The club had taken their seats in the boat, and were waiting the orders of the coxswain to haul her out of her berth, when Captain Sedley made his appearance.

“You are short-handed, Frank,” said he, as he observed Tony’s vacant seat.

“Yes, sir; but we have elected a member to fill that place,” replied Frank, as he jumped out of the boat, and hastened to inform his father of what the club had done.

The members all felt a deep interest in the result of this conference; and though this was the first excursion of the season, they forgot for the time the pleasure before them in their desire to know whether the “director” would approve their action in relation to the new member and the prize.

Frank and his father entered the club-room together.

“Now, my son, what have you done?” asked Captain Sedley.

“We have discussed both questions to the best of our ability,” replied Frank, with some hesitation.

“Well, what was the result?”

“We have elected Tim to fill Tony’s place.”

“Indeed!”

“We have; and we await your sanction to our doings.”

“Did you think I would sanction such a choice as that?”

“I didn’t know.  We have fairly considered the matter; have faithfully examined both sides of the question.  If we have done wrong, you know, father, that you have a veto upon our doings.”

Captain Sedley smiled at the matter-of-fact, business-like earnestness of his son.  He felt quite as much interest in the action of the boys as they did to learn his opinion of it.

“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.

“Ready-pull!”

And the broad blades dipped in the water, and bent before the vigorous arms of the youthful oarsmen.

“Starboard oars, cease rowing-back!” continued the coxswain, with admirable dignity and self-possession; and the Zephyr, acted upon by this maneuver, came about as though upon a pivot, without going either backward or forward.

“Starboard oars, steady-pull!” and the rowers indicated by this command caught the stroke, and the light bark shot ahead, with her wonted speed, in the direction of Rippleton village.

“Zephyr, ahoy!” shouted some one from the shore.

“Tim Bunker-ain’t it?” asked Charles.

“Yes.”

“Humph! he needn’t hail us like that.  I was sure your father would never permit him to join the club,” continued Charles, who fancied that he read in Frank’s expression the disapproval of his father.

“You are in the wrong, Charley.”

“Am I?”

“You are; my father cordially approved our action.  Now, Zephyrs, I am going up to Flat Rock to take him aboard; and I hope every fellow will treat him well-just as though he had never done anything out of the way.  What do you say?”

“We will,” they replied, with one voice.

“And then, if he does not walk straight, it will not be our fault.  Treat him as though he was the best fellow among us.  Let nothing tempt us to forget it.”

Frank headed the boat towards the rock in the grove, and in a moment the bow touched it.

Without waiting for an invitation, Tim jumped into the boat, and took the vacant seat.  Frank did not much like this forwardness:  it was a little too “brazen” to comport with his ideas of true penitence.  But he did not care to humble the “Bunker;” so he said nothing that would wound his feelings.

“We are glad to see you, Tim; the club has this day elected you a member, and our director has approved the vote,” said Frank.

“Has he?” replied Tim, with a broad grin.

“And, if you like, we will go up to the boat-house, where you may sign the constitution.”

“Yes, I’ll sign it,” answered Tim, more as though it would be conferring a favor on the club than as a duty he owed to his new friends.

Frank gave the necessary orders to get the boat under way again.  Tim handled his oar with considerable skill, and before they reached the boat-house, he had learned to time his stroke with that of his companions.

When they landed, Captain Sedley took Tim apart with him, and very kindly told him what would be expected of him in his new relation, urging him to be true to his good resolution, and assuring him that he should never want for substantial encouragement so long as he persevered in well doing.  Tim hung his head down while he listened to this kind advice; his answers were short, but they were all satisfactory, so far as words could be taken as the index of his intentions.

Frank then read the constitution, and the new member listened to it with attention.  The stringent provisions of the sixth article, which forbade swearing, indecent language, and other boyish vices, brought a scarcely visible smile to his lips, and excited a doubt as to the success of the experiment in the mind of the director.

“Now, Tim, you can sign it,” said Frank.

“It’s pretty strict-ain’t it?” added Tim, with one of his peculiar grins, as he took the pen that was handed to him.  “You know I ain’t used to being quite so strained up as you fellers, and I may kinder break through afore I know it.”

“If you do, you shall be judged kindly and charitably,” said Captain Sedley.

“Well.  I’ll sign it.”

