“I DON’T believe I care to be one of them now,” repeated Prime, who, being a pretty good judge of character, knew that he ran no risk in speaking freely in the presence of the three boys before him. “I wish I could see their old organization knocked higher than the moon; or else I wish that a few more new fellows of the right sort would come in, so that we could have a club of our own.”
“I was about to suggest that very thing,” said Tom. “It can’t be possible that Wayring and his cronies have got every boy in town under their thumbs.”
“Not by a long shot!” exclaimed Prime. “There are ten or a dozen besides myself who do not bow to them.”
“And my cousins and I add three to the number,” replied Tom. “That’s enough for a hunting club. But we will talk about that at some future time. Do you belong to the other clubs?”
Prime replied that he did, adding that any body could get into them, for there was no limit to the membership.
“The canoe and yacht clubs are getting large enough to be unwieldy,” said he. “I know of a good many boys who are not satisfied with the way things are managed, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if there should be a split some day. There are a few of us who are talking it up as fast as we can. We are getting tired of seeing the same old tickets elected every year, and think it high time we had a change.”
“Is Wayring much of a canoeist?” asked Tom.
“Indeed, he is. He can walk away from any one around here, I am sorry to say, and in fact, there’s hardly any thing that boy can’t do. I would give almost any thing to see him beaten, and I—say!” exclaimed Prime, a bright idea striking him. “Are you fellows canoeists?”
“My cousins are; but I can’t say as much for myself,” answered Tom. “I have always been called a very fair sculler, and after I learn how to balance a canoe, I know I have muscle enough to make her get through the water. Hastings led me to believe that it was a tight squeak between Wayring, Sheldon and himself.”
“Aw!” said Prime, in a tone of disgust. “You let Hastings alone for shoving in a good word for himself as often as the opportunity offers. He never won the first prize in his life. Joe Wayring walks away with it every time. Suppose you fellows come in and see if you can’t make Joe lower his broad pennant for a while. If you find that you can’t beat him—and, although I am no friend of his, I tell you plainly that it will be the hardest piece of work you ever undertook—you might get in his way and let him foul you, you know. I tried my level best to do it last year, but he was too smart for me.”