a new impetus to Mr. Buller’s fears.
“You’ll upset!” he cried, and not thinking of what he was about, he
laid hold of his friend’s arm. The horse, startled by this sudden
jerk upon his bit, which, combined with the thundering of the
train, which was now on the bridge, made him think that something
extraordinary was about to happen, gave a sudden and forcible start
backward, so that not only the hind wheels of the light wagon,
but the fore wheels and his own hind legs went into the water.
As the bank at this spot sloped steeply, the wagon continued to
go backward, despite the efforts of the agitated horse to find a
footing on the crumbling edge of the bank.
“Whoa!” cried Mr. Buller.
“Get up!” exclaimed Mr. Podington, applying his whip upon the
plunging beast.
But exclamations and castigations had no effect upon the horse. The
original bed of the stream ran close to the road, and the bank was
so steep and the earth so soft that it was impossible for the horse
to advance or even maintain his footing. Back, back he went, until
the whole equipage was in the water and the wagon was afloat.
This vehicle was a road wagon, without a top, and the joints of its
box-body were tight enough to prevent the water from immediately
entering it; so, somewhat deeply sunken, it rested upon the water.
There was a current in this part of the pond and it turned the
wagon downstream. The horse was now entirely immersed in the water,
with the exception of his head and the upper part of his neck, and,
unable to reach the bottom with his feet, he made vigorous efforts
to swim.
Mr. Podington, the reins and whip in his hands, sat horrified
and pale; the accident was so sudden, he was so startled and so
frightened that, for a moment, he could not speak a word. Mr.
Buller, on the other hand, was now lively and alert. The wagon
had no sooner floated away from the shore than he felt himself at
home. He was upon his favorite element; water had no fears for
him. He saw that his friend was nearly frightened out of his wits,
and that, figuratively speaking, he must step to the helm and take
charge of the vessel. He stood up and gazed about him.
“Put her across stream!” he shouted; “she can’t make headway
against this current. Head her to that clump of trees on the other
side; the bank is lower there, and we can beach her. Move a little
the other way, we must trim boat. Now then, pull on your starboard
rein.”
Podington obeyed, and the horse slightly changed his direction.
“You see,” said Buller, “it won’t do to sail straight across,
because the current would carry us down and land us below that
spot.”
Mr. Podington said not a word; he expected every moment to see the
horse sink into a watery grave.
“It isn’t so bad after all, is it, Podington? If we had a rudder
and a bit of a sail it would be a great help to the horse. This
wagon is not a bad boat.”
The despairing Podington looked at his feet. “It’s coming in,” he
said in a husky voice. “Thomas, the water is over my shoes!”
“That is so,” said Buller. “I am so used to water I didn’t notice
it. She leaks. Do you carry anything to bail her out with?”
“Bail!” cried Podington, now finding his voice. “Oh, Thomas, we are
sinking!”
“That’s so,” said Buller; “she leaks like a sieve.”
The weight of the running-gear and of the two men was entirely too
much for the buoyancy of the wagon body. The water rapidly rose
toward the top of its sides.
“We are going to drown!” cried Podington, suddenly rising.
“Lick him! Lick him!” exclaimed Buller. “Make him swim faster!”
“There’s nothing to lick,” cried Podington, vainly lashing at the
water, for he could not reach the horse’s head. The poor man was
dreadfully frightened; he had never even imagined it possible that
he should be drowned in his own wagon.
“Whoop!” cried Buller, as the water rose over the sides. “Steady
yourself, old boy, or you’ll go overboard!” And the next moment the
wagon body sunk out of sight.
But it did not go down very far. The deepest part of the channel of
the stream had been passed, and with a bump the wheels struck the
bottom.
“Heavens!” exclaimed Buller, “we are aground.”
“Aground!” exclaimed Podington, “Heaven be praised!”
As the two men stood up in the submerged wagon the water was above
their knees, and when Podington looked out over the surface of the
pond, now so near his face, it seemed like a sheet of water he had
never seen before. It was something horrible, threatening to rise
and envelop him. He trembled so that he could scarcely keep his
footing.
