"What about the race?"
A glum expression settled over the faces of George and Joe.
"Well," said George, "this is Monday morning, and the race is to-morrow afternoon. The doctor says you ought to keep quiet for a week. Of course, the race can't be postponed, and if the Sprite doesn't come to the line to-morrow, why, the Winnequas keep the cup. Also, Merton and his clique keep the money they wagered. That has been their game all along, and every bet they made was with the understanding that if the Yahara Club failed to furnish a starter in the race the Winnequa fellows were to pull down all the stakes."
A glimmer came into Matt's gray eyes.
"It looks to me," he remarked, "as though Merton and his friends had a feeling all along that something was going to happen to the Sprite."
McGlory scowled, and Lorry looked grave.
"Have you heard anything about who started that fire?" went on Matt.
"The latest comes from Merton indirectly," said Lorry. "We hear that he's spreading a report that we were careless with matches, and that we kept our gasoline in the boathouse."
"Sufferin' boomerangs!" snapped McGlory. "I reckon, if we figure it down to a fine point, people will find that Merton was careless in hiring niggers to do his crooked work."
"Negroes?" echoed Matt. "That reminds me, Joe, that I couldn't find you when I woke up and found the boathouse in flames. Where were you?"