“Bring me my lethal weapon, Carrie,” Westby commanded. “I want to show Mr. Upton.—Is the button on tight?”
Carroll produced from the canoe a long pole with an enormous sponge fastened to one end; he pulled at the sponge and announced, “Yes, the button’s on tight,” and passed the pole over to Westby.
Westby made one or two experimental lunges with it and remarked musingly, “When I catch him square above the bread line with this—!”
“Come on, then!” said Collingwood. “Come here, Ned!”
Morrill swam ashore and pushed off in one of the canoes with Collingwood—taking the stern seat and the paddle. Collingwood knelt in the bow, with his spear laid across the gun-wales in front of him. In like manner Westby and Carroll took to the water.
“This is the best two bouts out of three,” called Scarborough, as he circled round. “Don’t you want to come aboard, Mr. Upton, and help judge?”
“Why, yes, thank you,” said Irving.
So Scarborough called, “Wait a moment, fellows,” and paddling ashore, took on his passenger. Then he sped out to the middle of the bay; the two other canoes were separated by about fifty feet.
“Charge!” cried Scarborough, and Morrill and Carroll began paddling towards each other, while in the bows Collingwood and Westby rose to their feet and held their spears in front of them. They advanced cautiously and then swung apart, evading the collision—each trying to tempt the other to stab and overreach.
“Oh, you’re both scared!” jeered Baldersnaith from the shore.