“You’ll lose,” returned Clarence.
“Hey!” cried Ezra, “hey, Ben! this kid says he can beat me to that island. May I race him?”
“Come here, you two,” said Ben, approaching them. As Pete was still nursing an inflamed neck, face, and temper, Ben was now in command of the camp. “Here’s a good place for diving off,” he continued, pointing to a spot where the bank rose three feet or more above the water’s edge. “Stand back, both of you, on a line with me, and when I say ‘go’ start out with a good dive.”
The two lads ranged themselves beside Ben. Clarence appeared to be unusually serious. One would think, looking upon him just then, that the winning of this race was to him a matter of life and death. The color had almost entirely left his cheeks, his mouth was closed tight, his chin thrown out, and his whole poise indicated supreme earnestness.
“Are you both ready?” asked Ben.
“I am,” returned Ezra, who was quite cool and perfectly confident.
“Wait one second,” said Clarence. Then he gravely bowed his head and made the Sign of the Cross.
“Wait!” came another voice; and all three turning saw Pete’s wife hurrying towards them.
Holding out a skinny finger and pointing it impressively at Clarence, she screamed:
“May you sink, and never come up. May you drown, and your body never be found. May my curse follow you into the other world.”