THE SOUTH BAY. 171 



" Well, what is it if not luck ! Perhaps you think 

 you surpass me in skill and experience," answered 

 the other sneeringly. "I tell you I am going home. 

 It is my horse, and you may come or stay, as you 

 choose." 



With that he seized the oars and shipping them 

 into the nearest rowlocks, commenced furiously 

 rowing the boat stern first. But the anchor-stone 

 was down, and although he dragged it a few inches, 

 he did so slowly and with great labor. Mr. Hartley 

 went on deliberately fishing, but of course could 

 catch nothing while the water was being disturbed. 



" Pull up the anchor-stone, sir," said Mr. Goodlow 

 fiercely, the perspiration streaming down his face. 



" I will do nothing of the kind," responded Mr. 

 Hartley. 



The tugging at the oars was resumed, but when 

 Mr. Goodlow was nearly exhausted, whether by 

 accident or not will probably never be known, the 

 oar slipped along the surface throwing a shower of 

 water over the quondam friend, fairly taking away 

 his breath. Without a word the latter dropped his 

 rod, and seizing the bailing scoop, a sort of wooden 

 shovel with a short handle, dipped it full of water 

 and threw the contents in his companion's face ; the 

 latter replied with a fresh douche from the oar. 



The water fairly flew in mimic cataracts for ten 

 minutes, till both parties were wet to the skin ; ori- 

 ginally, scoop had the best of it, but as skin and 

 clothes wUl not take wetting beyond a certain de- 

 gree, oars caught up, and the two irate lights of the 



