CHAPTER I.

SIMPSON TELLS A SECRET.

"Halloo, Blues! What are you doing out here?"

"What are you Whites doing out here?"

"We came out to see you beaten."

"You did? Then we would advise you to pull ashore immediately, for that is something you will not see this day."

"Won't we, indeed? You'll soon tell a different tale. In less than an hour you will pull off those blue rosettes and throw them overboard."

"On the contrary, in less than an hour the boys who wear those blue rosettes will be cheering the champions of the State."

"Ha! Tell that to the marines. Perhaps they will believe it."

This conversation took place between the occupants of two little sailboats, the Sunbeam and the Firefly, which had been thrown up into the wind and now lay almost motionless side by side, while the boys who made up their passengers and crews lounged on the thwarts, fanning their flushed faces with their hats, and ever and anon turning their eyes toward the shore in an eager, expectant manner, as if they were waiting for something.

From the positions in which the little vessels lay, their crews had a good view of the bay for ten miles on every side, and the sight presented to their gaze was one worth going a long way to see. The water was dotted with small craft of every description—tugs, skiffs, single-oared shells and sailboats, the latter all flying the colors of the Lone Star Yacht Club, and the shore in front of the academy was lined with carriages and people. It was a gala day in Elmwood, and almost every man, woman and child for miles around had come in to witness an event that had been the topic of conversation for weeks—a race between two of the best boat clubs in the State.

Elmwood was situated on an extensive bay which indented the coast of one of our Southern States. It was a wealthy and thriving place, and in spite of the fact that the war was only just over, it boasted of as fine an academy as could be found anywhere. There were two hundred students and more on the rolls, and although you could have picked out from the number any number of lazy, mischievous boys—such fellows intrude themselves everywhere—you could not have found one who did not love the school and all its surroundings. It was no wonder that the institution stood high in the estimation of both scholars and patrons, for the faculty were men who believed in making it a pleasant place for the boys under their charge. Innocent sports of every kind were not only tolerated but encouraged, the professors often taking part in them with as much eagerness as the boys themselves. Just now everything except aquatics was at a discount, and this state of affairs had been brought about by accident.

Among the boys who spent all their spare time upon the bay were two crews who were looked up to by the rest of the students as authorities on all matters pertaining to boats and rowing. The head man of one of these crews was Gus Layton, and the owner and stroke of the other was Bob Nellis, his cousin. The former rowed in a shell called the Mist, while Bob and his men took their daily airings in a beautiful little craft called the Zephyr.

One evening, while the crew of the Mist, who called themselves the champions of Elmwood, were taking a pull on the bay to exercise their muscles and cool their brains after a long siege of study in the school-room, they fell in with Bob Nellis and his men, who were out for the same purpose, and of course a race ensued. The self-styled champions expected to walk away with their opponents very easily, but to their intense chagrin and the overwhelming astonishment of fifty or more students who stood on the shore watching the contestants, the Zephyr went ahead rapidly, and rounded to in front of the academy the winner by more than a dozen lengths. Bob and his crew were so highly elated over the result of the race that they immediately challenged the crew of the Mist to a contest for the championship, which was promptly accepted, and this particular day had been set for the trial.

The excitement began to run high directly. The students at once declared themselves the adherents of one or the other of the rival clubs, and took to wearing rosettes on their jackets. Bob and his men wore a white uniform, and Gus and his men dressed in blue, and by looking at the rosettes a student wore one could tell which side he favored without asking any questions.

For weeks nothing but the race had been talked of. The enthusiasm of the students was so contagious that even their fathers, older brothers, and mothers and sisters became interested. The ladies, old and young, took to wearing rosettes, and manufactured them by the dozen, blue or white, as their fancy and their preference dictated. Mr. Sprague, the father of one of the Mist's crew, purchased a beautiful pitcher and cup, both bearing suitable inscriptions, which were to be presented to the winning crew by the prettiest young lady in Elmwood, and so the young oarsmen had something besides the championship to work for.

The Blues were confident, as they had reason to be. The crew of the Mist handled their oars with a grace and skill that were surprising, and the way they made their light shell dance over the water, when once they settled fairly down to their work, frightened all the other academy boys, who allowed them to claim and boast of the championship without a single contest to prove their superiority. Bob and his men acknowledged that the odds were against them, and devoted every spare moment to preparations for the race. Jack Phillips, the coxswain of the Zephyr, measured off a two-mile course at the upper end of the bay, and twice each day his crew pulled over it in a heavy yawl. They swung Indian clubs and dumb-bells to harden their muscles, ran long races over the road to increase their powers of endurance, and all this while attended regularly to their school duties and kept pace with their classes. They were the favorites among the students by long odds, as any one could have told by counting the rosettes, and it was whispered about among the students that if all the crew of the Mist were like Gus Layton, its owner, there wouldn't have been a blue rosette to be seen. He was the most unpopular boy in school—so very unpopular, indeed, that any of the Blues, when asked why they wore his colors, felt called upon to explain that it was not on his account, but for the sake of Sprague, Haight and Bright, other members of his crew, whom everybody acknowledged to be good fellows. No one, not even his particular crony, said that Gus was a good fellow, and the reason for this will be seen as our story progresses.

"I say, Johnny," exclaimed Tom Thayer, continuing the conversation which we have so unceremoniously interrupted, "you don't want to see Bob Nellis beaten. Let me pull off that blue rosette and give you another that will correctly express your feelings."

Tom Thayer wore a white rosette and held the helm of the Sunbeam, while Johnny Parker wore a blue and was seated at the helm of the Firefly.

