Comrades on River and Lake Part 19

"No; we don't. Tell us."

"Why tarm means that if-er-well--"

"A very lucid explanation," said Pod. "I didn't know the word had so much meaning."

"Oh, you make me tired," said Fleet.

"And you make us tired, reeling off your fake verses, and then because you're at a loss for something to rhyme with arm, bring in a word that has no meaning."

"If you fellows don't like my verses why do you ask me to recite?"

"We won't any more; be sure of that," said Chot. "The idea. 'Tarm!'

That's a fine word, and your explanation of its meaning was so clear.

Guess you'd better seek your little bed, my boy."

And without another word Fleet obeyed. He knew they were right. The poem had been a makes.h.i.+ft piece of work from beginning to end, and only his eagerness to oblige when they asked for something had led him to recite it. Fleet had a fine talent for rhyming, which would eventually develop into something substantial, but he had a very bad habit of composing his verses quickly, hardly revising them, and throwing in rhymes that were not permissable. To get him out of this habit the boys were now determined, and the lesson on the sh.o.r.e of the lake was but the opening gun in the campaign.

The boys followed their usual plan in the morning of taking a bath in the lake before breakfast. The water was smooth and deep, and they swam and splashed about for half an hour before finally crawling out for a rub down. Then a cup of coffee and such eatables as they had in the canoes made them feel fit for another day's work.

They were virtually in the Richelieu River now, which broadens out at its source until it would be difficult to tell where Lake Champlain leaves off and the river begins.

The boys found the Richelieu to be a treacherous stream. Rapids and whirlpools of a rather timid variety abounded on all sides, and frequently they were forced to steer their canoes in between huge boulders which reared themselves out of the stream.

This was new sport to each of them, and the fact that there was just a touch of danger made the trip down the Richelieu all the more enjoyable.

Very little paddling was necessary. The swift current, moving relentlessly onward to join its forces with that of the mighty St.

Lawrence, swept them along at a rapid rate-in many instances much more rapid than they would have desired, but there was nothing to do but cast themselves on the mercy of the water, steering in and out among the rocks as best they could.

The river abounded with innumerable small islands, and had an exasperating propensity for splitting up into small channels, into any one of which the canoes might shoot. Some of these were narrow, and through them the waters flowed like a mill race, to emerge, perhaps, on the broad bosom of a peaceful river beyond.

It was a fascinating stream, its waters cool like those of the majority of Canadian rivers.

The boys spent the night at St. Johns, pa.s.sing Iberville at dusk and shooting under the great railroad bridge that spans the river between these two cities.

Their journey from here on was uneventful, except that they were kept constantly on the alert by the varying moods of the river; now moving peacefully along over an almost placid bosom, now plunging into another narrow channel between two islands, where the waters were swift and dangerous.

But the boys got safely through it all, and were forced to admit that the experience had been worth a great deal to them. No one could go down the Richelieu into the St. Lawrence without knowing considerable about the intricacies of canoeing, and even Pod's chest swelled with pride to think of what he had been through.

Two days after leaving St. Johns the boys arrived at Sorel and saw the mighty St. Lawrence before them, the waters of the Richelieu flowing peacefully into the larger stream at this point, with no suggestion of the rough spots lying between the mouth and the source.

"Gee! what a river!" exclaimed Pod, as he let his eyes roam out over the great stream, until they rested on the sh.o.r.e in the distance. Islands to the number of hundreds dot the surface of the river above Montreal, and many of these were visible from Sorel.

The boys ate a hearty dinner before entering their canoes again, and it was one o'clock in the afternoon when they pushed off into the St.

Lawrence, heading in a southwesterly direction.

"This is going to be a pull against the current, fellows," said Chot, "but I guess we can make it."

"Seems hard though, after floating down the Richelieu the way we did,"

Tom responded.

But they paddled easily, and while their progress was slow compared to their journey down the Richelieu, the sh.o.r.e slowly faded in the distance. Situated on a great bend in the river some distance above Sorel, is Montreal, the metropolis of Canada, of which the boys had heard so much, and here they arrived the next afternoon, after spending the night on one of the smaller islands. It had been decided to spend at least one day ash.o.r.e before continuing the journey up the river.

CHAPTER XIV-IN MONTREAL

Montreal, a city rich in historic interest, was a place of great fascination for the Comrades and their chums. It was Pod's first visit to a city of any size, and his curious stares and delighted exclamations were both pleasing and amusing to the other boys.

"If I didn't know better," Pod remarked, as they started up town, having left their canoes in charge of a boat captain on the river front, "I'd say Montreal was bigger than New York."

"Montreal has 350,000 people," said Chot; "at least, that's what my guide-book says."

They were walking along one of the princ.i.p.al business thoroughfares, when Tom collided with a young fellow who was hurrying in an opposite direction. Each begged the other's pardon, then Tom uttered an exclamation of delight.

"Well, look who's here!" he cried.

"Eh?" said the other. "Well, if it isn't Tom Pratt."

"What are you doing in Montreal, Sam Green?"

"I might ask the same of you," returned Sam, for it was indeed the Bayville boy whom they had met during their summer in camp, and later in New York, where Sam was a cub reporter on the _Leader_, his Uncle Jim, who was one of the editors, having secured him the place. "And here's Chot Duncan, and Fleet Kenby, and who's this? Pod Meelick, as I live!

Well, youngster, I am certainly surprised to see you up here."

"And this is our friend, Bert Creighton," said Chot, as the boys were shaking hands all around.

"I am glad to know you, Mr. Green," said Bert.

"Same here," was the reply, "only make it plain Sam. Mr. Green doesn't sound natural."

"All right, Sam," said Bert.

"But you haven't told us what you're doing in Montreal, Sam," said Tom.

"No; and you fellows haven't told me what you're doing here. Turn about is fair play."

"We're on a canoe trip," Tom explained. "We started at Winton Hall on the Hudson, came up through the lakes and the Richelieu River into the St. Lawrence, thence to Montreal."

"What! are you fellows at Winton now?"

"Yes; we've just finished our first year."

"I heard that Truem Wright was there," said Sam.

"Yes, and he seems disposed to be good now, so we have taken him into the fold. But come, Sam, what are you doing in Canada?"

"I'm on a two weeks' vacation."