It was gently rocking there, on and off,
the rower having shipped his oars and
laid them beside him, his strong fingers
now and again hooking the wharf when
there was danger of his drifting away,
while his obsessed nose was bent closer
still to the newspaper sheet, catching the
last rays of daylight on it.

He did not look up when the scouts,
running out over the plank bridge, spoke
to him.

Suddenly one of them--Stud it was--leaned
down and snatched the oars, lifted
them high in the air, the nickum's evil
genius having prompted him to lay them
in the boat's side nearest the wharf; perhaps
it was the demon which he had dared
by sitting in the Devil's Chair.

At the same time Peagreen gave the
boat a strong shove outward to where a
current caught it and swept it further--mockingly
further, towards the darkening
center of the Bowl.

"Oh! I say--I say, you fellows, that's
[[226]]

p225 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p226w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p227

v?