"We're loaded and would be swamped.

Steve's drunk and must take his chance." A few moments later the canoe in front plunged down a furious rush of the current, lurched up on a white wave, rolled over, and vanished.
Agatha trembled, and felt cold, and the _Metis_ shouted: "_V'la! C'en est fait--_" A black object that looked like a head rose from the racing foam and Agatha turned to Thirlwell imperiously-- "Go and help him." He hesitated and she knew it was on her account.

Then he lifted his paddle.
"_Au secour!_" The canoe swerved, swung out from the slack, and plunged into the foam.
She lifted her bows high out of the water while a white ridge rolled up astern, and for the next minute or two Agatha saw nothing clearly.

Spray beat upon her, whipping her face; she had a confused sense of furious speed, but felt that the canoe was controlled.

Water splashed on board; the _Metis_ bent forward and his shoulders moved in savage jerks.