“William,” said his companion, “you must sit down; if you don’t,
you’ll tumble overboard and be drowned. There is nothing for you to
hold to.”
“Sit down,” said Podington, gazing blankly at the water around him,
“I can’t do that!”
At this moment the horse made a slight movement. Having touched
bottom after his efforts in swimming across the main bed of the
stream, with a floating wagon in tow, he had stood for a few
moments, his head and neck well above water, and his back barely
visible beneath the surface. Having recovered his breath, he now
thought it was time to move on.
At the first step of the horse Mr. Podington began to totter.
Instinctively he clutched Buller.
“Sit down!” cried the latter, “or you’ll have us both overboard.”
There was no help for it; down sat Mr. Podington; and, as with a
great splash he came heavily upon the seat, the water rose to his
waist.
“Ough!” said he. “Thomas, shout for help.”
“No use doing that,” replied Buller, still standing on his nautical
legs; “I don’t see anybody, and I don’t see any boat. We’ll get out
all right. Just you stick tight to the thwart.”
“The what?” feebly asked the other.
“Oh, the seat, I mean. We can get to the shore all right if you
steer the horse straight. Head him more across the pond.”
“I can’t head him,” cried Podington. “I have dropped the reins!”
“Good gracious!” cried Mr. Buller, “that’s bad. Can’t you steer him
by shouting ‘Gee’ and ‘Haw’?”
“No,” said Podington, “he isn’t an ox; but perhaps I can stop him.”
And with as much voice as he could summon, he called out: “Whoa!”
and the horse stopped.
“If you can’t steer him any other way,” said Buller, “we must get
the reins. Lend me your whip.”
“I have dropped that too,” said Podington; “there it floats.”
“Oh, dear,” said Buller, “I guess I’ll have to dive for them; if he
were to run away, we should be in an awful fix.”
“Don’t get out! Don’t get out!” exclaimed Podington. “You can reach
over the dashboard.”
“As that’s under water,” said Buller, “it will be the same thing as
diving; but it’s got to be done, and I’ll try it. Don’t you move
now; I am more used to water than you are.”
Mr. Buller took off his hat and asked his friend to hold it. He
thought of his watch and other contents of his pockets, but there
was no place to put them, so he gave them no more consideration.
Then bravely getting on his knees in the water, he leaned over the
dashboard, almost disappearing from sight. With his disengaged hand
Mr. Podington grasped the submerged coat-tails of his friend.
In a few seconds the upper part of Mr. Buller rose from the water.
He was dripping and puffing, and Mr. Podington could not but think
what a difference it made in the appearance of his friend to have
his hair plastered close to his head.
“I got hold of one of them,” said the sputtering Buller, “but it
was fast to something and I couldn’t get it loose.”
“Was it thick and wide?” asked Podington.
“Yes,” was the answer; “it did seem so.”
“Oh, that was a trace,” said Podington; “I don’t want that; the
reins are thinner and lighter.”
“Now I remember they are,” said Buller. “I’ll go down again.”
Again Mr. Buller leaned over the dashboard, and this time he
remained down longer, and when he came up he puffed and sputtered
more than before.
“Is this it?” said he, holding up a strip of wet leather.
“Yes,” said Podington, “you’ve got the reins.”
“Well, take them, and steer. I would have found them sooner if his
tail had not got into my eyes. That long tail’s floating down there
and spreading itself out like a fan; it tangled itself all around
my head. It would have been much easier if he had been a bob-tailed
horse.”
“Now then,” said Podington, “take your hat, Thomas, and I’ll try to
drive.”
Mr. Buller put on his hat, which was the only dry thing about him,
and the nervous Podington started the horse so suddenly that even
the sea-legs of Buller were surprised, and he came very near going
backward into the water; but recovering himself, he sat down.
“I don’t wonder you did not like to do this, William,” said he.
“Wet as I am, it’s ghastly!”
Encouraged by his master’s voice, and by the feeling of the
familiar hand upon his bit, the horse moved bravely on.
But the bottom was very rough and uneven. Sometimes the wheels
struck a large stone, terrifying Mr. Buller, who thought they were
going to upset; and sometimes they sank into soft mud, horrifying
Mr. Podington, who thought they were going to drown.
