“What! Oh, get out, Gary!”
“You’re sore, Bull!”
“You didn’t, did you, Poke?”
“Sure I did. It was quicker that way. I wonder you didn’t think of it, Bull.”
“What did I tell you?” demanded Gary in triumph as the other canoes and boats began to unload their passengers. “He knew he couldn’t win fairly and so—”
“Now you hold on a minute, Bull,” commanded Poke smilingly. He pushed his way toward the other end of the float. “Jeff, where are you? Who’s seen Punk Gibbs?” Punk answered from nearby and Jeffrey hobbled through the crowd. “Now, then,” resumed Poke. “Bull says I didn’t win the race fairly. What do you fellows say? You were there when we made the agreement.”
Jeffrey hesitated. “Well,” he said, “you know you carried your canoe across the land, Poke.”
“Of course. What of it? What were the terms of the challenge?”
“You were to start together at the old bridge,” spoke up Gibbs, “and the one who got here first was to have his shoes blacked by the other fellow. That’s the agreement, because I took notice that you didn’t say anything about canoes.”
“Is that the way you remember it, Jeff?” asked Poke.