"If only he can keep fast hold of the pig till he reaches the judges' stand," whispered Sally Lou. All three gazed in pale suspense at the commodore, now striding gayly up the race-track, the pig squirming and squealing wildly in his arms.
"I'm mistrustin' that myself," said Mrs. McCloskey, nervously, "for the little animal is not so convenient to hold, bein' he's so glassy smooth. But trust the commodore. He'll not fail, now."
The commodore did not fail. Calm and majestic, as if he strode a quarter-deck, he paced down the track and halted before the judges' stand, his shrieking prize held high. As the umpire bent forward to give him the champion's blue ribbon, the crowd broke loose. No Olympic victor ever received his laurel in the face of a more enthusiastic tumult.
"I give up," puffed Mr. Jennings, fanning himself with his hat. "You caught that pig fair an' square, commodore. The honors are yours."
"Tut, tut, 'twas no great matter," declared the commodore modestly, as the girls heaped him with praises. "'Twas just a moment's divarsion. And it took no skill whatever, though I will own that to carry the little felly back to the judges' stand demanded some effort on me part. You will observe that a pig furnishes but few handholds, particularly when he's that slippery and excited-like. Yes, Mary, perhaps we'd best be startin' home, as it's so near sundown."
"Well, but these girls must not go home empty-handed," urged Mrs. McCloskey. "Think of your poor boys, who could not take a day off for the burgoo! We must carry home a taste for them. Go to yonder booth and buy a market-basket, commodore. Then we'll pack in a few samples."
Marian and Sally Lou looked on in silent amaze while Mrs. McCloskey packed the few samples, including a tall jar of the delicious burgoo, a dazzling array of cookies and preserves, and a fat black-currant pie. Meanwhile the commodore was fitting his treasured pig neatly into a small crate, much to the dismay of the pig and the keen joy of a large group of on-lookers.
At last basket and crate were made ready. Tired out by their long, absurd, delightful day, the party settled themselves aboard the commodore's launch and started home. The trip downstream to camp was made in rapid time. It was just dusk when they reached their own landing. Roderick and Ned Burford had heard the commodore's whistle and were waiting to help them ashore.