Poke possessed the ability to awake in the morning at approximately whatever hour he had decided upon the night before, a most convenient gift that saved the price of an alarm clock. On Saturday Poke made use of this ability and was out of bed long before any one else in the house was stirring and out of the house without having awakened even Gil. It was fortunate that he had put a sweater on under his jacket, for the morning was cloudy and chill as he set off along the road toward the school and the river. But early as he was, Sammy was ahead of him at the boat-house. The latter was just unlocking when Poke arrived, and he displayed an unflattering surprise at his appearance. “Likely you been up all night,” he said, struggling with a yawn as he ushered Poke into the house.
[257]
“Had your breakfast, Sammy?” Poke asked.
“O’ course I have,” replied the boatman indignantly. “Most time for dinner it is now.”
“Wish I had,” sighed Poke. “What’s the smallest and lightest canoe you’ve got, Sammy?”
“I dunno. There’s all kinds here. Take your pick o’ ’em.”
“No, you show me, Sammy. I don’t know much about the things.”
Sammy walked along the racks, chin in hand, mumbling. Finally,
“Here be it,” he announced, placing his hand on a green canvas canoe. “Light and short, sir, and paddles itself.”
“All right. Put her over, Sammy.”
“Be you goin’ out now?” asked the boatman in surprise.
“Of course. A little exercise before breakfast, you know. I’m troubled with dyspepsia. Doctor’s orders, Sammy.”
“You be over young to have dyspepsy,” said Sammy, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Too many sweets, likely. What kind o’ paddle, now; double or single?”
“Single, please. That’s the ticket. See you[258] later, Sammy.” And Poke dipped his blade and leisurely headed down-stream. If his purpose was to practise for the race he gave but small indication of the fact, for he only put his paddle in the water when the slow current threatened to send him toward the banks. Presently he had passed under the bridge at Birch Island and was out of sight. Sammy, who had watched from the float, turned and ambled back to the work-shop, shaking his head.
“It’s puttin’ a lot o’ rich victuals in their stummicks as does it,” he muttered as he set about lighting the stove. “Dyspepsy be the curse o’ the age. That,” he added as he felt a twinge in his knee, “that an rhumatics.” He dropped some fresh sheet-glue in the glue pot, set it over the fire and glanced out the window. “’Twill be soon clearin’,” he murmured. “Likely I’d best finish paintin’ that canoe so ’twill dry.”
It was about half an hour later that he heard a noise at the float and saw Poke lifting his canoe out of the water. Poke had acquired very red cheeks and a hearty appetite, but whether he had acquired more skill at paddling remained to be seen.
“You be soon back,” observed Sammy, putting[259] his head out the shop door. “Likely you be thinkin’ some o’ breakfast by now.”
“I’m thinking of nothing else, Sammy,” replied Poke heartily. “And, Sammy, I want you to do me a favor.”
The boatman immediately looked dubious. He didn’t believe overmuch in doing favors. But Poke’s next action cleared his face. Poke put his hand in his trousers pocket and brought out a bright quarter.
“I’m going to have a race with a fellow at eleven o’clock,” he went on, “and I want this same canoe. See that I get it, will you? And here’s something for your trouble.”
“That be easy,” replied Sammy, “and I’ll not be taken siller for’t.” But he did nevertheless, slipping the quarter into the pocket of his overalls even as he spoke. “Leave it to me, sir, an’ ’twill be here when you come.” He lifted the green canvas canoe and placed it athwart a couple of horses in the shop. “Likely,” he added, “it be in need o’ repairin’.”
Poke just barely got into chapel in time. Afterwards Gil and Jim and Jeffrey were curious to know where he had been.
“I’ve been on the river,” replied Poke. “I[260] thought it would be a good idea to have a sort of dress rehearsal, you see.”
Gil viewed him suspiciously. Finally, “Look here, Poke,” he said, “is this on the level, this race?”
“No, on the river,” replied Poke flippantly, “and you know they’re never quite level.”
“Do you mean,” asked Jeffrey, “that you went down at six o’clock and paddled over the course?”
“Something like that. But it was before six, I think. Say, you chaps, for the love of Mike, walk up, will you? I’m just about starved to death! I came mighty near nibbling the varnish off the settee in chapel. This before-breakfast exercise is great stuff, I tell you. You ought to try it, Jeff. You never eat anything to speak of. Get into your little canoe some morning and paddle a couple of miles and just see how it tones you up. It’s marvelous! Anybody got any chocolate about their person? Or a slab of chewing gum? Or any other little thing that will keep life in my starving body?”
But nobody had. Jim offered a cough-drop from the corner of his waistcoat pocket, but after looking it over Poke refused it indignantly.[261] “I can get all the dirt I want without having to take paregoric with it,” he said.
Gil had gotten it into his head that there was something “fishy,” as he put it, about the race, and tried his best to get Poke to confess to some ............