"Put me ashore this minute!" she cried, indignantly.

"What do you mean ?" "You've got a fierce temper, haven't you ?" "Will you do it or not ?" When he made no answer, except to continue the maddening monotony of his movements, she was seized with a rash resolve to wrench the oars out of his hands, and made a quick motion towards him, at which he shouted: "Sit down! Do you want to upset us ?" The unstable craft lurched and dipped dangerously, and, realizing the futility of her mad impulse, she sank back on her knees.
"Put me ashore!" "No," he said, "not till I'm ready.

Now, keep your seat or we'll both drown; this ain't a ferry-boat." After a few strokes, he added, "We'll never get along together unless you tame that temper." "We're not going to get along together, Mr.Runnion--only as far as the Mission.

I dare say you can tolerate me until then, can you not ?" She said this bitingly.
"Stark told me to board the first boat for St.Michael's," he said, disregarding her sarcasm, "but I've made a few plans of my own the last hour or so." "St.Michael's! Mr.Stark told you--why, that's impossible! You misunderstood him.

He told you to row me to the Mission.