The shore of the lake was thronged with spectators, and the band was playing a lively air near the dance hall, the music floating over the water on the gentle breeze.
In the lineup Merriwell and his friends had formed together. They were stripped to trousers, shirts and caps. Frank was laughing and joking, but Hodge and Diamond looked grim and determined.
The man from Greenville was a long-haired, weather-tanned chap, with a hard, knotty arm and broad shoulders. Certainly he did look like a formidable antagonist.
Some of the contestants were inclined to guy Merry and his friends. They cautioned them not to capsize, asked them if they could swim, told them they might do better to get out and push their canoes, and tried to have sport with them generally.
Diamond did not relish this sort of chaffing, and the hot flush on his cheeks showed he was irritated. Hodge held his anger down, while Frank seemed to regard it as part of the fun.
“One of us must win this race!” grated the Virginian, sullenly. “They take us for a lot of flubs. I paddled a canoe almost as soon as I learned to walk.”
“Keep cool,” cautioned Merry. “It won’t do any good to get angry, and it may cause you to lose the race.”
“How can a fellow keep cool, when these chumps are blowing their wind at him! I feel like punching a few of them!”
“Never mind. If you win, it will make them feel cheap enough.”
“Welch is in the line,” said Hodge, in a low tone.