When once again the bugle sounded the cheering became more violent than ever, for it was known that the moment of departure had arrived.
Tom Betts had been given the honor of being the first in the procession. His fellow passenger was Jack Stormways. As the new Speedaway shot from its mooring place and started down the river it seemed as though the old football days had 88 come again, such a roar arose from human lungs, fish-horns, and every conceivable means for making a racket.
A second craft quickly followed in the wake of the leader, then a third, the two others trailing after, until all of them were heading down-stream, rapidly leaving Stanhope behind.
The cheering of the throng grew fainter as the speedy craft glided over the ice, urged on by a fair wind. There could be little doubt that the ten scouts who were undertaking the expedition were fully alive to the good fortune that had come their way.
Tom Betts was acknowledged to be the most skilful skipper, possibly barring Paul, along the Bushkill. He seemed to know how to get the best speed out of an iceboat, and at the same time avoid serious accidents, such as are likely to follow the reckless use of such frail craft.
It was thoughtful of Paul to let Tom lead the procession, when by all rights, as the scout-master, Paul might properly have assumed that position. Tom must have been considering this fact, for as he and Jack flew along, crouching under the big new sail that was drawing splendidly, he called out to his comrade:
“Let me tell you it was mighty white in Paul to assign me to this berth, Jack, when by rights 89 everybody expected him to lead off. I appreciate it, too, I want you to understand.”
“Oh! that’s just like Paul,” he was told. “He always likes to make other fellows feel good. And for a chap who unites so many rare qualities in his make-up Paul is the most unassuming fellow I ever knew. Why, you can see that he intentionally put himself in last place, and picked out Spider Sexton’s boat to go on, because he knew it was the poorest of the lot.”
“But all the same the old Glider is doing her prettiest to-day and keeping up with the procession all right,” asserted Tom, glancing back.
“That’s because Paul’s serving as skipper,” asserted Jack, proudly. “He could get speed out of any old tub you ever saw. But then we’re not trying to do any racing on this trip, you remember, Tom.”