"I have no sympathy for Gus, that's a fact," said Johnny, raising his arm to shield the colors that were pinned to his breast. "But there's Sprague, you know; he is my chum."

"I am aware of it," replied Tom; "but with all due respect to you and him, I must say that he is keeping very bad company. He deserves to be beaten."

Johnny had no reply to make to this. It had long been a matter of wonder and discussion among the students that so good a fellow as Sprague should associate with such a scamp as Gus Layton, and as Johnny did not know what to say in defense of his friend's conduct, he brought the Firefly before the wind and filled away for the opposite side of the bay.

"I say, fellows," continued Tom, as soon as the very light wind that was blowing had carried the Firefly a hundred yards or so away, "did you notice how Simpson acted?"

"I was just about to ask the same question," said one of Tom's passengers. "He is almost bursting with some secret or other. Let's call him back and find out what it is. Isn't it strange how that fellow gets hold of every bit of news that's floating about?"

The boy referred to was seated in the Firefly with Johnny Parker. Next to Gus Layton he was the most unpopular boy in school, and the reason was, because he was an incorrigible tale-bearer. His tongue was so unruly that he never could keep a secret, no matter how damaging it might be to others, or even to himself. This unfortunate habit had got him into numberless scrapes, but he never seemed to learn wisdom by his rough experience.

While the conversation we have recorded was being held, Simpson kept twisting about on his seat, smiling and winking at his companions in a way that would have excited the astonishment and mirth of a stranger, but which told the boys present as plainly as words that he knew something which he could hardly keep from telling. By the time the two boats separated his secret had so swelled within him that he could contain it no longer.

"The Whites seem confident," said he, and as he spoke his companions, who had been lounging about the boat in various attitudes, started up quickly to hear what was coming, "but I will bet the contents of the next box I receive from home that the Blues beat them. I'll even bet that the Zephyr is not rowed over two hundred yards of the course," he added, with a knowing shake of his head.

"You will?" exclaimed Johnny.

"Yes, sir. I suppose we are all friends. We all wear the same colors."

"Speak out, Simp," exclaimed one of Johnny's passengers. "You know you can't keep it any longer."

"And it is a wonder he has kept it as long as he has," said another.

"I think I have held my tongue pretty still since you fellows poured that bucket of water over me for telling the professors who it was that knocked the pickets off the fence," replied Simpson. "But I will tell you this, for it is much too good to keep. Bob's oar is cut half in two."

As Simpson said this he leaned back on his elbow in the stern-sheets and looked from one to the other of his companions to see what they thought about it. To say that they were astonished would not half express it. True they had heard of numerous plots, in all of which Simpson was implicated, to injure the Zephyr so that she could not be pulled in the race, but the boat and everything belonging to her had been so closely watched that Bob and his friends were positive that no advantage had been taken of them.

"Yes, sir," repeated Simpson. "Bob's oar will break the very first time he lays out his strength on it."

"Did you cut it?" asked Johnny, as soon as he had recovered from his amazement.

"No, I didn't; but I know who did. It was Mr. Layton, Gus's father."

"Well, now, if that wasn't a pretty piece of business for a man to engage in I wouldn't say so," cried Johnny, indignantly. "Simp, you and the crowd you run with are too contemptible for anything!"

"Oh, now, what's the matter with you?" whined that worthy. "I have a good notion not to tell you another word. Don't you want the Blues to win?"

"How did Mr. Layton get a chance to interfere in this business?" inquired Johnny, without answering Simpson's question. "He is a hundred miles from here."

"I know it, but he has interfered with it, all the same, no matter if he is a thousand. You see, Gus is afraid of Bob, and he never intended to run a fair race. His first idea was to knock a hole in the Zephyr, and we came pretty near carrying it out, too."

"_We?_" echoed Johnny. "Did you have a hand in it?"

"Of course I did. I watched at the window of the boat-house while Gus went in; but just as I handed him the axe, who should come prowling around but one of the professors, and we had to take to our heels. The next morning Bob found the window of the boat-house open and the axe lying on the floor, and knowing in a moment that something had been going on he set a watch over the building, and we couldn't get near it afterward."

"Well, what has that got to do with the oar that was tampered with?" demanded Johnny, almost fiercely.

"Now I would just like to know what makes you so cross," whined Simpson. "I believe you want our fellows to get beaten."

"Never mind that. Tell me about the oar."

"Ain't I coming to it as fast as I can? The very morning that Bob found the axe in the boat-house he sprung a row-lock while he and his crew were practicing, and thinking he might as well have a new rig while he was about it, he sent to Clifton after another shell and a set of oars. Mr. Layton—he is Bob's uncle and guardian, you know—heard of it through Gus, and countermanded the order as far as the shell was concerned, but wrote to Bob that the oars should be forthcoming. When they were done he wouldn't let the man who made them send them to Bob, but took them to his own house, removed the leather from Bob's oar—he could easily tell it from the rest, because Bob always has his oars made with a larger grip than the others—sawed it half in two, filled up the crack with putty or something, so that it could not be seen, and put the leather on again just as it was before. Then, instead of sending up the oars three or four days ago, as he promised to do, Mr. Layton kept them until the last moment, and they arrived only an hour or two ago, so that Bob had no chance to examine them or practice with them. Oh, his goose is cooked, I tell you, and the Blues are bound to win. Now, what is the matter with you fellows? You don't act as if you were glad at all."

It was easy enough to see that Johnny and his friends were anything but delighted at what they had heard. If one might judge by the expression on their faces they were very much disgusted.