“Sure!” answered Harry. “Only—only it’s pretty one-sided, isn’t it? It doesn’t seem just right to take the stamps, Gerald.”
“That’s all right. Besides, I don’t believe you’ll have a chance. We’re going to win.”
“You wait and see,” said Harry. “How many stamps have you got?”
“I haven’t counted them lately,” replied Gerald carelessly. “Over two thousand, though.” Harry whistled. “I guess it’s only fair, though, to tell you that I—I’m tired of them. If you win I shan’t care much about the stamps, I mean.”
“I shall,” laughed Harry. “I don’t really want Broadwood to win, but—but, gee, I’d like to have those books!”
They lifted their canoe out, set it in the water and climbed into it.
“Where’ll we go?” asked Harry.
“Let’s go up to Flat Island, and then into Marsh Lake on the way back,” answered Gerald. “There’s Dyer and Burgess up there in that blue canoe. See ’em? Ready?”
They dug their paddles and headed upstream. There were a good many canoes out and Gerald and Harry had one or two brisk encounters on the way up. At Flat Island several canoes were pulled up onto the shore and a number of fellows were lolling about in the shade of the willows. They went on by the island for a quarter of a mile to where the river narrows, and then turned and floated back with the tide. Harry had got over his nervousness and no longer insisted on being close to shore.
“This is something like,” he said, settling comfortably down in the stern, where, with just a touch of his paddle now and then he could keep the canoe’s nose pointed right. And Gerald, laying his paddle across his knees, agreed. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the river never looked lovelier. It was pretty warm, but now and then a little breeze crept across the marshland, waving the tall, lush grasses, and brought relief. The river reflected the intense blue of the sky, the willows and alders along the bank were vividly green, and to Gerald came the fanciful thought that Nature was divided in its allegiance, displaying equally the colors of Yardley and Broadwood.