Wat would have declined to join in the festivities, but the boys were importunate, and the next half-hour was spent in an interchange of talk, in which the words:  Scouts, patrol, tests, boats, were of frequent occurrence, and during which the cake and lemonade vanished as quickly as snowflakes in July, after which the Uncas escorted the messenger for a distance on his way, finally bidding him good-by with three cheers and a flourish on their bugles.

CHAPTER XIV

A DEFIANCE

“Well,” began Rand on the evening of the day on which the challenge had been received from the Highpoint Patrol, “what shall we do with this challenge?”

“Accept it, av coorse,” cried Gerald.  “Shure, they can’t bate us more thin foor miles.”

“But we only row three,” put in Jack.

“Thin it’s a safe bet,” went on Gerald, “Aven Don might bet on that.”

“What’s that?” asked Donald.

“That they won’t bate us more than foor miles,” replied Gerald.

“In my opinion,” began Donald, “’tis no good accepting, for we have no boat, and if we did we have no time for practice, and—–­”

“Can’t you think of a few more while you are at it,” laughed Rand.  “As for a boat we can get the use of the old shell of the Creston Club.”

“And we no have any crew to speak of,” continued Donald.

“That’s easily got over,” went on Rand.  “There is Jack, Dick and you and I for the crew, with Gerald for coxswain.”

“And where do I come in?” questioned Pepper.

“You don’t come in,” answered Gerald.  “You stand on the bank and root for us.”

“Root!” cried Pepper; “what do you think I am—­a pig?”

“That reminds me—­” broke in Dick.

“No it don’t,” objected Donald; “we have no time to listen to your anecdotes.”

“Do you think we have any chance against them?” asked Jack.

“I would no say we had no chance,” replied Donald; “but, in my opinion, ’tis no much to brag about.”

“That reminds me—­” began Dick once more.

“What, against?” said Donald.

“Oh, let him get it off his mind,” advised Jack.  “What does it remind you of?”

“It reminds me of the hunter that came over here from New York last fall and met old Uncle Zac Williams back in the country and asked him if there was any hunting around here.

“’Plenty of it,” said Uncle Zac.

“‘Where is the best place to go?’ asked the hunter.

“‘Oh, mos’ anywhere,’ said Uncle Zac; ‘yo’ can’t miss hit.’

“So the hunter went on, and that night as he was going home he met Uncle Zac again.

“‘Hello!’ he said, ’ain’t you the man that told me there was plenty of hunting around here?’

“‘I reckon I be,’ replied Uncle Zac.

“’Well, I’ve hunted all around here and I haven’t seen the first thing to shoot.’