CHAPTER XI.
THE CANOE MEET.
THE first thing the members of the canoe club did when they sprang out of bed on the morning of the second day of August, was to run to the window, draw aside the curtain and take a look at the sky and the lake. The one was cloudless, and the surface of the other was rippled by a little breeze which promised, by the time the sun was an hour high, to freshen into a capital sailing wind. For all the members of the club were not so deeply interested in the paddle, portage and hurry-skurry races as Joe Wayring and Tom Bigden were. A few of them were expert sailors, and anxious to show the spectators (there would be more strangers among them this year than ever before), how skillfully they could manage their cranky little boats when they were under canvas.
The young athletes were all in excellent training, and there was not one among them who did not expect to win a prize of more or less value during the day. Some of the canoeists had discovered a couple of Yale college students among the guests at the Mount Airy House, and after a little urging they had consented to assume the management of affairs, one as judge and the other as referee. They knew all about the rules of boating, and Joe Wayring told himself, that Prime and his friends would have to be smarter than he thought they were if they could play any tricks under the watchful eyes of those two college men without being caught in the act.
At an early hour Mr. Wayring's spacious boat-house, which was to be used as head-quarters and had been handsomely decorated for the occasion, was thrown open, and shortly afterward the members of the club began to arrive. They drew their canoes upon the beach at the side of the boat-house and disappeared in the dressing-room, where they remained until the warning blast of a bugle notified them that it was time to begin operations. Now and then one of them would take a cautious peep out at the back door and turn around to inform his companions that all New London had come up to attend the meet; and although they knew that there were a good many people assembled to witness the sports, they were all surprised, and not a few of them were made nervous by the scene that was presented to their gaze when they sprang off the wharf, and ran to push their canoes into the water. Mr. Wayring's grounds were crowded with gayly dressed spectators, who where lounging on the grass or sitting comfortably under the tents that had been provided for them, and the lake was covered with sail and row boats, all of which were flying as many flags as they could find places for.
A mile up the lake the stake-boat was anchored. In it was one of the judges, who reclined at his ease on a couch of cushions with an awning over him to keep off the sun. The other judge was Mr. Hastings, who stood on the wharf to act as starter. The referee's barge, propelled by six of the best oarsmen that could be found among the guides, lay off the wharf, and the police-boats had already cleared the course.
"All you young gentlemen who are to compete in this race draw a number as you pass, and station yourselves accordingly," said Mr. Hastings, who held a small tin box above his head so that the contestants could not look into it and pick a number instead of taking it at random. "Go down as far as the leaning tree so as to get a good start, and fill away at the sound of the bugle, No. 1 taking the outside."
The first event was a sailing race—two miles with a turn. Those who had entered for it drew a number from the box, lingered a moment to look at the swinging silver pitcher and gold-lined goblets, which, with a tray to hold them, were to go to the boy who sent his canoe first across the line on the home stretch, and then ran out to launch their canoes and hoist their sails. There were ten starters, and they made a pretty picture as they came up the lake before the fresh breeze that was then blowing, and dashed across the imaginary line that marked the beginning of the course. Another blast from the bugle warned them that it was a "go, "and the race was begun.
The sound of the bugle seemed to excite every body—the people on shore as well as the boys in the boats, who crowded their cranky little crafts until it looked as if some of them must certainly go over. There were several of Prime's friends among the contestants, and Joe and his two chums wondered if any one of them had been "booked" to come out ahead in this particular race. They saw nothing to indicate it. There was no attempt to foul the boy who seemed likely to win, and indeed there was no chance for any such proceeding. The referee's barge easily kept abreast of the racers, and the man in the stake-boat kept his glass directed toward them from the start. There was some crowding and confusion at the turn, and some of the little vessels came dangerously near to one another; but their crews made desperate efforts to clear themselves, some because they knew they were closely watched, and others because they were determined to win fairly or not at all, and the race was not interrupted. It was a close and exciting struggle, and the boy who brought his Rice Laker first across the line was fairly entitled to the silver pitcher.
"That was a splendid race," exclaimed Joe Wayring, as the contestants, after beaching their canoes, came into the boat-house to listen to the congratulations, or to receive the sympathy of their friends. "The paddle race comes off now, and I hope that those of us who take part in it will make as good a showing as you did."
While Joe was talking in this way, Ned Stewart, one of the boys who had just been defeated, drew a few of his friends around him in a remote corner of the boat-house by intimating to them in a mysterious way that he had something of importance to say to them.