Thus proceeding, they presented a strange sight. At first Mr.
Podington held his hands above the water as he drove, but he soon
found this awkward, and dropped them to their usual position, so
that nothing was visible above the water but the head and neck of a
horse and the heads and shoulders of two men.
Now the submarine equipage came to a low place in the bottom, and
even Mr. Buller shuddered as the water rose to his chin. Podington
gave a howl of horror, and the horse, with high, uplifted head, was
obliged to swim. At this moment a boy with a gun came strolling
along the road, and hearing Mr. Podington’s cry, he cast his eyes
over the water. Instinctively he raised his weapon to his shoulder,
and then, in an instant, perceiving that the objects he beheld were
not aquatic birds, he dropped his gun and ran yelling down the road
toward the mill.
But the hollow in the bottom was a narrow one, and when it was
passed the depth of the water gradually decreased. The back of the
horse came into view, the dashboard became visible, and the bodies
and the spirits of the two men rapidly rose. Now there was vigorous
splashing and tugging, and then a jet black horse, shining as if he
had been newly varnished, pulled a dripping wagon containing two
well-soaked men upon a shelving shore.
“Oh, I am chilled to the bones!” said Podington.
“I should think so,” replied his friend; “if you have got to be
wet, it is a great deal pleasanter under the water.”
There was a field-road on this side of the pond which Podington
well knew, and proceeding along this they came to the bridge and
got into the main road.
“Now we must get home as fast as we can,” cried Podington, “or we
shall both take cold. I wish I hadn’t lost my whip. Hi now! Get
along!”
Podington was now full of life and energy, his wheels were on the
hard road, and he was himself again.
When he found his head was turned toward his home, the horse set
off at a great rate.
“Hi there!” cried Podington. “I am so sorry I lost my whip.”
“Whip!” said Buller, holding fast to the side of the seat; “surely
you don’t want him to go any faster than this. And look here,
William,” he added, “it seems to me we are much more likely to take
cold in our wet clothes if we rush through the air in this way.
Really, it seems to me that horse is running away.”
“Not a bit of it,” cried Podington. “He wants to get home, and he
wants his dinner. Isn’t he a fine horse? Look how he steps out!”
“Steps out!” said Buller, “I think I’d like to step out myself.
Don’t you think it would be wiser for me to walk home, William?
That will warm me up.”
“It will take you an hour,” said his friend. “Stay where you are,
and I’ll have you in a dry suit of clothes in less than fifteen
minutes.”
“I tell you, William,” said Mr. Buller, as the two sat smoking
after dinner, “what you ought to do; you should never go out
driving without a life-preserver and a pair of oars; I always take
them. It would make you feel safer.”
Mr. Buller went home the next day, because Mr. Podington’s clothes
did not fit him, and his own outdoor suit was so shrunken as to
be uncomfortable. Besides, there was another reason, connected
with the desire of horses to reach their homes, which prompted his
return. But he had not forgotten his compact with his friend, and
in the course of a week he wrote to Podington, inviting him to
spend some days with him. Mr. Podington was a man of honor, and
in spite of his recent unfortunate water experience he would not
break his word. He went to Mr. Buller’s seaside home at the time
appointed.
Early on the morning after his arrival, before the family were up,
Mr. Podington went out and strolled down to the edge of the bay.
He went to look at Buller’s boat. He was well aware that he would
be asked to take a sail, and as Buller had driven with him, it
would be impossible for him to decline sailing with Buller; but
he must see the boat. There was a train for his home at a quarter
past seven; if he were not on the premises he could not be asked to
sail. If Buller’s boat were a little, flimsy thing, he would take
that train—but he would wait and see.
There was only one small boat anchored near the beach, and a
man—apparently a fisherman—informed Mr. Podington that it belonged
to Mr. Buller. Podington looked at it eagerly; it was not very
small and not flimsy.
“Do you consider that a safe boat?” he asked the fisherman.
“Safe?” replied the man. “You could not upset her if you tried.
