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The High School Boys' Canoe Club, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 6. Meeting The Fate Of Greenhorns |
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_ CHAPTER VI. MEETING THE FATE OF GREENHORNS At five minutes before eight Hiram Driggs arrived, keys in hand. "I see you're on time," he smiled, unlocking the gate and throwing it open. "Now come in and we'll run your canoe out on the river float." Even in the dim light of the boathouse Dick & Co. could see the sides of the canoe glisten with their coating of pitch and oil that lay outside the bark. The war canoe looked like a bran-new craft! "Do you like her?" queried Driggs, with a smile of pride in the work of his yard. "Like her?" echoed Dick, a choking feeling in his throat. "Mr. Driggs, we can't talk---yet!" "Get hold," ordered the boat builder. "Carry her gently." Gently? Dick & Co. lifted their beloved treasure as though the canoe carried a cargo of eggs. Out into the morning sun they carried her, letting her down with the stern right at the water's edge. "O-o-o-oh!" It would be hard to say which one of Dick & Co. started that murmur of intense admiration. "Now, if you can take your eyes off that canoe long enough," proposed Driggs, after all hands, the builder included, had feasted their eyes for a few minutes upon the canoe, "come into the office and we'll attend to a little business." Not quite comprehending, the high school boys followed Driggs, who seated himself at his desk, picking up a sheet of paper. "Prescott, I take it you're the business manager of this crowd," the boat builder went on. "Now, look over these figures with me, and see if everything is straight. Here are the different loads of bark you've brought in. I figure them up at $122.60. See if you make it the same?" "Of course I do," nodded Dick, not even looking at the figures. "Careless of you, not to watch another man's figuring," remarked Hiram Driggs. "Now, then, the bark you've brought in comes to just what I've stated. Against that is a charge for the team and wagon, eight days at four dollars a day---thirty-two dollars. Twenty dollars for fixing your canoe. Total charges, fifty-two dollars. Balance due you for bark, seventy dollars and sixty cents. That's straight, isn't it?" "I---I don't understand," faltered Dick Prescott. "Then see if this will help you to understand," proposed Driggs, drawing a roll of bills from his pocket and laying down the money. Here you are, seventy dollars and sixty cents." "But we didn't propose to sell you any bark," Dick protested. "All we expected to do was to bring you in good measure to pay you for all your kindness to us." "Kindness to you boys?" demanded Driggs, his shrewd eyes twinkling. "I hope I may go through life being as profitably kind to others. Boys, the bark you've sold me will enable me to make up several canoes at a fine, fat profit. Take your pay for the goods you've delivered!" Dick glanced at his chums, who looked rather dumbfounded. Then he picked up the bills with an uneasy feeling. "Thank you, then," young Prescott continued. "But there is one little point overlooked, Mr. Driggs. You did the canoe for us at cost, though your price to any other customer would have been thirty dollars." "Oh, we'll let it go at that," Driggs suggested readily. "I'm coming out finely on the deal." "We won't let it go at that, if you please, sir," Dick Prescott retorted firmly. Dick placed a ten dollar bill on the desk, adding: "That makes the full thirty dollars for the repairing of the canoe." "I don't want to take it," said Driggs gruffly. "Then we won't take any of this money for the bark," insisted Dick, putting the rest of the money back on the table. "If you corner me like that," muttered Driggs, "I'll have to take your ten dollars. Now put the rest of the money back in your pocket, and divide it among your crowd whenever you're ready. Wait a minute until I make out a receipt for repairing the canoe. I'll put the receipt in your name, Prescott." Driggs wrote rapidly, then reached for another paper. "And now," he laughed, "since you're so mighty particular about being exact in business, you may as well sign a receipt for the money paid you for the bark." Signatures were quickly given. "Now, I reckon you boys want to get out to your canoe," the builder hinted. "Yes, but we can't take Dick with us," Tom declared. "Not with all that money belonging to the company in his pocket. Dick, before you step into the canoe you'd better leave the money with Mr. Driggs, if he'll oblige us by taking care of it." Driggs dropped the money in an envelope, putting the latter in his safe. "Call and get it when you're going away," he said. "Some day, when we recover, Mr. Driggs," said Dick earnestly, "we're going to come in and try to thank you as we should." "If you do," retorted the boat builder gruffly, "I'll throw you all out. Our present business deal is completed, and the papers all signed. Git!" Driggs followed them out to show them how to launch the canoe with the least trouble. "Have any of you boys ever handled a paddle before?" inquired Hiram Driggs. "Oh, yes; in small cedar canoes," Dave answered. "All of you?" "Yes, sir." "Then you ought to get along all right in this craft. But be careful at first, and don't try any frolicking when you're aboard. Remember, a canoe isn't a craft that can be handled with roughness. Don't anyone try to 'rock the boat,' either. In a