The Eight-Oared Victors: A Story of College Water Sports

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE LONG VACATION

  "Come on now, fellows! Hit her up!" exclaimed Jerry Jackson, in a lowvoice.

  "No, not yet!" whispered Frank, as he bent forward in his place atstroke until he was nearer the lad at the tiller ropes. "Feel 'em outfirst, Jerry. Don't go breaking our hearts in the first mile. We've gota good ways to go in this little race, and the spurt will come towardthe end, if I'm not mistaken. It would be pie for them if we rowedourselves out, and then they would simply spurt past us. They're olderhands at it than we are."

  "I guess you're right, Frank," admitted Jerry, who took the advice ingood part.

  He had not been acting as coxswain long enough to feel resentment thathis orders were not obeyed. He realized, also, that the lads at the oarshad all the work to do, and, as it was not a regular race, when thecoxswain had to be the general, it was no more than fair that the oneswho had to do the labor should have a voice in saying how it was to bedone.

  "Wait until we--get into a--good swing. Let us pull at--this stroke--fora while," went on Frank, speaking rather jerkily, and whispering everytime his head came close to Jerry, in leaning forward to make hisstroke. "Watch 'em, and when--you think we can spurt--then give--theword."

  "All right," assented the coxswain. He looked over at the Fairviewshell, and noted that Roger Barns, the coxswain, was closely regardingthe Randall eight.

  "They're sizing us up," thought Jerry. "Well, we may not be such amuchness now, but by Hector! When we start in regular training thisFall, if we don't make 'em sit up and notice which side their teais buttered on I'm a Dutchman, and that's no wallflower at a dance,either!" and Jerry shut his lips firmly and felt delicately of thetiller lines, shifting the rudder slightly to learn that the shell wasin good control. She responded to the lightest touch, being indeed awell-built craft and as light as a feather, though with sufficientstiffness--that quality always hard to get in a frail shell.

  The two racing machines were now moving swiftly along, being about oneven terms. Now and then, seemingly in response to a signal from theircoxswain, the Fairview lads would hang back a bit, allowing the Randallshell to creep up. Evidently it was a little trick, played with thehope that Randall would spurt, and give her rivals an opportunity tosweep ahead of them in splendid style, thus winning the impromptu race.If such was the intention Randall did not bite at the bait, for Frank,in a few whispered words to Jerry, advised him not to signal for aquicker stroke.

  "Say, is this a race or a crocheting party?" grumbled big DutchHousenlager. "Vat you t'ink, Kindlings."

  "I'm thinking that--I'm--getting winded," panted Dan Woodhouse.

  "Silence up there!" exclaimed Jerry, sharply. "It isn't a talking match,whatever else it is! You'll get all the race you want pretty soon. We'recoming to a good stretch and I think they'll hit it up there. Be readyfor the word, fellows."

  "Say, boys, he talks; but he won't let us!" complained Bricktop, winkingat Jerry.

  "That means you!" insisted the coxswain. He glanced ahead. The launchwith the coach had speeded off and was some distance up the river now,evidently waiting for the finish of the little brush.

  The talk in the Randall eight had been carried on in low tones, forsounds carry wonderfully clear over water, and the lads, realizingthis, did not want their rivals to hear them.

  Jerry stole another glance at the Fairview eight, and, unconsciously,probably, nearly every Randall man did likewise. The result was someuneven and ragged rowing, and a bit of splashing.

  "Eyes in the boat!" came the sharp command from the little coxswain.

  "Oh, you tyrant!" breathed Bricktop Molloy, but his smile took the stingfrom the words.

  An instant later Jerry detected a movement in the rival shell.

  "The spurt is coming!" he reasoned. "We must be ready for it!"

  He hesitated but an instant, and then, as he noted Roger Barnsstraighten up slightly in his coxswain seat, and take a fresh grip onthe tiller ropes, Jerry called:

  "Ready boys! Hit her up. Thirty to the minute!"

  At once the Randall shell shot forward almost as though raised from thewater, for the oars caught evenly and every man fairly lifted himselffrom his seat, to urge the craft ahead.

  "Come on, now!" cried Jerry. "Keep it up!"

  He swayed his body to indicate the time of the stroke, and he waspleased to note that all the lads in the shell were rowing in unison.The blades of the oars dipped well--not too deeply--and the feathering,while it might have been better, was fair for a raw crew. Jerry stoleone look over to the Fairview eight, and noted that he had not beenmistaken. They, too, had spurted at the same time. Randall had not beencaught napping.

