(Bow said, after a while, that he did not feel himself a
sufficiently accomplished oarsman to pull with me, but that he would sit
still, if I would allow him, and study my stroke. He said it interested
him.) But, notwithstanding all this, and try as I would, I could not
help an occasional flicker of water from going over those dresses.
The girls did not complain, but they huddled up close together, and set
their lips firm, and every time a drop touched them, they visibly shrank
and shuddered. It was a noble sight to see them suffering thus in
silence, but it unnerved me altogether. I am too sensitive. I got wild
and fitful in my rowing, and splashed more and more, the harder I tried
not to.
I gave it up at last; I said I'd row bow. Bow thought the arrangement
would be better too, and we changed places. The ladies gave an
involuntary sigh of relief when they saw me go, and quite brightened up
for a moment. Poor girls! they had better have put up with me. The man
they had got now was a jolly, light-hearted, thick-headed sort of a chap,
with about as much sensitiveness in him as there might be in a
Newfoundland puppy. You might look daggers at him for an hour and he
would not notice it, and it would not trouble him if he did. He set a
good, rollicking, dashing stroke that sent the spray playing all over the
boat like a fountain, and made the whole crowd sit up straight in no
time.
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