Billy Simpson did watch and thought that Bennett paddled skilfully. But he could not help noticing that his companion breathed rapidly. He seemed to spend all his effort in the first part of his stroke, and each pull left him somewhat winded. His stroke seemed remarkably strong and effective, but it was spasmodic. With each stroke he caught the canoe and sent it forward again instead of keeping it going at a smooth, even rate of speed.
The one way would correspond to the action of a one cylinder motor, the other to a two or four cylinder motor. That is to say, the effect of one stroke was not merged into the effect of the next. Whatever this kind of work meant in point of speed, it certainly did not conserve the strength of the paddler.
“They talk to me about the long stroke,” said Bennett, breathing heavily and shaking his falling hair up off his forehead; “but I’m as I am, that’s what I tell them. The best way to do a thing is the way you do it. Isn’t that right? Some fellows bat best left-handed, huh? Results are the things that count.”
“I’ll say so,” said Billy.
“If you ever go in for paddling look out your paddle doesn’t get underneath when you twirl; it just holds you back. Let it get way in back of you—then drag. See, like this.”
Why didn’t Billy Simpson tell how he could actually paddle, using but one hand, all the while keeping the canoe in a bee-line course? Why did he not speak of the back sweep? Of the little trick in the steering twirl? Well, he did not know them by those names, for one thing. He had never had any athletic connections and he had no technical talk. But why on earth didn’t he ask for the paddle for just one little minute and show what he could do with that wonderful wrist of his? Why didn’t he loosen up as he had done with Brent Gaylong? Well, fellows did loosen up with Brent; there was something about him.... Old Doctor Gaylong didn’t have any particular kind of talent to be afraid of. He did not have a name to strike terror to the shy amateur. He was just good old Doctor Gaylong.
And Billy Simpson, he was just Billy Simpson. And that is why he did not tell that he could paddle right or left, it made no difference. He just did not know how in the presence of this self-possessed, easy-going young champion. That was Billy Simpson, all over.
But one thing he did say, and an observant scout might have noticed that he seemed to ponder before saying it.
“You—in the race—you paddle alone?”
“Oh, I’ll have a fellow to steady the canoe. A fellow hasn’t got any control unless he has some weight forward, you know.”