“Of course we will,” was the almost unanimous reply.
There was, however, one fellow mean enough to slip unnoticed out of the room and telegraph the whole affair to his paper, laying all the blame upon poor Myles, whom he spoke of as having repented when it was too late. For this act he was afterward kicked off the press-boat by the other reporters, and so lost his chance of seeing the race.
In the meantime Myles and Billings hurried from the hotel, engaged a horse and buggy, crossed the ferry to the Groton side of the river, and drove rapidly up the pleasant country road along its eastern bank to the X—— quarters.
As they drew up in front of the roomy farmhouse that Myles remembered so well, he sprang out and found himself face to face with his old rival, Ben Watkins. Ben, who was now captain of the crew, was walking toward the front gate, above which was displayed the cause of all the trouble.
“How are you, Ben?” said Myles, cordially, as he stepped toward the gate with the intention of entering.
“Ah, Manning, that you?” answered the other in a constrained tone. “Glad to see you—that is,” he added, hesitatingly, “if you come as a friend.”
“As a friend?” questioned Myles in amazement, stopping outside the gate, against which Watkins now leaned in such a manner as to prevent its being opened. “What can you mean? How else could I come to the quarters of the X—— College crew?”
“Oh, well,” replied Watkins, a little uneasily, “I heard you had gone on to some paper, and I didn’t know but what you came as a reporter.”
“So I do come as a reporter, as well as a friend of X——,” replied Myles, whose voice trembled a little, though he tried to speak calmly and naturally. “I have been sent here to help report this race for the Phonograph. But what difference does that make?”
“A great deal,” answered Watkins; “for I don’t see how we can break through that rule”—here he pointed to the notice above their heads—“even in your case.”