She insisted upon their following her into the cozy little sitting-room. “It was nothing at all,” Harry said. “But if we might ask a favor, perhaps you’d be willing to let us clean up a bit here. My friend—well, I’m really ashamed of him—the fact is, we’ve been mountaineering.”
Might they? Indeed they might! And they must also stay and have some lunch. No, she would hear of nothing else.
It is a scout’s duty to be polite and not to gainsay a lady, so they—well, they stayed, in obedience to Section 5, Scout Law.
When they thanked her and started forth from her hospitable roof, they were quite presentable. She had insisted upon sewing several buttons on Gordon’s uniform, all of which he had unearthed from various pockets, and after a sponging process, he came forth glowing and immaculate.
They had also learned something regarding the day’s program. Four rowing crews were entered for a contest,—Plattsburgh, Port Henry, and a crew of boys from the Welden School who were summering at Port Henry. The Welden School was somewhere over in Vermont, or Massachusetts, she thought. Then there was also another crew “from down lake somewheres,” but she guessed the Welden boys would have things their own way. She didn’t care much who won “s’long’s nobody got drowned.”
The boys thanked her again and started for the seat of war. They found both shores lined with people as far down as they could see. Harry had hoped to get a glimpse of the racing craft and size up the contesting crews, but the dense throng surrounding the boat-house and float made this impossible.
“Come on,” said he, “there’s nothing doing here. Let’s get down to the finish. I don’t believe they’ll pull more than a mile.”
They started down the road which skirted the shore, working their way through a labyrinth of buckboards and three-seated stages and throngs of spectators. Overhead, the sky was cloudless, and the sun poured hotly down upon an army of parasols. Out in the lake it touched the still water with gold, and here a little motor-dory, flying the boat-club’s colors, chugged about, warning encroaching canoes off the course. It seemed to be a thankless task, for as fast as one was driven back another darted forward, until the busy, important little boat reminded one of the old woman who lived in a shoe. Down at the finish, the throng expanded into a seething mass. So close together were canoes and dories that they seemed to form a solid float. On the shore, carriages and autos were drawn up. The whole countryside had turned out in holiday attire.
Through this dense mass the boys managed, by a series of maneuvers, to reach the shore, and soon stood at a point where they had an open view up the river. The little official boat came chugging down past them, and boldly essayed the task of ordering a handsome steam yacht to get beyond the finish line.
“We’re not on the course,” shouted its captain.