They pulled with a very slow stroke, and not only did the respective crews keep the most exact time, but each timed its stroke with the other.  It was exhibition day with them, and they were not only to run the race, but to show off their skill to the best advantage.  Hundreds of people, their fathers and their mothers, their sisters and their brothers, were observing them from the shore, and this fact inspired them to work with unusual care.

It was a very beautiful sight, those richly ornamented boats, their gay colors flashing in the bright sunshine, with their neatly uniformed crews, their silken flags floating to the breeze, and their light, graceful oars dipping with mechanical precision in the limpid waters.  As they glided gently over the rippling waves, like phantoms, to the middle of the lake, a long and deafening shout from the shore saluted their ears.  The white handkerchiefs of the ladies waved them a cheerful greeting, and the Rippleton Brass Band, which had volunteered for the occasion, struck up Hail Columbia.

“Cease—­rowing!” said Frank, as he rose in his seat.

Tony followed his example, though this movement had not been laid down in the program.

Frank then took the American flag which floated at the stern, and Tony did the same.

“All up!” said he.  “Let us give them three cheers.”

“Mind the coxswain of the Zephyr,” added Tony, “and let them be all together and with a will.”

“Hats off, and swing them as you cheer.”

The cheers were given with all the vigor which stout lungs could impart, and the flags waved and the hats swung.

The salute was reiterated from the shore, and above the martial strains of the band rose the deafening hurrahs.

“Ready—­pull!” and the boats resumed their slow and measured stroke, and the band changed the tune to the Canadian Boat Song.

When they reached the judges’ boat, the two coxswains drew lots for the choice of “position,” and the Butterfly obtained this advantage.  The two boats then took their places, side by side, about two rods apart, ready to commence the race.

“Tony,” said Frank, rising, “before we start I have a word to say.  Whatever may be the result of the race, for myself and my crew, I pledge you there shall be no hard feeling among the Zephyrs.”

“No, no, no!” added the club, earnestly.

“If you beat, it shall not impair our friendship; there shall be no envy, no ill-will.  Do you all say so, Zephyrs?”

“Ay, ay!”

The Butterflies clapped their hands vigorously, in token of their approbation of the pledge, and Tony promised the same thing for his club.

“Now we are ready,” added Frank.  “Keep perfectly cool, and mind all I have said.  Ready!”

Uncle Ben stood in the bow of the Sylph, with a burning slow match in his hand, ready to discharge the cannon which was to be the signal for starting.  It was a moment of intense excitement, not only to the crews of the boats, but to hundreds of spectators on the shore.