  For several minutes this kept up, and Fairview could not seem to shakeoff her rival, and shoot ahead. Then a command could be heard given inthat shell. What it was Jerry could not catch, but he saw the time ofthe Fairview rowers quicken.

  "Can you stand another stroke or two, boys?" he asked in a low voice.

  Frank nodded without speaking. Indeed his breath, as well as the breathof his companions, was all needed for the work.

  "A little livelier," ordered Jerry, and he added two more strokes to theminute.

  Of course the effect was not so great as before, but it told, andFairview, which had begun creeping ahead, was held in check by Randall.

  Another minute passed, and then the superior training and practice ofFairview told. Slowly she forged ahead, and nothing the Randall ladscould do could prevent it. They were at their limit now, or at leastthe limit to which Jerry dared push them. With straining eyes he shot aquick glance across, and noted with despair that Fairview was a goodquarter of a length ahead. Another minute and she was a half.

  "One more stroke!" pleaded the coxswain, and Frank nodded desperately.Slowly Randall began creeping up again, but it could not last.

  And then came a narrow turn in the river, a rather dangerous place withcross currents.

  "Easy all!" called Roger Barns, and his crew ceased rowing. It was asignal that the impromptu race was over.

  "Easy all!" commanded Jerry, with a sigh that they had not won. But atthat Fairview was only a scant quarter of a length in advance. Randallhad been beaten, but not by much.

  "Congratulations!" called Roger to his rival steersman. "You're comingon, Randall."

  "Oh, we'll beat you in the Fall," retorted Jerry, cheerfully.

  "We'd have walked away from you if it hadn't been the tail end of theseason," declared Hadfield Spencer, the Fairview stroke. "We're not intraining."

  "Oh, don't crawl," said the coxswain. "They rowed a good race."

  And this was praise indeed, from no mean rival, and from the coxswain ofa crew that had given Boxer Hall, the river champions, a hard race.

  "Well done, boys! Well done!" exclaimed Coach Lighton, as he camepuffing up in his launch. "You did better than I expected you would.Fairview, we'll be ready for you in the Fall."

  "We'll take you on all right," replied Roger Barns, with a genial laugh.

  "And you steered exceedingly well, Jackson," went on the coach, as theFairview shell pulled off. "I was afraid you would spurt too soon, butyou held yourself well in."

  "I was watching the other fellows," said Jerry.

  "That's the way to do," was the comment. "Now take it easy to the float."

  There was talk all through Randall that night of the performance of theeight.

  "I think we have just the right crew now," confided the coach to Dr.Churchill, when he went to dine with the venerable head of Randall.

  "Ah, I am exceedingly glad to hear that. It will be a source ofgratification to the alumni who have so generously provided for theracing material. And you say our boys nearly won from Fairview? How manyinnings did the game go? What was the score, and did Parsons pitch?"

  "Ah--er--my dear Doctor,--er--we were talking about the crew," said thecoach, delicately.

  "Oh, yes, so we were," admitted the good doctor, in some confusion."I was thinking of f
ootball, was I not? And so we have a good crew.Hum! Very well. I am so occupied with my translations of those Assyriantablets that I fear my mind wanders at times."

  At times! Ah, Dr. Churchill, more often than "at times" did your mindwander! But what of that? It was keen enough on all occasions, thoughrunning in various channels, as many an old graduate will testify.

  The practice at Randall went on. There were sore hearts, but it couldnot be helped when the lads who thought they should be picked for thetentative crews, or for the singles, were passed by. For Mr. Lighton wasimpartial, and insisted on only the best no matter at what cost.

  Perhaps sorest of all was Boswell, he who had been displaced from whathad come to be regarded as the varsity eight, though, as the coachpointed out, there might be changes in the Fall. Boswell was orderedinto what was termed the "second" eight, but refused to go.

  "I may not row at all," he said loftily to his crony, Pierce. "Or I maygo in the singles."

  "I would," suggested the latter. "My word! A man's his own boss in asingle."

  "I'll think of it," replied Boswell.

  Examinations came, with all their grilling and nerve-racking tendencies,and were more or less successfully gotten through with by our friendsand their chums. Then came the long vacation.