canoe everyone has to sit steadily and attend strictly to business." "A war canoe! Isn't it great?" chuckled Dan, as he started to help himself to a seat. But Tom grabbed him by the coat collar, pulling him back. "First of all, Danny Grin, shed that coat. Then ask Dick which seat you're going to have. He's the big chief of our tribe of Indians." "Better all of you leave your coats here," suggested Driggs. "You can get 'em when you come back. And you can keep the canoe here without charge, so you'll have a safe place for it. Some fellows, you know, might envy you so that they might try to destroy the canoe if you left it in a place that isn't locked up at night." When the boys were ready, in their shirt sleeves, Dick assigned Dave Darrin to the bow seat. The others were placed, while Prescott himself took the stern seat, from which the steering paddle must be wielded. "All ready, everyone," Dick called. "Dave, you set the stroke, and give us a slow, easy one. We mustn't do any swift paddling until we've had a good deal of practice. Shove off, Dave." Darrin pushed his paddle against the float, Dick doing likewise at the stern. Large as it was, the canoe glided smoothly across the water. "Now, give us the slow stroke, Dave!" Dick called. Soon the others caught the trick of paddling in unison. Each had his own side of the craft on which to paddle. Dick, alone, as steersman, paddled on either side at will, according as he wished to guide the boat. "You're doing finely," called Hiram Driggs. "Let's hit up the speed a bit," urged Dan Dalzell. "We won't be in too big a hurry about that," Dick counseled. "Let us get the knack of this thing by degrees." "Whee! When we do get to going fast I'll wager there is a lot of fine old speed in this birch-bark tub!" chuckled Tom Reade. Dick now headed the canoe up the river. For half a mile or more they glided along on a nearly straight course. To say that these Gridley high school boys were happy would be putting it rather mildly. There was exhilaration in every move of this noble sport. Nor was it at all like work. The canoe seemed to require but very little power to send her skimming over the water. At last Dick guided the canoe in an easy, graceful turn, heading down the river once more. "Now, you can try just a little faster stroke, Dave," Dick suggested. "And make it just a bit heavier on the stroke, fellows, but don't imagine that we're going to try any racing speed." "Hurrah!" "Zip!" "Wow!" It was great sport! Just the small increase in the stroke sent the handsome big war canoe fairly spinning down the river. "I never dreamed it would be like this!" cried Dave Darrin, in ecstasy. "Fellows, I don't believe there is any fun in the world equal to canoeing in a real canoe." "It beats all the little cedar contraptions that some folks call canoes!" Tom Reade declared. "I am almost beginning to think," announced Danny Grin, "that I'd rather go on canoeing than go home for my dinner." "That idea would last until about half-past twelve," chuckled Reade. "This is glorious fun, all right, but dinner has its place, too. As for me, I want to get my dinner strictly on time." "Glutton!" taunted Greg Holmes. "Don't you believe it," Reade retorted. "I want my dinner right on time so that I can get back for a longer afternoon in the canoe." "Fellows," announced Dave Darrin solemnly, "we've got to form a canoe club." "Humph!" retorted Greg Holmes. "We don't want to belong to any club where the other fellows have only the fourteen or sixteen foot cedar canoes." "We don't have to," Dave explained. "We'll limit the membership to those who own war canoes like this one. In other words, we'll be the whole club." "What's the need of our forming a club?" asked Greg Holmes. "We're as good as being a club already. We're always together in everything, aren't we?" "Still, it won't do any harm to have a regular club name for the summer," Dick Prescott suggested. "What would we call the club?" asked Hazelton. "Why not call it the Gridley High School Canoe Club?" Dick demanded. "Best name possible," Tom agreed. "Some of the other high school fellows might get sore at us, though," Tom hinted. "They might say we had no right to take the high school name." "We won't take it for ourselves only," Dick smiled. "We'll keep the club membership open to any set of six fellows who will own and run a war canoe. We'll keep the membership as open as possible to the high school fellows." "Humph! And then Fred Ripley, Bert Dodge and a few others with plenty of cash would get a canoe and insist on coming in and spoiling the club." "They might," Dick assented, "but I don't believe they would. Fred Ripley, Bert Dodge and a few others of their kind in the Gridley High School wouldn't spend five cents to join anything we're in." Toot! toot! sounded a whistle shrilly behind them. Dick turned carefully to glance at the bend above them. "Steam launch, with an excursion party," he informed the others. "I think I see Laura Bentley and Belle Meade in the bow waving handkerchiefs at us." Dan Dalzell turned abruptly around. Harry Hazelton did the same. "Look out!" cried Greg, as he shifted swiftly to steady the craft. Just then Tom Reade turned, too. His added weight sent the canoe careening. There was a quick scramble to right the craft. Flop! The canoe's port rail was under water. She filled and sank, carrying a lot of excited high school boys down at the same time. _ |
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