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The cutter crews were already in their boats and ready to pull out to the starter's launch which bobbed gaily within easy range of the quarter-deck. Peggy and Polly hung over the rail calling cheery farewells to Durand and Lowell and telling the others that they would never forgive them if they did not win the trophy. "Win! Win!
"There goes the Rhinds boats" called Mr Farnum, as one of the other submarines left her moorings, making for sea in the wake of the "Chelsea," which gunboat was to act as the starter's boat for that day. "What's the name of that particular Rhinds boat?" asked Jack. "The 'Zelda'," replied Lieutenant Danvers. "Nice, lady-like name for a fighting boat," mocked Jack.
Tuckin' the smokes casual into the starter's outside coat pocket I establishes friendly relations almost from the start. "Well, son," says he, "is it the natural blond on the seventh, or the brunette vamp who pounds keys on the third that you want to meet?" "Ah, come, Captain!" says I. "Do I look like a Gladys-hound? Nay, nay! I'm simply takin' a sport census." "Eh!" says he.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of Glencaid," he began gracefully, "as president of the Bachelor Miners' Pleasure Club, it affords me extreme gratification to welcome you to this the most important social event ever pulled off in this Territory. It's going to be a swell affair from the crack of the starter's pistol to the last post, and you can bet on getting your money's worth every time.
Tom's Lily would have joined them her new friend was not a wet smack but Tom, with his throbbing ankle, did not offer to go, and she was too proud to suggest it. So they sat and waited. The race was eventually rowed. At the starter's gun the train gave another convulsive jerk, which sent Tom's injured foot flying against the side of the car, and the crowd fanned into life its jaded enthusiasm.
Within fifty yards Fango scored a turn, and the race was right back to the start. There stood Slyman and Mickey. The Rabbit dodged, the Greyhounds plunged; Jack could not get away, and just as the final snap seemed near, the Warhorse leaped straight for Mickey, and in an instant was hidden in his arms, while the starter's feet flew out in energetic kicks to repel the furious Dogs.
Another leap carried the mountain girl to the edge of the bank, where she crouched like a runner ready for the report of the starter's pistol, her black, beady eyes searching the stream for the volume of manuscript, which had disappeared from sight, drawn down by the troubled swirling currents.
Quickly the two Captains brought their canoes out to the starting line and sat waiting for the shot from the starter's pistol. The command "Paddles Up!" had been given, and twenty-four broad yellow blades were poised stiffly in air, ready for the plunge into the shining water below.
Lily seemed to be having a time with her new young man, and he limped over to a neighbouring fire where there were fewer Lilies and more heat. There he met a classmate of whom he was particularly fond; and before he knew it the starter's launch had put out into the river, and the parties around the fires were scampering back aboard the train.
Waiting for the word to paddle was even worse than waiting for the starter's gun in a sculling race. At last it came, just as we were twenty-five yards from the end of dark water. With a wild shout from the bowman we drove our paddles home.
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