Touchtone put out his hand with a quick gesture of intense surprise.
“Gerald!” he cried as their two palms met in a clasp that hurt the smaller one, “what in the world made you say that?” There was something solemn, as well as eager, in his tone.
“O, nothing particular,” the heir of the Saxton impulsiveness answered, simply; “but I don’t believe it, that’s all! I don’t!”
“He don’t believe it either,” Gerald heard Philip say, as if to himself, “and I don’t. What a little trump you are, Gerald Saxton!” They walked a little further in silence; then Philip again spoke, in a tone from which all the sudden joy and cheerfulness were gone: “Well, Gerald, you and I may be able to prove it together some day to the people. But I don’t know—I don’t know!”
Certainly they were to accomplish many strange things together, whether that was to be one of them or not.
[CHAPTER III.]
ALL ABOUT A ROW.
The guests of the Ossokosee had the pleasure of seeing a bright, still day for the regatta. By nine o’clock the shady road leading to the lake began to echo with carriages. In the little wind that stirred flags swayed down in the village and from the staffs on the Ossokosee and the little boat-house. As for the pretentious Victors’ head-quarters, they were flaunting with streamers and bunting to an extent that must have severely taxed the treasury.
“I don’t see where so many more people than usual have come from!” exclaimed Mr. Marcy to Gerald and Mrs. and Miss Davidson as they drove along toward the starting-point. And, in truth, for a race between two crews of lads, and of such local interest, the crowd was flattering. Country wagons lined the bank, in which sat the farmers of the district, with their wives and daughters gorgeously arrayed in pink and blue and white calico gowns; and bunches of roses and dahlias were every-where about them.