Ralph and Loren hastened to assure their cousin that they had not the slightest intention of going back from their original agreement, and that they would stick to him through thick and thin, no matter what happened; but still they wished that Tom would learn to like Joe Wayring, and give up his idea of being revenged upon him for slights which were wholly imaginary. Joe had a much larger following than Prime and Noble, through him they could get more invitations to parties, picnics and hunting and fishing excursions than they could in any other way, and his influence might eventually gain for them an honor which they craved above all others—a membership in the Toxophilites; for those young ladies they met at Miss Arden’s lawn party were handsome and stylish, that was a fact, and Ralph and Loren had more than once told themselves that they would even be willing to give up their cigars, if by so doing they could win the privilege of shooting with those same young ladies twice a week. If they became intimate with George Prime, and were often seen in his company, the Toxophilites would drop them like so many hot potatoes; and then, when invitations for any social gathering were issued, they would be left out in the cold, the same as George was. But whatever they decided to do they must keep on the right side of Tom, for if they did not, he would be sure to make things unpleasant for them. It looked as though Ralph and Loren would have to do the very thing against which they had cautioned their vindictive relative, that is, try to carry water on both shoulders and take their chances of spilling some of it.
“Now we’ll take Joe’s skiff back and put it where we found it, provided the boat-house is open,” said Tom. “If there is any boy in the world who ought to be supremely happy, he is the fellow. He has every thing he can ask for, including a rich and good-natured uncle, who takes him off on hunting and fishing trips nearly every year. Why that boy, young as he is, has shot caribou and moose and caught salmon.”
Yes, Joe Wayring was happy, but it was not wholly on account of his pleasant surroundings. His source of happiness was within himself, and he knew it. He had been taught that lesson at the same time that he was being instructed in athletics and field-sports. He thought more of others than he did of Joe Wayring, and he would go into the dumps in a minute if he saw any of his friends in a disconsolate mood. If things didn’t go right with him—and they went wrong sometimes, as they do with every body—it made no sort of difference with Joe’s good-nature. He kept his troubles to himself; but Tom would get angry and go into the sulks and make all around him miserable. While going on the principle that whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well, Joe was nevertheless perfectly willing to be beaten by any one who could do it fairly; but Tom wanted to be first at any cost. This was the principal difference between the two boys.
Tom cast off the skiff’s painter while Loren and Ralph stepped the mast and shook out the sail, and in twenty minutes more they found themselves in the boat-house, where Joe and his two friends were waiting for them.
“I saw you coming and took the cover off one of my pets so that you could take a look at her,” said the former, directing the attention of his visitors to a neat cedar shell in which he had been wont to win honors before he became a convert to canoeing. “She has taken me first by the judges’ boat in more than one hotly-contested race while I was going to school at Dartmouth Academy. Handsome, isn’t she? No doubt you will be surprised to hear me say it, but there is something that I think more of than I do of her.”
As Joe said this, he pointed toward an ungainly looking object which lay on the floor at the further end of the boat-house. It was a canvas canoe, whose battered sides bore evidence to numerous encounters with sharp-pointed rocks and snags.
“It must be on account of its associations,” replied Loren, looking first at the clumsy canoe and then at the clear-cut lines of the shell. “If I had my choice between the two, it would not take me long to make up my mind which one I wanted.”
“Of course not. There is as much difference between them as there is between a trotter and a plow-horse; but each one has served the purpose for which it was intended, and served it well, too. I like the canoe better, because she was the first thing in the shape of a boat I ever owned. She has carried me a good many hundred miles, first and last, and although she has often got contrary and spilled me out into the water when I wasn’t expecting it, I have had any amount of fun with her exploring creeks and ponds that I could not otherwise have reached. She is fourteen feet long, weighs fifty pounds fully equipped, and packs in that little chest you see there. I know she isn’t very good-looking, but when it comes to running the rapids she is there, every time. That’s the reason I took her out of the chest. We are going down to Sherwin’s Pond to-morrow after bass; will you join us?”
Tom and his cousins replied that they would be glad to do so, and Joe went on to say:
“You see, the fishing in the pond is better than it is in the lake. The people who come here to spend the summer do not often go down there, because there is no wagon road through the woods, and they are afraid to trust themselves to the rapids. Well, they are frightful to look at, that’s a fact, but—”