GARY CHALLENGES
The canoe came on Wednesday. Of course by this time, as Gil had
predicted, its name had been shortened to “Mike,” which was a very
plebeian title for such a handsome craft. It was quite the best looking
canoe in the school boat-house, although Brandon Gary and “Punk” Gibbs
owned between them a craft that, when new, had been a marvel of white
and gold. Now it was pretty well scratched and battered, and there
were palpable patches showing along the bottom. Jeffrey was properly
proud of his new possession, and spent most of Wednesday afternoon in
or about it. It paddled beautifully, he decided, sat well on the water
and was altogether a treasure. He paddled far down the river in the
Mi-Ka-Noo and worked back in the golden glory of an autumn sunset, with
the afterglow tingeing the surface of the little stream with coppery
lights and the blade of his paddle trickling golden drops as it hung
between strokes above the placid surface. In the boat-house he found
an empty rack and saw the canoe carefully laid away on it, holding his
breath for fear the boatman might mar the glistening varnish of its
sides.
The next forenoon he and Poke hurried down to the boat-house between
recitations. Sammy, the boatman, left his bench in the repair shop and
lifted the Mi-Ka-Noo into the water for them. Jeffrey got into the
stern and Poke settled himself in the bow and they started up-river.
Poke was eager now to learn how to paddle and so there was a ten-minute
lesson. By the time they had dropped Biscuit Island from sight he was
doing very well, although he had not yet mastered the twist of the
paddle at the end of the stroke. Jeffrey, however, kept the canoe in
its course and Poke persevered in his efforts to “get the hang of it,”
as he said. Half a mile up-stream Jeffrey called a halt and they pulled
the canoe in under the branches of the trees and rested awhile, Poke
ascertaining, by a glance at his watch, that they still had a full
half-hour before them.
“It’s funny how it tires your shoulders,” said Poke, as he dropped his
watch back. “I believe I can get onto it all right, though.”
“Of course you can,” Jeffrey responded. “There’s no trick to it. It’s
just a hard, steady drive and then a half-turn of the blade before you
take it out.”
“I know, but it’s that half-turn that puzzles me. I get it sometimes,
and then the next time I almost lose my paddle.”
“Want to try the stern going back?”
But Poke shook his head. “I don’t think I’d better yet. I might put
Mike onto the bank or into a snag. Here’s some one coming up. Looks
like Bull Gary. Not only looks, but is. And Gibbs with him.”
They watched the white canoe approach, drawing the bow of their own
canoe further toward shore, for the stream was narrow here and Jeffrey
wasn’t going to risk his paint. Gary was paddling in the stern and Punk
Gibbs was in the bow. Gary recognized Poke when some distance away and
waved his paddle to him. Poke waved back, and when the white craft was
within speaking distance Poke called:
“Hello, Bull! Hello, Punk! That the same old mud-scow you used to have?”
Gary turned his canoe toward the opposite side, Gibbs seized a branch
and they came to a pause. Gary laid his paddle across his knees, said
“Phew!” eloquently and grinned at Poke.
“Yes, same old mud-scow,” he said. “Where’d you get that thing, Poke?
It looks like a fire-engine. Did they have any red paint left?”
“This,” replied Poke, “belongs to Latham. You know Latham, don’t you,
Bull? Latham’s the chap who has the room you liked the looks of, Bull.
Jeff, the other gentlemen is Mr. Gibbs. Punk is all right, but he’s
terribly careless about the company he keeps. What do you think of this
for some canoe, Punk?”
“She’s a peach,” replied Gibbs admiringly. “Where did you get her,
Latham?”
“Sandford’s,” answered Jeffrey.
“How do you pronounce that name?” asked Gary, who had been frowning at
it for a minute. Poke told him and the frown vanished. Gary chuckled.
“Pretty good, eh, Punk? Mi-Ka-Noo! I thought it was some Indian
gibberish.”
“Go pretty well?” asked Gibbs.
“Like a breeze,” replied Poke. “She paddles herself. Fastest thing on
the river except the varsity shell!”
“I’ll bet you this old tub can run rings around her,” grunted Gary.
“Even if she is two years old and has forty-eleven patches on her!”
“Oh, that’s been a good canoe in its day,” answered Poke airily. “But
they’re making ’em better now, Bull. Look at the lines on this old top.
Pretty neat, what?”
“Too broad,” said Gary. “She’s built for comfort but not speed, Poke.”
“Speed! Why, this canoe has the Empire State Express spiked to the
rails! Speed! Honestly, Bull, you pain me.”
Gary grinned. “We’ll race you back to the boat-house,” he offered. “If
we don’t beat you by half a dozen lengths I――I’ll――”
“Apologize,” suggested Poke. “We accept your challenge, sir.”
“But, Poke,” said Jeffrey, “they’re bound to beat us.”
“Of course we are,” Gary laughed. “Latham’s got a lot more sense than
you have, Poke.”
“He is thinking of the fact that I am a very poor canoedler,” said
Poke. “This is only the second time I’ve ever tried it. But that
doesn’t matter because, as I have previously remarked, Bull, this canoe
paddles herself. Turn your old derelict around and get ready.”