Look at her breadth of beam! You could go anywhere in that boat!
Are you thinking of buying her?”
The idea that he would think of buying a boat made Mr. Podington
laugh. The information that it would be impossible to upset the
little vessel had greatly cheered him, and he could laugh.
Shortly after breakfast Mr. Buller, like a nurse with a dose of
medicine, came to Mr. Podington with the expected invitation to
take a sail.
“Now, William,” said his host, “I understand perfectly your feeling
about boats, and what I wish to prove to you is that it is a
feeling without any foundation. I don’t want to shock you or make
you nervous, so I am not going to take you out to-day on the bay
in my boat. You are as safe on the bay as you would be on land—a
little safer, perhaps, under certain circumstances, to which we
will not allude—but still it is sometimes a little rough, and this,
at first, might cause you some uneasiness, and so I am going to let
you begin your education in the sailing line on perfectly smooth
water. About three miles back of us there is a very pretty lake
several miles long. It is part of the canal system which connects
the town with the railroad. I have sent my boat to the town, and we
can walk up there and go by the canal to the lake; it is only about
three miles.”
If he had to sail at all, this kind of sailing suited Mr.
Podington. A canal, a quiet lake, and a boat which could not be
upset. When they reached the town the boat was in the canal, ready
for them.
“Now,” said Mr. Buller, “you get in and make yourself comfortable.
My idea is to hitch on to a canal-boat and be towed to the lake.
The boats generally start about this time in the morning, and I
will go and see about it.”
Mr. Podington, under the direction of his friend, took a seat in
the stern of the sailboat, and then he remarked:
“Thomas, have you a life-preserver on board? You know I am not used
to any kind of vessel, and I am clumsy. Nothing might happen to the
boat, but I might trip and fall overboard, and I can’t swim.”
“All right,” said Buller; “here’s a life-preserver, and you can put
it on. I want you to feel perfectly safe. Now I will go and see
about the tow.”
But Mr. Buller found that the canal-boats would not start at their
usual time; the loading of one of them was not finished, and he was
informed that he might have to wait for an hour or more. This did
not suit Mr. Buller at all, and he did not hesitate to show his
annoyance.
“I tell you, sir, what you can do,” said one of the men in charge
of the boats; “if you don’t want to wait till we are ready to
start, we’ll let you have a boy and a horse to tow you up to the
lake. That won’t cost you much, and they’ll be back before we want
’em.”
The bargain was made, and Mr. Buller joyfully returned to his
boat with the intelligence that they were not to wait for the
canal-boats. A long rope, with a horse attached to the other end of
it, was speedily made fast to the boat, and with a boy at the head
of the horse, they started up the canal.
“Now this is the kind of sailing I like,” said Mr. Podington. “If
I lived near a canal I believe I would buy a boat and train my
horse to tow. I could have a long pair of rope-lines and drive him
myself; then when the roads were rough and bad the canal would
always be smooth.”
“This is all very nice,” replied Mr. Buller, who sat by the tiller
to keep the boat away from the bank, “and I am glad to see you in a
boat under any circumstances. Do you know, William, that although
I did not plan it, there could not have been a better way to begin
your sailing education. Here we glide along, slowly and gently,
with no possible thought of danger, for if the boat should suddenly
spring a leak, as if it were the body of a wagon, all we would have
to do would be to step on shore, and by the time you get to the
end of the canal you will like this gentle motion so much that you
will be perfectly ready to begin the second stage of your nautical
education.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Podington. “How long did you say this canal is?”
“About three miles,” answered his friend. “Then we will go into the
lock and in a few minutes we shall be on the lake.”
“So far as I am concerned,” said Mr. Podington, “I wish the canal
were twelve miles long. I cannot imagine anything pleasanter than
this. If I lived anywhere near a canal—a long canal, I mean, this
one is too short—I’d—”
“Come, come now,” interrupted Buller. “Don’t be content to stay
in the primary school just because it is easy. When we get on the
lake I will show you that in a boat, with a gentle breeze, such
as we are likely to have to-day, you will find the motion quite as
pleasing, and ever so much more inspiriting. I should not be a bit
surprised, William, if after you have been two or three times on
the lake you will ask me—yes, positively ask me—to take you out on
the bay!”
