“What made you do such a silly thing?” asked Jeffrey of Poke as they hurried back to Academy Hall. “You know very well he can paddle faster than you can.”

“Ah,” replied Poke gravely, “the race is not always to the swift, Jeff.”

“Well, a canoe race is. You’d better put in all your spare time to-day and to-morrow practising. You’ll have to learn to keep your canoe straight first of all, Poke.”

“I shall take several lessons. I engage you now to impart to me all the knowledge you have, Jeff, of the gentle art of canoedling. If I can get the hang of that twist I’ll be all right.”

But Jeffrey shook his head. “He will beat you to a frazzle,” he said dejectedly. “We won to-day because our canoe was the faster of the two. Gary is a good paddler, and he’s as strong as an ox.”

“Tut, tut, my tearful friend! I have the strength of a team of oxes—I mean oxen. I’m like a horse, Jeff; I don’t know my own strength yet.”

“Well, you’ll know it Saturday forenoon! Of course you can use Mike if you want to, but I think you’d better take one of the shorter canoes; it would be lots easier to handle.”

“I mean to. I mean to take the shortest and lightest one I can find. Can you give me a lesson after football practice this afternoon, Jeff?”

“Yes, but you’ll be too tired, won’t you?”

“I never tire,” replied Poke grandly. “I’ll meet you on the gym steps at five sharp.”

“It will be almost dark by that time,” Jeffrey objected.

“Never mind. We’ll take a lantern, Jeff. Maybe, though, we can start before five. You be there at a quarter to. Or, better still, you go down to the boat-house and get your canoe over and ready, and I will come as soon as I can skip off. How’s that?”

“That’s better. I’ll be all ready for you at four-thirty, and you get there as soon as you can. I’ll put you in the stern this time.”

“All right. I wonder how a little resin would go on my hands. They’re getting full of blisters!”

Poke’s challenge created quite a sensation at dinner time. Gil told him he was a chump, and Jim, without actually saying so, confirmed the judgment. Only Hope refused to see defeat in prospect.

“Of course you can beat him!” she declared cheerfully. “I think Brandon Gary is a perfectly horrid boy!”

“That doesn’t alter the fact that he’s a pretty good chap with the paddle,” said Gil dryly, “or that Poke doesn’t really know one end of a canoe from the other.”

“Nobody does,” replied Poke untroubledly, passing his plate for a second helping of vegetables. “They’re exactly alike!”

“Well, we will all be there to see you finish,” laughed Jim.

“And we’ll all be there to see him black Bull Gary’s shoes,” added Gil.

Poke viewed him sorrowfully. “It pains me deeply, Gil, to find you have so little faith in me. I used to think you were my friend.”

“You can show him all about rowing a canoe, can’t you, Jeff?” asked Hope anxiously. “I should think if he practised hard to-morrow he’d just beat that Gary boy all to bits!”

“There will be very little left of him but bits after the race,” said Poke. “I feel sorry for him, fellows; I actually do.”

The rest hooted.

Poke proved a diligent pupil that afternoon. Jeffrey gave him the stern paddle and Poke labored hard with it. And by the time darkness drove them back to the boat-house Poke had actually mastered the trick of holding the canoe straight after the stroke. The next day, which was Friday, there were two sessions on the river, one in the morning, between Latin and English recitations, and one again after practice in the late afternoon.

“You really did very well,” said Jeffrey as they went back to Sunnywood through the chilly twilight. “If you can do a little bit better to-morrow you may stand a chance of finishing pretty well.”

“I shall win,” replied Poke with deep conviction.

By Friday noon the entire school was in possession of the fact that Gary and Endicott were to have a canoe race and the fellows were discussing the event with much interest and amusement. It was no secret that Poke was a veritable tyro at the paddle, but every one who knew Poke was certain that in some way, by luck or pluck or sheer impudence, he would give his opponent a hard race. To make sure, however, that the world at large should know of the event, Poke himself printed out and posted on the notice board in Academy Hall a highly alluring announcement, which read as follows:

Gary didn’t altogether approve of that notice. It sounded as though Poke meant to make a spectacle of him, although he couldn’t just see how that was to be accomplished. “The silly chump can’t paddle a canoe to save his neck,” he confided to a friend. “So what does he mean by all this nonsense?”

“They say he’s been practising three or four times a day,” replied the other.

“He will need more practice than that if he is going to beat me,” grunted Gary. “I’ve a good mind to tear that notice down.”

