It was a fitful breeze, that occasionally sent them spinning along, and sometimes dropped altogether, leaving them to wallow on the water unaided. At such moments Polly's anguish was painful to behold.
"What'll we do if it does that in the race, 'Poss?" she wailed.
"Why, bless you, if it does, won't every one be in the same box?" 'Possum answered. But Polly looked unconvinced and anxious, and her brow only cleared when a fresh puff sent them gaily on.
There were only five competitors altogether. Two others arrived on the scene, but on comparing their heavy boats and small umbrellas with those of the other girls, they prudently withdrew, much to 'Possum's relief: the lagoon was not wide enough for a large number of starters. They dodged about here and there, occasionally colliding, and apologizing with much forced politeness, while under their breath they reviled their coxswains. Most of these latter were small girls chosen for their light weight rather than for their ability; but Flossie Parker's was of proved skill, and had steered her to victory in many a hard-fought contest. Flossie's umbrella was red, and of a mighty size. "Still, I'm blessed if I think it has the acreage of Pa Smith's!" thought 'Possum, comparing them.
A shout from the starter's boat brought them into line near the head of the lagoon.
"The finish is the line between those two boats ahead—near the far jetty," said the starter, who looked careworn. "Shut your umbrellas. When I fire the pistol, you open 'em and get along. Any one touching her oars is disqualified. First over the line wins. Bumping not allowed. Now then, are you all ready? Right-oh. Go!"
The pistol's sharp crack cut across the sudden silence. It was followed by five simultaneous snaps, as the umbrellas shot into the air and were unfurled. They spread wide to catch the breeze.
Nothing occurred. There was, at the moment, no breeze. The five competitors wriggled and jerked their sails, and held them at various angles to woo the difficult zephyr, but the zephyr obstinately remained away. The boats began to drift out of line. Loud cheers arose from the shore, with pleasant shouts of encouragement, under which the cheeks of the fair starters burned.
"Mighty funny, I don't think!" snapped Flossie Parker. "I suppose they fancy they're jolly clever. Blow the old wind!" a pious remark which was made on general principles, since, at the moment, there was no wind to blow.
"Push 'er, Flossie! Get out an' push, why don't yer?" The cheering words floated across from the wharf; and Flossie screamed an angry answer.