Billy Simpson seemed greatly embarrassed, and he never looked quite so much alone as he did then, for all the clamor ceased as she shook his hand, and the throng fell back silent. There was nothing intentional in this; it just happened that way. But one or two scouts noticed that Simpson was more perturbed and shy than the very commonplace little incident seemed to warrant. He just stared at Mary Temple and did not take his eyes from her. Brent Gaylong said afterward that there was something in his eyes, he did not know what, but that he seemed like one possessed....
He was not seen again until the time of his destiny. A tub race took place, a graceful affair in which all the participants fell in the water. This was followed by a swimming race, and a couple of boat races. Next followed a race of several canoes. And then the event of the day.
The scout who had wriggled his way to the position of challenger was a red-headed fellow from the Middle West. Pee-wee loathed him for no other reason than that he dared to try for the cup.
He was lithe and slender, and had a rather attractive way of holding his head. He looked the young athlete through and through and there was a kind of aggressiveness about him such as to disconcert an opponent. His troop seemed very proud of him. He did not show off exactly, but his manner was such as to make one think he took his victory for granted. A little deference to his opponents would have been more becoming. Having seated himself in his canoe and his companion being seated also, he waited at the float with a blasé air of patience as if he were anxious to get the thing over with.
This cut and dried assurance was in marked contrast with Connie’s demeanor, which was modest and painfully nervous. The throng, gathered about the float and alongshore for many yards on either side, cheered as he stepped into his canoe and nervously accepted the paddle that was handed him.
A silent, solitary figure in a black sweater stood upon the float near Mr. Currie, the starter. He gazed out across the lake, seeming very nervous. He seemed to be trying to concentrate his eyes and thoughts on something quite removed from the scene about him. One might have fancied something exalted, spiritual, in his aspect, but the coarse, black sweater and rather hulking shoulders, spoiled that.
“This your sand-bag?” Mr. Currie asked. He meant nothing disrespectful. It was just the name used for the one going to steady the canoe. But there was a tittering here and there in the crowd as the figure in the black sweater stepped into the bow of Connie’s light, bobbing little craft and sat hunched up there.
No one thought of him again. They were thinking of pleasanter things....
CHAPTER XXXII—SOMETHING BIG
The two canoes glided forward abreast. It was a good start. A chorus of cheers went up from the crowd near the float and was taken up by the groups which dotted the shore for the distance of half way round the lake.