Mr. Podington smiled, and leaning backward, he looked up at the
beautiful blue sky.
“You can’t give me anything better than this, Thomas,” said he;
“but you needn’t think I am weakening; you drove with me, and I
will sail with you.”
The thought came into Buller’s mind that he had done both of these
things with Podington, but he did not wish to call up unpleasant
memories, and said nothing.
About half a mile from the town there stood a small cottage where
house-cleaning was going on, and on a fence, not far from the
canal, there hung a carpet gaily adorned with stripes and spots of
red and yellow.
When the drowsy tow-horse came abreast of the house, and the carpet
caught his eye, he suddenly stopped and gave a start toward the
canal. Then, impressed with a horror of the glaring apparition, he
gathered himself up, and with a bound dashed along the tow-path.
The astounded boy gave a shout, but was speedily left behind. The
boat of Mr. Buller shot forward as if she had been struck by a
squall.
The terrified horse sped on as if a red and yellow demon were after
him. The boat bounded, and plunged, and frequently struck the
grassy bank of the canal, as if it would break itself to pieces.
Mr. Podington clutched the boom to keep himself from being thrown
out, while Mr. Buller, both hands upon the tiller, frantically
endeavored to keep the boat from the bank.
“William!” he screamed, “he is running away with us; we shall be
dashed to pieces! Can’t you get forward and cast off that line?”
“What do you mean?” cried Podington, as the boom gave a great jerk
as if it would break its fastenings and drag him overboard.
“I mean untie the tow-line. We’ll be smashed if you don’t! I can’t
leave this tiller. Don’t try to stand up; hold on to the boom and
creep forward. Steady now, or you’ll be overboard!”
Mr. Podington stumbled to the bow of the boat, his efforts greatly
impeded by the big cork life-preserver tied under his arms, and the
motion of the boat was so violent and erratic that he was obliged
to hold on to the mast with one arm and to try to loosen the knot
with the other; but there was a great strain on the rope, and he
could do nothing with one hand.
“Cut it! Cut it!” cried Mr. Buller.
“I haven’t a knife,” replied Podington.
Mr. Buller was terribly frightened; his boat was cutting through
the water as never vessel of her class had sped since sail-boats
were invented, and bumping against the bank as if she were a
billiard-ball rebounding from the edge of a table. He forgot he was
in a boat; he only knew that for the first time in his life he was
in a runaway. He let go the tiller. It was of no use to him.
“William,” he cried, “let us jump out the next time we are near
enough to shore!”
“Don’t do that! Don’t do that!” replied Podington. “Don’t jump out
in a runaway; that is the way to get hurt. Stick to your seat, my
boy; he can’t keep this up much longer. He’ll lose his wind!”
Mr. Podington was greatly excited, but he was not frightened, as
Buller was. He had been in a runaway before, and he could not help
thinking how much better a wagon was than a boat in such a case.
“If he were hitched up shorter and I had a snaffle-bit and a stout
pair of reins,” thought he, “I could soon bring him up.”
But Mr. Buller was rapidly losing his wits. The horse seemed to be
going faster than ever. The boat bumped harder against the bank,
and at one time Buller thought they could turn over.
Suddenly a thought struck him.
“William,” he shouted, “tip that anchor over the side! Throw it in,
any way!”
Mr. Podington looked about him, and, almost under his feet, saw
the anchor. He did not instantly comprehend why Buller wanted it
thrown overboard, but this was not a time to ask questions. The
difficulties imposed by the life-preserver, and the necessity of
holding on with one hand, interfered very much with his getting at
the anchor and throwing it over the side, but at last he succeeded,
and just as the boat threw up her bow as if she were about to jump
on shore, the anchor went out and its line shot after it. There was
an irregular trembling of the boat as the anchor struggled along
the bottom of the canal; then there was a great shock; the boat
ran into the bank and stopped; the tow-line was tightened like a
guitar-string, and the horse, jerked back with great violence, came
tumbling in a heap upon the ground.