But it was not quite so easy a thing for Tim to sign; at least, to perform the mechanical part of the act, for he had been to school but little, and good penmanship was not one of his accomplishments.  However, he succeeded in getting over the form, though it would have puzzled the secretary to read it, if he had not known what it was.

“Now, Zephyrs, Tim is one of us,” said Frank.

“He hasn’t got any uniform,” suggested Charles.

“He shall have one,” replied Captain Sedley, as he wrote an order on Mr. Burlap, the tailor, to supply him with a uniform.

“All aboard!” shouted Frank.  “We will pull up the lake, and see how the Butterfly gets along.  They have been practising for a fortnight, and they ought to be able to row pretty well by this time.”

“With Uncle Ben to show them how,” added Fred Harper.

Again the Zephyrs were in their seats, and the boat was backed out into the lake.  The flags were unrolled, and put in their places.  The graceful barge was nicely trimmed, so as to rest exactly square in the water, and everything was ready for a sharp pull.  The weather was cool, and the boys required some pretty vigorous exercise to keep them warm.

The various commands were given and executed with the usual precision, only that Tim, who was not thoroughly “broken in,” made some blunders, though, considering his short service, his proficiency was decidedly creditable.

The Zephyr darted away like an arrow, and the slow, measured, musical stroke of the oars was pleasant and exciting to the rowers.

“You haven’t told us about the other matter yet, Frank,” said Charles, as the boat skimmed along over the little waves of the lake.

“Let us know about it,” added Fred.

“About what?” asked Tim Bunker, whose modesty in his new position did not seem to cause him much trouble.

“We are to have a race with the Butterfly, when Tony gets things to his mind,” replied Frank.

“That’ll be fun!  Are ye going to put up anything?”

“Put up anything?”

“Yes; what’s going to be the stakes?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Tim.”

“When they race horses, each man bets on his own.”

“We are not going to bet; that would be contrary to the constitution.”

“Would it?  I didn’t hear nothing about betting.”

“Article second says that one of the objects of the association shall be the acquiring of good habits in general; and I am sure betting is a very bad habit.”

“Well, I s’pose it is.”

“But several gentlemen of Rippleton have subscribed fifty dollars as a prize to the winner of the race,” added Frank; “just as they give medals in school, you know.”

“Well, of course you will win.”

“I don’t know.”

“You are used to your boat, and them fellers ain’t.”

“We can’t tell yet; perhaps the Butterfly will prove to be a faster boat than the Zephyr, and some of Tony’s members are a good deal larger and stouter than ours.  I think the chances are about equal.”

“I think likely.  What are you going to do with the money if you win?”

“I don’t know; we haven’t thought of that yet,” replied Frank, not particularly pleased with the question.

“Divide it among the fellers, I s’pose.”

“I think not; we had better apply it to some useful purpose,-that is, if we win it,-such as enlarging our library, buying some philosophical instruments-”

“What’s them?”

“An air pump, and other apparatus of the kind.”

Tim did not comprehend the nature of the mystical implements any better than before; but as his mind was fixed upon something else, he did not demand further explanation.

“Fifty dollars,” said he; “how much will that be apiece.  Thirteen into fifty; can any of you fellers cipher that up in your heads?”

“Three and eleven thirteenths dollars each,” said William Bright, who pulled the next oar forward of Tim.  “Three dollars and eighty-five cents-isn’t it?”

“Eighty-four and a fraction,” replied Fred, with schoolboy accuracy.

“A feller could have a good time on that, I’ll bet,” ejaculated Tim.

“And many a poor man would like it to buy bread for his family,” added Frank.  “But there is the Butterfly!”

Tim Bunker dropped his oar at this announcement, and was on the point of rising to get a better view of the Zephyr’s rival, when the handle of William Bright’s oar gave him a smart rap in the back.

“Mind out!” said Tim.  “Don’t you know any better than to hit a feller in that way?”

“Cease-rowing!” called Frank, as he saw Tim’s first involuntarily double up, and his eye flash with anger.

“It was your fault, Tim, and you must not blame him,” added the coxswain, mildly, but firmly.

“My fault!” and Tim added an expression which I cannot put upon my page.

“Such language as that is contrary to the constitution,” continued Frank.  “You stopped rowing without orders.”

“What if I did!”

“You should not have done so.  No member can do, or cease to do, without orders; that’s our discipline.”

Tim cooled off in a moment, made a surly apology for his rudeness, and the Zephyr continued on her course.