“I’m willing,” said Chot.
“And I,” said Tom.
“Well, I hope you fellows will wait for me when you’ve finished—that’s all I’ve got to say,” said Pod.
“See that cat-boat moored to the wharf on the east shore?” asked Chot.
The boys nodded.
“We’ll race till we’re even with that, and the winner has to set them up at the first place we strike ice cream soda.”
“The loser, you mean,” said Fleet. “I don’t want to win this race and set them up in the bargain.”
“Well, the loser, then,” said Chot, winking at Tom.
Pod, of course, was not in the race. He was too inexperienced as yet to push his canoe at such a rapid pace, even though he could have stood the strain.
Chot and Tom removed the cushions from their canoes, and fitted in a cross-piece, on which they sat with their feet braced well in under. Fleet, however, could not manage his double-bladed paddle in this fashion, and continued to sit on his cushion, his feet braced out in front of him.