Instantly Mr. Podington was on the shore and running at the top of
his speed toward the horse. The astounded animal had scarcely begun
to struggle to his feet when Podington rushed upon him, pressed his
head back to the ground, and sat upon it.
“Hurrah!” he cried, waving his hat above his head. “Get out,
Buller; he is all right now!”
Presently Mr. Buller approached, very much shaken up.
“All right?” he said. “I don’t call a horse flat in a road with a
man on his head all right; but hold him down till we get him loose
from my boat. That is the thing to do. William, cast him loose from
the boat before you let him up! What will he do when he gets up?”
“Oh. he’ll be quiet enough when he gets up,” said Podington. “But
if you’ve got a knife you can cut his traces—-I mean that rope—but
no, you needn’t. Here comes the boy. We’ll settle this business in
very short order now.”
When the horse was on his feet, and all connection between the
animal and the boat had been severed, Mr. Podington looked at his
friend.
“Thomas,” said he, “you seem to have had a hard time of it.
You have lost your hat and you look as if you had been in a
wrestling-match.”
“I have,” replied the other; “I wrestled with that tiller and I
wonder it didn’t throw me out.”
Now approached the boy. “Shall I hitch him on again, sir?” said he.
“He’s quiet enough now.”
“No,” cried Mr. Buller; “I want no more sailing after a horse,
and, besides, we can’t go on the lake with that boat; she has been
battered about so much that she must have opened a dozen seams. The
best thing we can do is to walk home.”
Mr. Podington agreed with his friend that walking home was the
best thing they could do. The boat was examined and found to be
leaking, but not very badly, and when her mast had been unshipped
and everything had been made tight and right on board, she was
pulled out of the way of tow-lines and boats, and made fast until
she could be sent for from the town.
Mr. Buller and Mr. Podington walked back toward the town. They had
not gone very far when they met a party of boys, who, upon seeing
them, burst into unseemly laughter.
“Mister,” cried one of them, “you needn’t be afraid of tumbling
into the canal. Why don’t you take off your life-preserver and let
that other man put it on his head?”
The two friends looked at each other and could not help joining in
the laughter of the boys.
“By George! I forgot all about this,” said Podington, as he
unfastened the cork jacket. “It does look a little super-timid to
wear a life-preserver just because one happens to be walking by the
side of a canal.”
Mr. Buller tied a handkerchief on his head, and Mr. Podington
rolled up his life-preserver and carried it under his arm. Thus
they reached the town, where Buller bought a hat, Podington
dispensed with his bundle, and arrangements were made to bring back
the boat.
“Runaway in a sailboat!” exclaimed one of the canal boatmen when he
had heard about the accident. “Upon my word! That beats anything
that could happen to a man!”
“No, it doesn’t,” replied Mr. Buller, quietly. “I have gone to the
bottom in a foundered road-wagon.”
The man looked at him fixedly.
“Was you ever struck in the mud in a balloon?” he asked.
“Not yet,” replied Mr. Buller.
It required ten days to put Mr. Buller’s sailboat into proper
condition, and for ten days Mr. Podington stayed with his friend,
and enjoyed his visit very much. They strolled on the beach, they
took long walks in the back country, they fished from the end of a
pier, they smoked, they talked, and were happy and content.
“Thomas,” said Mr. Podington, on the last evening of his stay, “I
have enjoyed myself very much since I have been down here, and
now, Thomas, if I were to come down again next summer, would you
mind—would you mind, not——”
“I would not mind it a bit,” replied Buller, promptly. “I’ll never
so much as mention it; so you can come along without a thought
of it. And since you have alluded to the subject, William,” he
continued, “I’d like very much to come and see you again; you
know my visit was a very short one this year. That is a beautiful
country you live in. Such a variety of scenery, such an opportunity
for walks and rambles! But, William, if you could only make up your
mind not to——”
“Oh, that is all right!” exclaimed Podington. “I do not need to
make up my mind. You come to my house and you will never so much as
hear of it. Here’s my hand upon it!”
“And here’s mine!” said Mr. Buller.
And they shook hands over a new compact.