"Nope."
"Two."
"Nope!"
"Oh, let him alone," advised Betty. "What are we going to do next?"
"Oh, just sail on—sail on," answered Allen with a laugh. "We won't try any more races though."
They proceeded up the river another mile or so, and had a distant glimpse of their rivals scudding about. Then something else claimed their attention. This was a sight of some men fishing through the ice for pickerel, and the girls at once evinced an appetite for fresh fish.
"Why, we can do that ourselves," declared Will. "We'll try it when we get back."
"Oh, see if you can't get them to sell you some," begged Grace. "They will be fine for supper."
The men were very willing to dispose of some of their catch. They were lumbermen from a distant camp, which fact becoming known, Grace insisted on her brother inquiring if they knew anything of Paddy Malone.
"I used to know him," said one burly fisherman, "but he hasn't been around for a year or so."