Nelson took the lines and off they chugged straight for the corner of Bear Island, where the red-and-white banner of Camp Wickasaw floated above the trees.
“Hold her off a little more,” advised Dan; “there’s a shoal off the end of the island.” He was gazing steadily toward the landing there, and Nelson noticed that he looked disappointed. “Pshaw!” said Dan presently; “I guess they’ve gone on ahead.”
“Who?”
“The Wickasaw fellows. They have a little old sixteen-foot launch which they think can go. We usually get here in time to race them over.”
“Who beats?”
“We do—usually. Last time I raced with them this pesky dory stopped short half-way across. I thought they’d bust themselves laughing. That’s why I hoped we’d meet them this morning.”
“Too bad,” said Nelson. “What sort of a camp is Wickasaw?”
Dan shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “No good. The fellows sleep between sheets and sing hymns every night before they go to bed. Besides, the worst of it is, they have women there.”
“Is it a big camp?”