“Tim is a very bad boy,” said he.

“He was; but he has solemnly promised to amend, and become a good boy,” answered Frank, warmly.

“Not much dependence can be placed upon the promises of such boys as Tim.”

“But if no one encourages him to become better, he will not be likely to improve much, especially when everybody despises and shuns him.”

“There is danger that he may corrupt the rest of the club.”

“He must obey the requirements of the constitution, or he cannot long continue to be a member.”

“You are right, Frank; I approve your action in this matter, but I should like to know the grounds upon which you admitted him.”

Frank gave him a brief synopsis of the debate, and the anxious father expressed himself well pleased with the liberal views of the club.

“Men might be oftener reformed in the great world, if people would only give them a chance to be respectable, as you have done with Tim,” said Captain Sedley.  “But what have you done about the prize?”

“We have voted to accept the offer of the gentlemen,” answered Frank, rather doubtfully, as he looked earnestly into the face of his father, to discover the effect of his intelligence.

“I hope you looked on both sides of this question, as well as the other.”

“We did, father.”

Frank stated the different opinions that had been expressed by the members during the debate, and the fact that they had informally given a unanimous vote against it.  Captain Sedley was much amused by the narration, in spite of the disappointment he felt at the ill success of his efforts to make the boys reason for themselves.

“I think your view is correct, Frank; though I am aware that many mature minds would arrive at a different conclusion.  As you say, the envy and ill will which the contest may excite are the evils most to be dreaded.”

“Then you approve our decision?”

“I do.”

Frank felt as happy at that moment as though he had been a general of division, and had won a great victory.  The consciousness of having arrived, unaided by mature minds, at a correct conclusion, was a triumph in itself.  He had exercised his thought, and it had borne him to a right judgment.  He was proud of his achievement, and hastened back to the boat with the intelligence of the approval.

“What does he say?” asked half a dozen of the members.

“Let us get off first, and then we will talk about it,” replied Frank.  “Bowman, let go the painter; cast off the stern lines, there.  Now, back her—­steady.”

“Tell us about it, Frank,” said Charles Hardy, as the Zephyr glided clear of the boat-house, out upon the deep waters of the lake.

“Ready—­up!” continued Frank, and the eleven oars were poised perpendicularly in the air.

“Down!”

The members had already begun to feel the inspiration of their favorite amusement, and there appeared to have been nothing lost by the season of inactivity which had passed away.  They were as prompt and as perfect in the drill as though they had practised it every day during the winter.  Although it was a moment of excitement, there was no undue haste; every member seemed to be perfectly cool.