The African Safari Discovery - Jeff Brown [6]
“I guess so,” said Stanley.
The man turned to Mr. Lambchop. “This is only a few hours downriver. Would you like to borrow our canoe?”
“That would be very generous!” said Mr. Lambchop. “Thank you!”
Stanley, Arthur, and Mr. Lambchop waved good-bye to the family as they pulled away from the shore. Soon, they were in the center of the river. A hippopotamus eyed them suspiciously, with only the top of its head and its enormous nostrils visible above the surface.
Stanley and Arthur had both wanted to paddle, and finally Mr. Lambchop agreed to let Stanley have the first turn.
Canoeing was much harder than Stanley expected. The canoe kept drifting toward the shore—“Straighten out, Stanley!” Arthur complained—and then Stanley had to work extra hard just to keep the boat facing forward.
“Let me try,” Arthur snapped.
“I just started,” said Stanley.
“Well,” said Arthur, “now it’s time to finish!”
“No,” said Stanley.
“Boys,” groaned Mr. Lambchop.
“He’s taking forever!” complained Arthur, grabbing the top of the paddle.
“Stop it, Arthur!” said Stanley, pulling back.
“Let me have it!”
“No!”
“Stanley, it’s my TURN!” Arthur pulled, and Stanley pulled, and the paddle flew from their hands and flipped into the water with a plop.
“The paddle!” gasped Mr. Lambchop. He reached over the side of the canoe and started splashing with his hands, trying to reach it.
“It was HIS fault!” Arthur and Stanley yelled at each other.
“I don’t care whose fault it was!” shouted Mr. Lambchop. “Get that paddle!”
Arthur and Stanley plunged their hands into the water and tried to get the boat to move closer to the paddle. But it was too late. The current was carrying it down the river.
As the canoe drifted aimlessly, Mr. Lambchop put his head in his hands.
Stanley and Arthur both stared at their feet.
Finally, Mr. Lambchop looked at his watch, shook his head, and sighed. “Your mother is at her Grammar Society fund-raiser right now. I’m sure she and her fellow grammarians would appreciate our predicament.”
Stanley and Arthur exchanged curious glances.
“Today, we have discovered the origin of a common expression in the English language. We are, as they say, up a creek without a paddle.”
Mr. Lambchop’s lips curled into a smile. Stanley and Arthur started to giggle.
When their laughter died down, Mr. Lambchop looked at them earnestly. “I expect the two of you to pay for that paddle out of your allowance,” he said. “We gave that family our word that we would return their canoe as we found it. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Stanley and Arthur.
“We are Lambchop men in deepest Africa,” said Mr. Lambchop. “We must work together.”
A minute later, Stanley’s shoes and socks lay on the floor of the canoe. With one hand on Stanley’s head and another on his leg, his father pulled Stanley’s legs through the water. Using Stanley as their paddle, the Lambchops made their way downriver.
Chapter 6
Dr. Livingston Fallows
As night fell, Mr. Lambchop admitted that he could paddle no more. Stanley was too heavy. Their journey downriver was supposed to take only a few hours, but as far as Stanley could tell they were still a long way from their destination.
As strange birds chirped and mysterious splashes occasionally erupted in the darkness around them, Stanley huddled in the bottom of the boat with Arthur. Their father squeezed in beside them.
Exhausted, the Lambchop men fell asleep in a heap, their canoe adrift. The African river had defeated them.
“Hallo!” Stanley was awakened by a voice. It was a man standing on the shore, wearing high boots, khaki pants, and a brown shirt. He had a British accent. “You there! Are you all right?”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Mr. Lambchop said under his breath.
Stanley sunk his arms in the water at the back of the canoe and flicked his wrists up and down. The boat made its way slowly toward the shore.
“We are looking for an archaeological site!” called Mr. Lambchop. “Can you help us?”
The man shaded his eyes.