Part 25 (2/2)

”I hope not, Charley. You know the const.i.tution provides for a new c.o.xswain every two weeks; when you are chosen, I shall obey your orders.”

”I don't deserve to be c.o.xswain.”

”Well, never mind it. It is all right now.”

Good feeling was again restored, and the boys once more began to enjoy themselves. The Zephyr worked admirably, and Frank deported himself with so much dignity and firmness that the boys rendered the most unqualified obedience to all his orders. But he was not tyrannical nor overbearing. When there was a difference of opinion, he was always ready to yield his own inclination to the wishes of the majority.

The boat pa.s.sed round the lower end of the lake, and was approaching its upper extremity.

”What's that?” exclaimed Frank, rising from his seat, as he discovered a boat lying near the sh.o.r.e full of boys.

”Way enough!” said he.

”It is the Bunkers!” exclaimed Tony. ”I see Tim in the stern.”

”It is Joe Braman's boat,” added Fred Harper. ”Here they come.”

”Twig the flags!” cried Charles Hardy.

”In imitation of the Zephyr,” said Frank, laughing heartily.

The boat approached near enough for them to examine her. It was, as Fred had declared, Joe Braman's boat; but she had been very much altered. Apparently she had been sawed in two and lengthened out. She had been painted bright yellow, with a red streak round her; and on the bows, after the manner of the Zephyr, was inscribed, in black letters, the name ”Thunderbolt,” which was in accordance with Tim Bunker's taste. She was pulled by eight oars, and the redoubtable leader of the gang sat in the stern-sheets as c.o.xswain. Forward floated a blue cotton rag, with the letter ”T” daubed upon it in white paint, and surrounded by half a dozen ill-shaped stars. At the stern was a ragged piece of bunting, which had once been the flag of the Republic, but which had been curtailed of nine of its stripes and a part of its stars.

The Bunkers evidently had not practised rowing much; for their stroke was irregular, and they splashed the water about like so many porpoises. Occasionally one of them got hit in the back by his neighbor's oar, which produced a great deal of swearing and wrangling among them. They made but slow progress through the water, and the Zephyrs could scarcely refrain from laughing at the singular spectacle.

CHAPTER XIV

THE COLLISION

Joe Braman, the alleged proprietor of the Thunderbolt, was an idle, dissolute fellow, who employed his time in gunning, fis.h.i.+ng, and loitering about the dramshops of Rippleton. He lived on the north sh.o.r.e. How he obtained his living, it would have been difficult to determine.

Tim Bunker was an especial favorite with Braman, and people said it was because there was a natural sympathy between them. Joe's boat was a long, flat-bottomed affair, not very graceful in its form or construction. With the exception of Captain Sedley's sailboat and the club boat, it was, perhaps, the only boat on the lake; and small parties occasionally engaged Joe to take them out fis.h.i.+ng in it.

The history of its present appearance was sufficiently plain to the Zephyrs. It had been lengthened out, a sharp, false bow attached to it, painted, and such other improvements made as would fit it for the purposes of a club boat.

”Isn't she one of the boats?” laughed Charles.

”Silence, forward!” said Frank, shaking his head as a gesture of warning to the boys not to provoke any ill nature.

”Who yer lookin' at?” cried Tim Bunker, as the Thunderbolt came near the Zephyr.

”Good-morning, Tim,” said Frank pleasantly.

”Why don't yer pull, yer lubbers?” shouted Tim.

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