POKE ADVERTISES
“What made you do such a silly thing?” asked Jeffrey of Poke as they
hurried back to Academy Hall. “You know very well he can paddle faster
than you can.”
“Ah,” replied Poke gravely, “the race is not always to the swift, Jeff.”
“Well, a canoe race is. You’d better put in all your spare time to-day
and to-morrow practising. You’ll have to learn to keep your canoe
straight first of all, Poke.”
“I shall take several lessons. I engage you now to impart to me all the
knowledge you have, Jeff, of the gentle art of canoedling. If I can get
the hang of that twist I’ll be all right.”
But Jeffrey shook his head. “He will beat you to a frazzle,” he said
dejectedly. “We won to-day because our canoe was the faster of the two.
Gary is a good paddler, and he’s as strong as an ox.”
“Tut, tut, my tearful friend! I have the strength of a team of
oxes――I mean oxen. I’m like a horse, Jeff; I don’t know my own strength
yet.”
“Well, you’ll know it Saturday forenoon! Of course you can use Mike if
you want to, but I think you’d better take one of the shorter canoes;
it would be lots easier to handle.”
“I mean to. I mean to take the shortest and lightest one I can find.
Can you give me a lesson after football practice this afternoon, Jeff?”
“Yes, but you’ll be too tired, won’t you?”
“I never tire,” replied Poke grandly. “I’ll meet you on the gym steps
at five sharp.”
“It will be almost dark by that time,” Jeffrey objected.
“Never mind. We’ll take a lantern, Jeff. Maybe, though, we can start
before five. You be there at a quarter to. Or, better still, you go
down to the boat-house and get your canoe over and ready, and I will
come as soon as I can skip off. How’s that?”
“That’s better. I’ll be all ready for you at four-thirty, and you get
there as soon as you can. I’ll put you in the stern this time.”
“All right. I wonder how a little resin would go on my hands. They’re
getting full of blisters!”
Poke’s challenge created quite a sensation at dinner time. Gil told
him he was a chump, and Jim, without actually saying so, confirmed the
judgment. Only Hope refused to see defeat in prospect.
“Of course you can beat him!” she declared cheerfully. “I think Brandon
Gary is a perfectly horrid boy!”
“That doesn’t alter the fact that he’s a pretty good chap with the
paddle,” said Gil dryly, “or that Poke doesn’t really know one end of a
canoe from the other.”
“Nobody does,” replied Poke untroubledly, passing his plate for a
second helping of vegetables. “They’re exactly alike!”
“Well, we will all be there to see you finish,” laughed Jim.
“And we’ll all be there to see him black Bull Gary’s shoes,” added Gil.
Poke viewed him sorrowfully. “It pains me deeply, Gil, to find you have
so little faith in me. I used to think you were my friend.”
“You can show him all about rowing a canoe, can’t you, Jeff?” asked
Hope anxiously. “I should think if he practised hard to-morrow he’d
just beat that Gary boy all to bits!”
“There will be very little left of him but bits after the race,” said
Poke. “I feel sorry for him, fellows; I actually do.”
The rest hooted.
Poke proved a diligent pupil that afternoon. Jeffrey gave him the
stern paddle and Poke labored hard with it. And by the time darkness
drove them back to the boat-house Poke had actually mastered the trick
of holding the canoe straight after the stroke. The next day, which
was Friday, there were two sessions on the river, one in the morning,
between Latin and English recitations, and one again after practice in
the late afternoon.
“You really did very well,” said Jeffrey as they went back to Sunnywood
through the chilly twilight. “If you can do a little bit better
to-morrow you may stand a chance of finishing pretty well.”
“I shall win,” replied Poke with deep conviction.
By Friday noon the entire school was in possession of the fact that
Gary and Endicott were to have a canoe race and the fellows were
discussing the event with much interest and amusement. It was no
secret that Poke was a veritable tyro at the paddle, but every one
who knew Poke was certain that in some way, by luck or pluck or sheer
impudence, he would give his opponent a hard race. To make sure,
however, that the world at large should know of the event, Poke himself
printed out and posted on the notice board in Academy Hall a highly
alluring announcement, which read as follows:
EXTRAORDINARY SPORTING EVENT!
EXCITING CANOE CONTEST BETWEEN TWO
INTREPID MEMBERS OF THIS
SCHOOL!
At eleven o’clock on Saturday morning Mr. Brandon Gary and Mr.
Perry Endicott will participate in a Canoe Race to decide the
Championship of Crofton Academy. The start will be made at the
Old Bridge near Saunder’s Farm and the contest will finish at
the Boat-House float. According to the terms of the Contest,
the Loser is to black the shoes of the Winner on the steps of
Memorial Hall immediately after the conclusion of the Race, the
Loser to provide his own Blacking and Brushes and not to skimp
the Heels. For further particulars, arrangement of Special
Trains, excursion rates, etc., see Daily Papers!
COME ONE! COME ALL!
