“I’m awfully afraid you’re going to be just like granite, Mr. Upton,”
sighed Westby,—“the man with the iron jaw.” He turned on the others a
humorous look; they all were smiling. Irving felt uncomfortable again,
suspecting that Westby was making game of him, yet not knowing in what
way to meet it—except by silence.

“I’ll tell you what I will do with you to-morrow, Wes,” said
Collingwood. “I’ll challenge you to that water duel that we were to have
pulled off last June.”

“All right, Lou,” said Westby. “Carrie here will be my trusty squire and
will paddle my canoe.”

Carroll grinned his assent.

“I’ll pick Ned Morrill for my second,” said Collingwood. “And Scabby can
be referee.”

“What’s a water duel?” asked Irving.

“They go out in canoes, two in each canoe,” answered Scarborough. “One
fellow paddles, and the other stands up in the bow with a long pole and
a big fat sponge tied to the end of it. Then the two canoes manœuvre,
and try to get within striking distance, and the fellow or canoe that
gets upset first loses. We had a tournament last spring, and these two
pairs came through to the finals, but never fought it out—baseball or
tennis or something always interfered.”

“It must be quite an amusing game,” said Irving.