“I suppose that horrid little gunboat canoe named ‘Flossie’ will get our prize,” mourned Winona, casting fortitude to the wind—which must have carried it quite a way, for it was blowing more and more strongly. “I know we’d have had one of the fourth prizes, too!”
“You have the glory, anyway,” he said. “Everybody applauded us more than they did anything else except that big Queen Elizabeth float.”
“But I wanted the money, and I wanted to have the Camp Fire have a prize! There, Billy, I won’t be a coward any more. I’m tired, I think, or I wouldn’t have acted like this kind of an idiot,” she said bravely, pushing up her mask to dry her eyes, and trying to smile.
“You’ve worn yourself out over this decoration business, that’s what the matter is,” said Billy. “Do you mind telling me what you want the money for?”
“No, certainly not. I wanted to get a pair of silk stockings apiece for Adelaide and me. I know she wants a pair dreadfully, because she never had them, and if I got a pair like them for myself she’d be more apt to take them—and—well, I wanted a pair, too!”
Billy registered an inward vow that his Aunt Lydia should manage it just as soon as it was humanly possible. He knew that she would do more than that for Winona, for whom she had conceived a strong liking.
“Poor kid, she’s all worked up about it,” he murmured, forgetting his own disappointment, for he, too, had hoped that his canoe would get a prize.
But help was in sight. About five minutes later (though Winona and Billy always swore it was a full half hour) they felt a violent rocking, and heard the insistent wuff-wuff-wuff of a steam launch.
“Here, catch a-hold and tie yourself on,” said the welcome voice of the marshal out of the darkness, without the least waste of words or time.
As soon as Billy’s excited fingers could do it they were fastened to the end of the marshal’s official launch, and bobbing off towards the royal float at a tremendous rate of speed.