"Look here, Bigden," said Ned, in an excited whisper. "I believe it is understood that some of us are to foul Wayring or any fellow in his crowd who stands a chance of winning, and give Noble a chance to carry off the honors of the paddle race?"
"I believe you did make some such arrangement as that," replied Tom, indifferently. "But if my memory serves me, you did not consult me in regard to it."
These words produced the utmost consternation among the boys in the corner.
"Are you going back from your word?" cried Noble, as soon as he could speak.
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Tom.
"You know very well what he means," exclaimed Bob Lord, who, it will be remembered, had been "booked" to win the upset race. "Now, look here, Bigden: You have been running with Wayring a good deal, of late, and we might have expected this of you. You want Wayring to win because you think he can do more to get you into the archery club than we can; but I assure you that you are mistaken there. You can't get in without our votes, and if you go back on us we shan't give them to you."
"I don't want Wayring to win," said Tom, emphatically. "My Cousin Loren is going to come out at the top of the heap in this race."
"Well, I'll bet you a dollar he isn't," exclaimed Noble, whose flashing eyes showed how angry he was. "If I don't win this race nobody shall."
"Well, I'll bet you two dollars that I shall keep pretty close to Loren, and that the boy who interferes with him purposely will go out of his canoe in less time than he can say 'General Jackson' with his mouth open. Not only that, but I'll thrash him the very first time I can catch him ashore," replied Tom, returning Noble's angry scowl with interest, and doubling up his fists as if he were ready and willing to put his threat into execution then and there.
"Look here! Look here, boys," whispered Prime, who was really afraid the two would come to blows. "Such work as this will never do. If we quarrel among ourselves, Wayring and his crowd will walk off with all the prizes as they have always done."
"I have no intention of quarreling," said Noble, who did not like the way Tom glared at him. "I only want Bigden to keep his promise."
"What promise?" demanded Tom.
"Why, didn't you say that you were down on Wayring and Hastings, and that you did not want to see them win any of the races?" inquired Scott.
"I did."
"And didn't you promise that you would help us win?" chimed in Frank Noble.
"No, I didn't. When you told me what your programme was, I simply said: 'All right.' By that I meant that you could do as you pleased, and my cousins and I would do as we pleased. You were very good to yourselves when you picked out all the best races for your own men, and left us out in the cold, were you not? We do not consider that we are under obligations to abide by any such arrangement, and we shan't do it. We've got a programme of our own that we mean to carry out if we can, and the fellow who interferes with us in any way may make up his mind to take the consequences."
So saying Tom walked off followed by his cousins, leaving Prime and his companions lost in wonder.
"Serves us just right for having any thing to do with such upstarts," said Noble, who was the first to speak. "They have gone back on us fair and square; that's easy enough to be seen."
"Who ever heard of such impudence?" exclaimed Prime. "They came to Mount Airy with the idea that they could ran the town to suit themselves, and because they can't do it, they are mad about it. They must not be allowed to win a race. I would much rather see Wayring or Hastings come in first."
"That brings me to what I wanted to say to you," said Ned Stewart. "I don't know whether or not that college man in the stake-boat suspects any thing, but he certainly acted like it. He kept his eyes on us from the time we crossed the line until we got home. If you try to foul any body you must be very sly about it, or else you will be caught and ruled out."
If Stewart had any thing else to say he did not have time to say it, for just then the bugle sounded another warning, and that put a stop to the conversation. It was a call to the boys who were to take part in the paddle race. A few seconds later thirteen active young fellows in showy uniforms sprang off the wharf one after the other, shoved their canoes into the water, and paddled away to take the positions assigned them by the numbers they had drawn from the tin box. As luck would have it, Tom Bigden found himself near the center of the line, with his Cousin Loren on one side of him and Frank Noble on the other. Joe Wayring was on the right, nearest the shore, and Arthur Hastings on the extreme left, near the middle of the lake.
"It's a bad outlook for us," whispered Loren, after he had run his eye up and down the line. "Joe and Arthur are so far away that you can't touch them."
"Never mind," replied Tom, in the same cautious whisper. "They will have to come closer together when we get to the stake-boat, and then, perhaps, we can do something. Keep your weather eye peeled for Noble. He'll spoil your chances if he can. He's bound to win or kick up a row."
"Are you all ready?" shouted Mr. Hastings, from his place on the wharf.