But he didn’t, and the notice continued to provide mirth for the passers. On Friday afternoon a complication arose and threatened to put an end then and there to the contemplated event. Johnny Connell put his foot down.

“Look here, Endicott,” he said in the gymnasium before afternoon football practice, “don’t you know we’ve got a game with Frawley’s to-morrow?”

“Of course I know it, Johnny. Why?”

“Then you cut out this canoe race business, my boy. I’m not going to have you get tired and go stale at this time of the season.”

“But, Johnny—”

“Cut it out, I tell you! If you don’t I’ll see Sargent and you’ll get in trouble.”

Poke thought hard for a moment. Then he drew the coach aside and there ensued a whispered conference in a corner of the locker room, during which a smile crept into Johnny’s face, a smile that finally became a full-fledged grin.

“Oh, well, all right, if that’s it,” he said at last. “But mind you don’t get tired, now.”

“I won’t,” Poke promised. “And don’t you say a word to any one, Johnny. If you do you’ll spoil the whole show.”

“I won’t. What time’s this race to be?”

“Eleven sharp, from the old bridge down the river.”

Johnny chuckled. “I guess I’ll have to see it,” he said.

That evening Jeffrey and Jim accompanied Gil and Poke to Plato Society. It was not a business meeting to-night and there were quite a few invited guests present. It was too cold to sit out of doors and so the social room was filled to its capacity. As usual, there was music and the evening passed very pleasantly. Both Jeffrey and Jim were introduced to a number of fellows they had not met before, and each had a very good time. Poke’s appearance was the signal for wild applause, and the others had a good deal of fun with him over to-morrow’s canoe race. Later on Gary came in, and he, too, was hailed with cheers, although as he had never been very popular with the other members of the society, his advent caused less of an ovation.

Gary had accepted his punishment with smiling indifference, and at first the school at large had been inclined to sympathize with him. But his attitude had soon changed that. No longer on the football team, and with no prospect of rejoining it this fall, he pretended a vast contempt for it and frequently predicted defeat in the Hawthorne game. For some unknown reason his resentment appeared to be against Duncan Sargent and Johnny Connell instead of Mr. Hanks or the Principal, and he was forever criticizing the former’s efforts at leadership and coaching. If he felt any anger against Mr. Hanks—and I am inclined to believe that he did not—he never betrayed it. Having learned his lesson, Gary was quick to profit by it, and no member of his classes was any more docile and well-behaved than he.

The Platonians tried to get Poke and Gary together that evening and have them talk on the subject of the race, but each fought shy of the other, although each seemed willing enough to talk about it when the other was out of hearing.

“He hasn’t the ghost of a show,” declared Gary. “I don’t know what his game is. I guess he just wants to make a sensation. Why, he never paddled a canoe in his life until the other day!”

“I don’t believe that,” said some one. “Who says so, Bull?”

“He told me so himself,” replied Gary. And it was a tribute to Poke’s veracity that no one suggested a doubt after that. Poke when baited waved a hand airily and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m sorry for Bull,” he said with regret in his voice. “I suppose I shouldn’t have led him into it. But, after all, it’s just a little fun. He will get over his disappointment in time.”

His audience chuckled and winked.

“But they say, Poke,” said one of his hearers, “that you don’t know how to paddle.”

“Don’t know how to paddle! Me? Well, if you want to believe everything you hear, that’s not my fault. Without desiring to appear conceited, fellows, I think I may lay claim to being the nicest little paddler in this state, if not in the country. I can paddle with my eyes shut and one hand tied securely behind my back. I am the only successful exponent of the Bob Cook stroke.”

“That’s a rowing stroke, you crazy chump!”

“What of it? I have adapted it to canoeing,” replied Poke calmly. “It is the stroke with which I shall win to-morrow’s classic event, gentlemen. I trust that you will all be on hand to see how it is done.”

“We’ll be on hand to see how you are done,” a fellow laughed. “Honestly, Poke, you’ve got more cheek than any fellow in the country!”

“I?” said Poke with a demure smile. “You surprise me. It shows how you misjudge my character, Tom. I am a modest little violet, did you but know it.”

“We didn’t but know it, Poke,” replied Tom.

“The kind of a violet he means,” said another, “is about the size of a soup plate, is yellow and grows in the sun.”

“Get out,” said Poke, “that’s a forget-me-not! You’d better go back to the Junior Class and study your botany again.”

“Well, we’ll all be on hand to-morrow morning, Poke, to root for you. And, say, Poke, if you lose, you know, I’ll lend you my blacking set!”