All this had happened amid so much confusion and excitement on the lake, that before Harry realized it the stricken oarsman had been transferred to the motor-boat, which went chugging back up the course. Then he and Gordon stared blankly at each other. Even if they had had the presence of mind to call to Dr. Brent, it is doubtful if they could have made themselves heard above the tumult. “It was Red Deer, Harry.”
“Sure it was—and that was Mac they lifted out.”
“Who is Red Deer?” asked Miss Crosby, excitedly. “Were those scouts that won?”
For a moment Harry was too preoccupied to explain. “Yes, those were scouts that won,” he then said abstractedly.
The clamorous shrieking of the launch containing the blue-sweater fellows brought them out of their daze. Their scoutmaster had actually appeared and disappeared before them amid excited throngs here at this remote little village. Two of their own fellow scouts had, by almost superhuman effort, won a race before their very eyes. Yes, and those were the only two fellows in the troop who could have done it—save one. And now one of them had given out, and there was the final heat still to be raced.
“These are our regulations,—
There’s just one fate for the scout,
And the hayseeds, too,
And when we’re through
They’ll look like all get-out!”
sang the college boys, triumphantly, as they chugged about. Their boisterous, confident voices were greeted with laughter and cheers from the shore. Soon, their well-trained, crack oarsmen would come down the river, walking easily away from the scout crew, with its probably crude substitute.
“I wonder how Red Deer got himself mixed up with those cracker jacks,” said Harry.
“Harry, what’ll they do? They can’t put Nelson in—or Burt, either—it’s—” Gordon looked imploringly into his friend’s face.
“Well, my boy,” said Mr. Danforth, clapping Harry on the shoulder, “where’s your voice? By Jove, that was a great victory! Why didn’t you cheer? Eh?”
“He’s deducing,” said Miss Crosby.
Harry turned suddenly. “Mr. Danforth,” said he, “those fellows belong to our own troop. Hanged if I know where they came from, but I—I—just can’t stand here and see them beaten after putting up a race like that.”
The girl’s eyes were fixed intently on Harry. Gordon listened, his hand trembling on the rail. Down the course came muffled cheering, as the victorious shell, with its single oarsman, was towed back to the starting line.
Then Miss Antoinette Crosby did a strange thing. She threw her arms around Mr. Danforth’s neck, and whispered to him, concluding by saying audibly, “Please, please!”
That gentleman looked sharply at Harry, but said not a word. He walked across the deck, and called below:
“Captain, steam up the course as quick as you can!”
In a moment the yacht’s bow came around, and a score or more of little craft went scooting this way and that. Then her whistle sounded, dignified and melodious compared with the screeching and tooting about her, and she headed up the crowd-bordered lake.
“Where are you going, sir?” came a voice from below.
“Up the course.”
“You can’t go up the course now, sir,” came from the patrol boat. “You’ll have to stay below the finish line—you were told that before.”
“It’s a matter of great importance,” Mr. Danforth called.
“Can’t help it. Fetch her round.”
“Take her up, Captain!” ordered Mr. Danforth, firmly. “Clear out under there if you don’t want to be run into!”
“What are they trying to do?” said a man in the judge’s boat, which came chugging up. “Here, bring that craft about! None of that!”
“Ahoy there, below!” shouted Mr. Danforth’s captain. “Stand out from under if you don’t want to be run down!”
The low, deep whistle sounded again, two gasoline dories chugged frantically backward, and the big white yacht, serene and heedless, steamed majestically up the course.
“Didn’t I tell you he always has his own way?” said the girl, coming up to Harry, who still leaned dazedly over the rail. “Now you are going to distinguish yourself—you’ve got to—for my sake!”
“How did you know I wanted to take that fellow’s place, Miss Crosby?”
“Stupid!” she said. “Do you think you’re the only person that knows how to deduce?”
“I’m afraid it’s a hopeless task, Miss Crosby. I haven’t been in training, you know. I’m all tired out, and they’re a pretty skillful pair—those college chaps—then—”
“They’re an insulting, conceited set—and their poetry is at-ro-cious! You’ve got to do it. You can beat them. I know you can!”
“Well, I guess that will help me to win, if anything can,” Harry said.
“Here, Harry, my boy,” said Mr. Danforth, coming up. “No time to be standing around talking with girls now. Come down in the cabin, and we’ll see if we can’t root out a jersey or bathing suit that’ll fit you—we’ll be up there in a minute.”
“Isn’t it wonderful! You’ve found them at last!” the girl said to Gordon when Harry had gone below. “And just to think, I was here to see you do it! And oh, I want so much to see him row!”
“You’ll see him row, all right,” said Gordon.
“He can do most anything, can’t he?”
“Yes—but he doesn’t know much about girls.”
“Why, what makes you say that?”
“’Cause he doesn’t. He doesn’t know as much as I do about them.”
“The idea of your saying that—he must know lots of girls!”
“He hasn’t had as much experience with them as I have—but, honest, there’s nothing he can’t do—honest.”
“Tell me about him, won’t you? About the things he can do.”
Would he!
All was excitement on the float as the yacht steamed by, headed for the pier a few yards beyond. Evidently the oarsman who had collapsed was not in a serious condition, for there was Dr. Brent talking with one of the regatta committee. And there were Walden and Charlie Greer and Swift and Waring and “Brick” Parks, crowding about him.
“Looks good to see Parks’s red head, doesn’t it, Kid? Don’t shout, now, just wait—it’ll only be a minute.” It was like an inspiration to both boys to see the familiar faces.
A racing shell containing two boys waited at the float. Each had a blue sweater thrown over his shoulders. Another shell, empty, was moored hard by.
The yacht made a landing and Harry went ashore, followed by Gordon. Miss Crosby stood at the rail watching them as they went over the side.
“Remember,” she said, laughing, “it’s a scout’s duty to help others. You see, I know the law!”
The boys hurried to the float and for a moment stood on the edge of the little crowd, unobserved.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Dr. Brent. “There isn’t another oarsman I can put in. I thank you for your kindness, but I’m afraid it will have to go by default. You see, we’re not prepared for this kind of thing, anyway; we’ve already accomplished more than I expected.”
“Nothing doing?” called one of the oarsmen in the waiting shell.
“’Fraid not,” answered some one in authority.
Several fellows in blue sweaters, armed with gigantic megaphones, set up a victorious howl. The Danforth yacht steamed gayly down the course.
“Humph! All over. Those Welden chaps would win in a walk, anyway,” said some one near Harry. Then he heard the referee speak to Dr. Brent from his launch.
“I’m going to start this crew down the course, sir, so that I can give them the decision; you are not prepared?”
The expression rang in Harry’s ears. It was the scouts’ own motto.
He pressed his way through the crowd and stood, face to face, with his scoutmaster and several members of the committee.
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly; “we are prepared.”
You could have knocked Red Deer down with a feather. As for Walden and Charlie Greer and “Brick” Parks—you should have seen them. Vinton, the Hawks’ corporal, stood gaping like an idiot. Then the sudden appearance of Gordon............