On and on moved the few tubs which still were in the race, bobbing up and down, and frequently stopping and whirling madly about as if some sudden and irresistible impulse had seized them. The confusion increased as the goal could be seen, and the first prize lay between Bob and two rivals.
Slowly and carefully Bob increased his stroke, and now only ten feet yet remained to be crossed. The three tubs were close together, and bunched for the final effort. Suddenly Bob drove his paddle far down into the water, and exerting all his strength, sent his tub forward with his final effort; but directly in front of him one of his rivals had drifted, and in a moment they struck together. The other contestant, to save himself, had instantly grasped Bob’s tub and “wabbling,” careening, threatening every moment to capsize, the two crossed the line together, and their mutual rival was a full yard behind them.
Instantly the whistles and shouts announced the end of the race, and Bob’s rival turned good-naturedly to him and said,—
“I’ve got the first prize and you the second, though you wouldn’t have had it if I hadn’t towed you over the line.”
“That’s for the judges to decide,” laughed Bob. “I think you fouled me and held me back with your hands, or I’d been first.”
The boats now swarmed in, and, amidst the laughter of the people, it was decided that the first prize should be divided, for the two tubs had crossed the line after the manner in which the Siamese twins had moved through life, together.
“It’s another case of ‘united we stand, divided we fall,’” remarked Bob, as the decision was announced.
But there was no opportunity for further conversation, for Mr. Clarke’s yacht now steamed close in, and Bob and his tub were received on board.
“A wise man of Gotham who went to sea in a bowl,” said Miss Bessie, as Bob quietly took his seat. “I congratulate you.”