There was no response in words, but each boy grasped his double paddle with a firmer hold, dipped one blade of it into the water and leaned forward so that he could put all his strength into the first stroke, which was given before the notes of the bugle had fairly died away.
The thirteen contestants got off well together, and for a while it was any body's race; but by the time a quarter of a mile had been passed over, Arthur Hastings and Roy Sheldon, who "made the pace", began to draw to the front, while others fell behind, and when they rounded the stake-boat the line was very much broken. Tom Bigden did not try to win. According to the agreement this was not his race. He simply kept close beside his cousin—he had harder work to do it than he expected to have, for Loren sent his canoe through the water at an astonishing rate of speed—holding himself in readiness to frustrate any attempt at trickery on Frank Noble's part, or to foul Frank if he showed speed enough to beat Loren fairly.
How the struggle would have ended, had each boy been as determined to win or lose on his merits as the majority of them were, it is hard to tell. Arthur and Roy paddled much faster now than they did on the day they had those friendly trials with Tom and his cousin, and so did Loren. Frank Noble, who was by no means an antagonist to be despised, kept close company with them, while Joe Wayring seemed content to linger behind and save his wind so that he could force the pace on the way home; consequently he was an eye-witness to a piece of deliberate rascality on the part of Tom Bigden, which was so neatly executed that it might have passed for an accident, if Joe, when questioned by the judge, had not told the truth concerning it. It came about in this way:
Arthur and Roy rounded the stake-boat together, keeping far enough away from each other to avoid all danger of a collision. Frank Noble followed in their wake, and close behind him came Loren Farnsworth, who having got his "second wind", was plying his paddle with so much strength and skill that he was rapidly closing up the gap between himself and his leaders. Noble saw defeat staring him in the face, and believing that he could gain a few feet on Hastings and his companion, and throw Loren out of the race at the same time, he resorted to an expedient which drew a warning shout from Joe Wayring, who was contentedly following in Tom's rear.
"Look out there, Frank!" cried Joe. "You'll be foul of somebody in a minute more."
"I told Tom that Loren Farnsworth should never come out at the top of the heap in this race, and I meant every word of it," said Frank, to himself; and paying no attention to Joe's warning, he shot his canoe across Loren's bow, passing so close to him that the latter was obliged to stop paddling and back water in order to escape the collision which for a second or two seemed inevitable.
This was Tom Bigden's opportunity and he was prompt to improve it. With a movement so quick and dextrous that it looked like an accident to the people on shore who witnessed it, Tom unjointed his paddle, dropped one blade of it overboard, and laying out all his strength on the other, he swung the bow of his canoe around and sent it crashing into the side of Noble's boat, overturning it in an instant and throwing its occupant out into the water. Then, quick as a flash, Tom backed his canoe out of Loren's way and sent it directly in the path of the other boys, who were thus given their choice between two courses of action: One was to make a wide detour in order to clear the three boats that lay in their way, and the other was to give up the race, which was now virtually left to Hastings, Sheldon and Loren Farnsworth. The most of them preferred to draw out of a contest in which they had no show of winning, and with many exclamations of anger and disgust turned about and paddled back to the starting point; while the others crowded up around the stake-boat to hear what the judge and referee would have to say about it.
"I claim foul on that!" shouted Tom; and the words and the speaker's easy assurance so astonished Joe Wayring, that he sat in his canoe with his paddle suspended in the air as if he did not know what to do with it.
"I claim foul!" sputtered Noble, as soon as his head appeared above the surface of the water. "Bigden capsized me on purpose."
"I say I didn't!" cried Tom, looking very surprised and innocent indeed. "What business had you to try to cross my bows, when any body with half an eye could see that you had no chance to do it? You declared that if you didn't win this race no one else should, and that's why you got in my way."
"And you said that your Cousin Loren was booked to win, if you could make him do it," retorted Noble, who had climbed into his canoe and was rapidly throwing out the water it had shipped in righting. "That's why you capsized me. It is a lucky thing for you that you didn't smash in the side of my boat as you tried to do. I would have made you pay roundly for it, if there is law enough in Mount Airy to—"
"That will do," said the judge, in a tone of authority. "This is not the place to settle quarrels, and neither am I the one to do it."
"My paddle got unjointed, and I couldn't shift from one side to the other quick enough to keep clear of you," said Tom.