Gary didn’t altogether approve of that notice. It sounded as though
Poke meant to make a spectacle of him, although he couldn’t just see
how that was to be accomplished. “The silly chump can’t paddle a canoe
to save his neck,” he confided to a friend. “So what does he mean by
all this nonsense?”
“They say he’s been practising three or four times a day,” replied the
other.
“He will need more practice than that if he is going to beat me,”
grunted Gary. “I’ve a good mind to tear that notice down.”
But he didn’t, and the notice continued to provide mirth for the
passers. On Friday afternoon a complication arose and threatened to put
an end then and there to the contemplated event. Johnny Connell put his
foot down.
“Look here, Endicott,” he said in the gymnasium before afternoon
football practice, “don’t you know we’ve got a game with Frawley’s
to-morrow?”
“Of course I know it, Johnny. Why?”
“Then you cut out this canoe race business, my boy. I’m not going to
have you get tired and go stale at this time of the season.”
“But, Johnny――”
“Cut it out, I tell you! If you don’t I’ll see Sargent and you’ll get
in trouble.”
Poke thought hard for a moment. Then he drew the coach aside and there
ensued a whispered conference in a corner of the locker room, during
which a smile crept into Johnny’s face, a smile that finally became a
full-fledged grin.
“Oh, well, all right, if that’s it,” he said at last. “But mind you
don’t get tired, now.”
“I won’t,” Poke promised. “And don’t you say a word to any one, Johnny.
If you do you’ll spoil the whole show.”
“I won’t. What time’s this race to be?”
“Eleven sharp, from the old bridge down the river.”
Johnny chuckled. “I guess I’ll have to see it,” he said.
That evening Jeffrey and Jim accompanied Gil and Poke to Plato
Society. It was not a business meeting to-night and there were quite
a few invited guests present. It was too cold to sit out of doors
and so the social room was filled to its capacity. As usual, there
was music and the evening passed very pleasantly. Both Jeffrey and
Jim were introduced to a number of fellows they had not met before,
and each had a very good time. Poke’s appearance was the signal for
wild applause, and the others had a good deal of fun with him over
to-morrow’s canoe race. Later on Gary came in, and he, too, was hailed
with cheers, although as he had never been very popular with the other
members of the society, his advent caused less of an ovation.
Gary had accepted his punishment with smiling indifference, and at
first the school at large had been inclined to sympathize with him. But
his attitude had soon changed that. No longer on the football team,
and with no prospect of rejoining it this fall, he pretended a vast
contempt for it and frequently predicted defeat in the Hawthorne game.
For some unknown reason his resentment appeared to be against Duncan
Sargent and Johnny Connell instead of Mr. Hanks or the Principal, and
he was forever criticizing the former’s efforts at leadership and
coaching. If he felt any anger against Mr. Hanks――and I am inclined
to believe that he did not――he never betrayed it. Having learned his
lesson, Gary was quick to profit by it, and no member of his classes
was any more docile and well-behaved than he.
The Platonians tried to get Poke and Gary together that evening and
have them talk on the subject of the race, but each fought shy of the
other, although each seemed willing enough to talk about it when the
other was out of hearing.
“He hasn’t the ghost of a show,” declared Gary. “I don’t know what
his game is. I guess he just wants to make a sensation. Why, he never
paddled a canoe in his life until the other day!”
“I don’t believe that,” said some one. “Who says so, Bull?”
“He told me so himself,” replied Gary. And it was a tribute to Poke’s
veracity that no one suggested a doubt after that. Poke when baited
waved a hand airily and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m sorry for Bull,” he said with regret in his voice. “I suppose I
shouldn’t have led him into it. But, after all, it’s just a little fun.
He will get over his disappointment in time.”
His audience chuckled and winked.
“But they say, Poke,” said one of his hearers, “that you don’t know how
to paddle.”
“Don’t know how to paddle! Me? Well, if you want to believe everything
you hear, that’s not my fault. Without desiring to appear conceited,
fellows, I think I may lay claim to being the nicest little paddler
in this state, if not in the country. I can paddle with my eyes shut
and one hand tied securely behind my back. I am the only successful
exponent of the Bob Cook stroke.”
“That’s a rowing stroke, you crazy chump!”
“What of it? I have adapted it to canoeing,” replied Poke calmly.
“It is the stroke with which I shall win to-morrow’s classic event,
gentlemen. I trust that you will all be on hand to see how it is done.”
“We’ll be on hand to see how _you_ are done,” a fellow laughed.
“Honestly, Poke, you’ve got more cheek than any fellow in the country!”
“I?” said Poke with a demure smile. “You surprise me. It shows how you
misjudge my character, Tom. I am a modest little violet, did you but
know it.”
“We didn’t but know it, Poke,” replied Tom.
“The kind of a violet he means,” said another, “is about the size of a
soup plate, is yellow and grows in the sun.”
“Get out,” said Poke, “that’s a forget-me-not! You’d better go back to
the Junior Class and study your botany again.”
“Well, we’ll all be on hand to-morrow morning, Poke, to root for you.
And, say, Poke, if you lose, you know, I’ll lend you my blacking set!”