Altogether there were forty-three canoes. Some were birchbarks like Polly’s; but the large majority were cedar boats.
“Birchbarks line up at Dr. Shelton’s landing!” bellowed the starter’s voice through his megaphone. “Get me? Shelton’s landing!”
Polly and the few other girls who had the Indian canoes waved their hands and got into position. They kept a pretty straight line.
“Now at the starting line here for you cedars!” cried the man, and Wyn, with her five mates, and the rest of the girl canoeists from all about the lake, tried to obey the command.
But there were so many of them that it was not altogether easy to get into line. Nearly forty canoes were “some bunch,” to quote the slangy Frank, who was, by the way, just as eager as any of the other contestants.
Although Frank believed that Wyn, and perhaps Bess, as well as Polly and Grace, had a better chance than she of winning the race; there was, of course, a chance of the very best canoeist getting a spill and so being put out of the race.
It is not always the best paddler who wins; there is too much uncertainty in handling the “tippy” craft–especially in moments of excitement, and among many other similar craft.
So there was hope for any and all. The eager faces of the girls in the canoes showed it. They scuffled somewhat to get place on the line; but the entries had all been numbered, so it was merely a case of getting in right and leaving enough space on either side of one’s bobbing canoe.
One of the starters was pulled up and down the line in a skiff to criticise. Not every girl was as fair-minded to her opponents as the girls from Green Knoll Camp, and there was some little bickering before the starter shouted for the whole crowd–both cedars and birches–to get ready.
“At the shot, remember,” he cried through the megaphone. “Once around the stake-boat, to the right, and return. The birchbarks finish at this line, like the cedars. Now!”