“Hurrah! there’s Mr. Marcy,” was the exclamation, as they were allowed to step in. The six boys, Philip and Davidson foremost, were already in full rig and busy over the long shell just about to be easily deposited in the water by the side of the float. Mr. Marcy and a couple of his friends saw this feat accomplished safely. Others of the barge-party walked in. The excitement became general. All the oarsmen talked at once, gave opinions of the state of the water, bewildered Mr. Lorraine or Mr. Marcy with questions, and hurried about the dim little boat-house to attend to the usual last things and one.
“Well, Frank, what do you think?” inquired Gerald of Davidson, with a face of almost painful interest as he glanced first at Touchtone, then at him.
“He thinks just what I think, Gerald,” interrupted Philip, pulling the crimson silk handkerchief lower across his forehead, “and that is—”
“That the Victors are bigger men with a lighter boat, and have beaten us for three years running,” Davidson said, quickly; “but that the weather is perfect, that the water is as smooth as if we’d taken a flat-iron to it, and that the Victors don’t pull together after the style the Ossokosees do. Look at them now out yonder as they come around the point again! See that second fellow! If he don’t keep better stroke he can put the whole crew out!”
Twenty minutes later Gerald was seated out under the awning of the barge, sandwiched between Mr. Lorraine and Captain Kent. He waited in feverish impatience for the grand moment. The umpire, a Mr. Voss, from the next county, was arranging some matters between Mr. Marcy and the supporters of the Victors. There were to be three races; but, the second one being between two members of the Victors, and the last an informal affair between four of the village lads in working-boats, the special rivalry was not eclipsed. Gerald’s heart beat faster and faster as the crowd along the shores cheered six figures in crimson that glided quietly to their post of departure on the east; accompanied by the second shout for the yellow-filleted Victors who pulled proudly across the open water and rested, like pegs driven into its bed, opposite their rivals.
“Looks as if it would be an uncommon good race for both of ’em!” Gerald heard some one near him say. But Mr. Voss was standing up and waving his hand.
“Are you ready?”
“Ready!” from the right.
“Are you read-y?”
“Ready!” from the left.