“I was just going to take a little spin—flop I suppose you’d call it. I like to—to drift around.”
“I don’t blame you for turning out early, the way that Bronson snores up in your cabin. Come ahead out and watch me practice, don’t you want to? I’m the goat, you know.”
“Oh you mean about the cup? You’re Bennett?” Billy asked, rather taken aback.
“Sure, they’re all going around the lake to make a raid on Scout Harris—your prepossessor as Blakeley calls him.”
“My predecessor seems to have them all guessing.”
“So this morning’s my chance to practice, and I’m going to keep at it,” Bennett continued. “I’m off the desserts anyway for the present, and I guess there’s nothing to that kid’s big announcement. He’s a scream, that kid is. He’s a regular institution; I don’t know what we’d do without him; die of ong-wee, I guess. I’d like to know what he’s up to over there. What do you say we paddle over after the parade starts?”
Billy Simpson did not know whether to go out with Bennett or not. A foolish, childish pride deterred him. He was sensible enough to conquer this. Moreover, he did want to see Bennett paddle. Fearful of himself as he was, he was still just a little jealous.
“I’ve got the hang of this twirl pretty good now,” said Bennett as he gave a long pull, sending the canoe gliding out into the lake. “Ever paddle?”
“Only in the dark,” said Billy.
“I’m going to hit it straight for that tree,” said Bennett, “without any straightening up. Can I do it?”