THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



The open lead by which we had entered had 

 closed. The only clear water was on the south- 

 ern bank from which a hundred acres of flowery 

 tangle were being forced by the wind. The 

 motor boat was useless, for the first turn of the 

 shaft would hopelessly clog the propeller. The 

 Green Pea must follow in the path made by the 

 canoe. Battling with the hyacinths was like 

 fighting phantoms ; there was nothing tangible to 

 hit. A stroke of the paddle sent the canoe for- 

 ward a foot. When the paddle was taken from 

 the water the canoe settled back twelve inches. 

 I knelt as far forward as possible and, leaning 

 over the bow of the craft, tore apart the masses 

 of fiber and bulb while the captain paddled vig- 

 orously. We reached the open lead and escaped 

 down the river just before a change of wind sent 

 the flowers back to the southern shore. 



We were tired enough when we reached the 

 Irene, but Joe had seen us in time to have ready 

 for us a hot steak and some cold bottles of 

 milk. He told us with pride of his own busy 

 day and after we had eaten, his work was in- 

 spected and approved. The fresh supplies had 

 been neatly stored away, the water tanks filled, 



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