“Don’t you want me to take the stern?” asked Gibbs. “You paddled all
the way up.”
“Pshaw, I’m not tired,” answered Gary. “Let the bow come around.”
“Right-O!” cried Poke as the two canoes lay side by side. “Give the
word, Bull.”
“All right. Are you ready? ... Go!”
Off they went, all four paddles digging hard. Poke was apparently
trying to lift the bow of the Mi-Ka-Noo out of the water in his wild
efforts, and Jeffrey called to him to slow down.
“Longer strokes, Poke, and make them tell! That’s it!”
For a moment during that first excited spurt the two canoes were in
danger of colliding, but Jeffrey managed to swing away and in that
instant the white canoe gained a slight lead.
In some places the channel was scarcely wide enough to allow the two
canoes to travel side by side, since there were many snags along the
banks. And so when the white canoe took the lead Jeffrey was content
to let it keep it until they had passed the next turn and the channel
widened. But the Mi-Ka-Noo hung close to the stern of the other
craft in spite of Gary’s strenuous paddling, and presently, when
the boat-house came into sight ahead, Jeffrey passed the word and
slowly the Mi-Ka-Noo crept up foot by foot until it was even with its
competitor.
Poke was not yet a scientific paddler, but he had plenty of muscle,
meant to beat Gary if such a thing were possible and so toiled like a
hero in the bow. At the stern Jeffrey’s experience made up for the fact
that he hadn’t the strength to put into the strokes that Gary had. But
it was, I think, the Mi-Ka-Noo that won its own race, for the crimson
canoe was undoubtedly faster than the white one. Some fifty yards from
the boat-house float the Mi-Ka-Noo’s curving prow drew away from the
rival craft. Then Jeffrey, crouching at the stern, was even with the
center of the white canoe, and Gary, paddling madly and grunting with
every stroke of his flashing blade, called on Gibbs for a spurt.
“Come on, Punk! Get into it! Make her go!”
Gibbs tried his best, but his strokes when they grew faster grew also
weaker, and the crimson canoe gained steadily until there was open
water between her stern and the white bow.
“Not too fast!” warned Jeffrey. “Make them hard, Poke!”
And Poke, who was getting excited by the prospect of victory, steadied
down again. Then Gibbs “caught a crab” with his paddle, Gary lost his
temper and called him names and the Mi-Ka-Noo shot past the float a
good length and a half ahead!
Poke subsided over his paddle and fought for breath while Jeffrey,
backing water and paddling, turned the canoe about and went back to the
float.
“I guess this one’s a bit faster than yours, Gary,” said Jeffrey. “She
sits out of the water more, I think.”
But strangely enough Gary had an affection for his battered craft and
was up in arms at once.
“It wasn’t a test of the canoes,” he said indignantly. “This one is
twice as fast as yours. If Punk hadn’t nearly lost his paddle we’d have
shown you. Besides, I was tired. You fellows had been resting up there.”
Poke lifted his head, gave a gasp for breath, and said:
“You couldn’t have beat us if you’d just got out of bed, Bull.”
“Couldn’t I? I’ll row you again any time you like; if I can find some
one to take the bow,” he added with a disgusted glare at Gibbs.
Gibbs grinned and winked at Poke. “What you want in the bow, Bull,” he
said, “is a gasoline motor!”
“I tell you what I’ll do with you,” offered Poke quietly. “I’ll race
you Saturday morning up-stream from the old bridge to the landing here.
You take any canoe you like and I’ll do the same. It isn’t the canoe,
Bull, it’s science that counts!”
“Science!” scoffed Bull. “Why, you couldn’t paddle that far to save
your life!”
“Don’t let that worry you,” Poke replied soothingly. “Will you try it?”
“What would be the use? You say yourself that you’ve never paddled a
canoe before.”
“I know, but I’m awfully quick to learn, Bull. I’m a clever little lad
that way. What do you say, now? Try it? We’ll start at the old bridge
and I’ll beat you to the boat-house here. If I don’t get here at least
a length ahead of you I’ll black your shoes for you on the front steps
of Mem!”
“I hope you lose,” said Gibbs vindictively. “Bull’s shoes need blacking
most of the time.”
“All right,” said Gary. “I’ll race you. And if I don’t beat you
I’ll――I’ll――”
“Careful now! Don’t say anything you’ll be sorry for!” laughed Poke.
“――I’ll black your shoes!”
“Done, old scout! It’s a bargain. You fellows are witnesses.”
“Saturday morning, you said. What time?”
“Oh, say eleven; or later, if you like,” replied Poke.
“Eleven’s all right for me. And I don’t have to use this canoe unless I
want to.”
“Use any canoe you like and as many as you like as long as they don’t
have motors in them. We’re to start at the old bridge and finish here
at the corner of the float. And if I get here first you black my shoes.
And if you get here first I’m to black yours. Right?”
“Yes,” said Gary; and Jeffrey and Gibbs nodded.
“And there’s one other thing,” said Poke. “I want a good job done,
Bull; no skimping the heels, you know!”
Gary grinned. “If you don’t get your shoes blackened until I do them,
Poke, they’ll be sights.”