A racing shell containing two boys waited at the float. Each had a blue sweater thrown over his shoulders. Another shell, empty, was moored hard by.
The yacht made a landing and Harry went ashore, followed by Gordon. Miss Crosby stood at the rail watching them as they went over the side.
“Remember,” she said, laughing, “it’s a scout’s duty to help others. You see, I know the law!”
The boys hurried to the float and for a moment stood on the edge of the little crowd, unobserved.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Dr. Brent. “There isn’t another oarsman I can put in. I thank you for your kindness, but I’m afraid it will have to go by default. You see, we’re not prepared for this kind of thing, anyway; we’ve already accomplished more than I expected.”
“Nothing doing?” called one of the oarsmen in the waiting shell.
“’Fraid not,” answered some one in authority.
Several fellows in blue sweaters, armed with gigantic megaphones, set up a victorious howl. The Danforth yacht steamed gayly down the course.
“Humph! All over. Those Welden chaps would win in a walk, anyway,” said some one near Harry. Then he heard the referee speak to Dr. Brent from his launch.
“I’m going to start this crew down the course, sir, so that I can give them the decision; you are not prepared?”