"We're going down as sure as guns," groaned Tom. "Steer her right for the shore, Sam," and this was done, and just as the Spray began to settle they ran upon a muddy and rocky flat about thirty feet from the river bank proper.
"There, we can't go down now," said Dick, with something of a sigh of relief. "Let us lower the mainsail and jib before the wind sends us over on our beam ends."
The others understood the value of the advice, and soon the mainsail of the yacht came down with a bang, and the jib followed. The Spray seemed inclined to list to port, but stopped settling when her deck line touched the surface of the river.
"That settles yachting for the present," said Dick in deep disgust.
"And the worst of it is, we haven't even a small boat to go ashore in," added Sam. "What's to do?"
"There is a rowboat putting out from the shore now," cried Tom. "Hullo, there!" he shouted, and waved his hand.
The shout was returned, and the rowboat was headed in their direction. As it came closer they saw that its occupant was a middle-aged man of pleasant appearance.
"So you had a smash-up, eh?" shouted the