Meanwhile Hastings, Sheldon and Loren Farnsworth were making fast time down the home stretch toward the starting point. To the surprise of every body, and to the no small annoyance of Arthur Hastings, who had never before been so closely followed by any one except Sheldon and Wayring, Loren was not only holding his own, but he was gaining at every stroke. There is no telling which one of the three would have come out ahead at the finish, had they been permitted to continue the struggle; but the referee, seeing the commotion among the rest of the fleet, called out: "No race!" and pulled up to the stake-boat to see what was the matter. The judge gave him his version of the affair, Noble and Tom Bigden gave theirs, and each of the two boys would have expressed his opinion of the other in no very complimentary terms, had not the referee interrupted them by saying—
"Hard words can't settle disputes of this kind. The race will have to be tried over again, and Noble, I don't think you will be allowed to take any part in it. You made a mistake in trying to cross Bigden's bows when you did, because you had no room to do it without interfering with him. You threw him out of the contest, and came very near throwing Farnsworth out, too; consequently it will be my duty to bar you. I am sorry—"
"You needn't be, for I am sure I don't care," replied Noble, rudely. He tried hard to control himself so that the boys around him should not see how very angry he was, but his efforts met with little success. To be ruled out of one contest was to be ruled out of all; and that was a severe blow to a boy who had confidently expected to carry off some of the best prizes. "What are you going to do with Bigden?" he asked, or rather demanded of the referee.
"That depends," answered the latter, somewhat sharply.
"He can't do any thing with me because I have violated no rule," said Tom, defiantly. "You ran across my path when you had no business to do it, and an accident to my paddle made me run into you. That's all there is of it."
But the referee and judge seemed to hold a different opinion. They conversed for a few minutes in tones so low that no one but the guides could hear what they said, and presently the judge appealed to Joe Wayring.
"You were close behind Bigden when this happened," said he. "Do you think it was an accident?"
"What does he know about it?" cried Tom, fiercely. "I don't care what he or any body else says; I know—"
"One moment, please," interrupted the referee. "You have had your say, and you don't help your side of the case any by showing so much excitement over it."
"Do you think Bigden unjointed his paddle purposely?" continued the judge, addressing himself to Joe.
"Yes, sir," answered the latter, promptly.
"Do you think he could have kept clear of Noble if he had made use of ordinary skill and caution?"
"I am sure of it."
"How could he have done it?"
"By working his paddle on the port side of his canoe. That would have thrown him around the stake-boat very neatly and given him a winning place in the race; but instead of that he used his paddle on the starboard side, and of course that threw the bow of his canoe plump into Noble's side."
Frank and the judge nodded as if to say that that was about the way the thing stood, and after a few minutes' reflection the referee said—
"I am perfectly satisfied and will announce my decision where all the members of the club can hear it. As we are wasting time and delaying the other sports by staying here, we will go back to head-quarters."
It was not a very sociable company of boys who turned about at this command and paddled slowly back to the starting point, and neither were Noble and Tom Bigden the only ones among them who were mad enough to fight. Two of their number were so jealous of each other and so anxious to win prizes, that they had deliberately disgraced the club in the presence of hundreds of strangers; and it is hard to see how any lover of fair play could help being annoyed over it. Joe Wayring felt it very keenly; and consequently when Tom Bigden paddled up alongside and told him that he intended to get even with him some way for the stand he had taken, Joe was in just the right humor to give him as good as he sent.
"Joe Wayring, you have made an enemy of me by this day's work," said Tom, in a threatening tone.
"By telling the truth in regard to your fouling of Frank Noble?" exclaimed Joe. "I don't care if I have. I saw the whole proceeding, and I know that you meant to do it. I warned you that any boy who could so far forget himself as to deliberately interfere with another, would be forever ruled out of the club's races, and you will find that I knew what I was talking about."
"You might as well expel me and be done with it?" exclaimed Tom, angrily. "What's the use of my belonging to the club if I am not allowed to take part in its contests? Joe Wayring, there's no honor about you. You have led me to believe that you were my friend, and then you went back on me the very first chance you got."
"Do you mean that I have been sailing under false colors?" cried Joe, indignantly. "If you throw out any more insinuations of that sort before we reach the boat-house I'll dump you in the lake. When the judge questioned me I told him the truth; and I wouldn't have done otherwise to please any body."
Something must have warned Tom that Joe would be as good as his word, for he had nothing more to say to him. He gradually fell behind and allowed him to paddle down to the boat-house in peace.