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

  CHAPTER XVIII

  "SENOR BOSWELL"

  "Shoulders back a little more! Heads up! Don't feather quite so high.That's all right to do when there are little choppy waves, that wouldcause splashing, but in calm water the lower you feather the less youhave to raise the spoon of the oar. Of course don't do any 'riffling.'That holds back the boat. When I see you in an eight, with a coxswain,so you don't have to think about steering, I can tell better how youwill do."

  This was Mr. Pierson giving some coaching advice to the four boys, whowere out in the shell. He was following them in the launch owned by hisfriend, at whose cottage he was visiting.

  "I'm wondering if I'll have wind enough for a four-mile race, pullingeven thirty to the minute?" said Sid.

  "And we may have to hit it up to thirty-two or three," put in Tom.

  "Don't worry about those things now," advised the Cornell graduate."They will work themselves out when you get in training. Of courseyou're not training now, and that makes a difference. My chief anxietyat present is to get you in the way of taking the proper stroke, toteach you how to sit, how to slide in the moving seats, how to bringyour whole weight where it will do the most good, and how to depend onthe toe stretchers. Your wind will take care of itself when you get downto hard practice. If it doesn't--well, you can't row in an eight, that'sall."

  The old graduate glanced sharply at the lads, and, noting a look ofanxiety on their faces, he hastened to add:

  "But I'm sure it will come out all right. Don't think about it. Nowthen, hit up the stroke a little."

  And so he accompanied them over the course, giving them advice almostinvaluable, which they could have obtained in no other way. The boysappreciated it deeply.

  Camp and cottage life on Crest Island was endless delight to theboys, even with the hard practice they put in occasionally. I say"occasionally" advisedly, for they did not forget, nor did Mr. Lightonor Mr. Pierson want them to forget, that they were on their vacations.Truth to tell, the girls took much of the time of our heroes. Andthis was as it should be. We can never be young but once, if I may bepardoned that bit of philosophy in a story book--a bit that is notoriginal by any means.

  "Well, thank our lucky stars, we don't have to grind away in the boatto-day!" exclaimed Sid one morning, as he got up ahead of the others,for it was his turn to prepare breakfast.

  "That's right," called Tom, in a sleepy voice from his cot, as he turnedover luxuriously amid the scanty coverings, for the night had been warm."I vote we get the launch in running order, if that's possible, and takethe girls off for a picnic."

  "Second the motion," exclaimed Sid, "with the amendment that the girlsprovide, and put up, the lunch."

  "We'll pay for it, if they put it up," said Frank.

  "That's better," remarked Phil. "I'll tip Sis off, and I guess they'lldo it."

  Behold then, a little later, the eight young persons, lively and gay, inthe wheezy and uncertain launch, voyaging over the lake toward a distantdell of which they knew, on the mainland, where they proposed to picnicfor the day.

  They ate the lunch which the girls had put up in dainty fashion, sittingon a broad, flat rock near the edge of the lake, with the wind rustlingin the trees overhead, and the birds flitting here and there.

  "Isn't it glorious here?" mused Sid.

  "Gorgeous!" declared Madge. "It's just a perfect day."

  "'O, perfect day!'" began Phil.

  "Cut out the poetry," interrupted Tom. "There's a little snake crawlingtoward you, old man."

  "Oh!" screamed four shrill voices, and there was a hasty scramble, untilthe snake was discovered to be only a tiny lizard, which the girlsdeclared to be "just as bad."

  Then came saunterings two-by-two off in woodland glades until it wastime to think regretfully of returning to the island, for the shadowswere lengthening.

  It was just as they were about to start off in the little gasolinelaunch, which, strange to say, had been behaving wonderfully well thatday, that they saw Mendez, the Mexican, rowing toward them in a smallboat. He seemed in much of a hurry.

  "Senors and senoritas!" he hailed them. "Wait a moment, I pray of you."

  "Gracious--I hope nothing has happened at home!" exclaimed Madge Tyler,for her mother was not at the cottage.

  "Perhaps it's a telegram for some of us," suggested Ruth. "Oh, dear, Ido hope I don't have to go home."

  They all regarded the approaching Mexican curiously.

  "Pardon," he began with a smile that showed all his white teeth, "but Iseek Senor Boswell. Is he with you?"

  "With us? No," answered Tom. "He doesn't train in with our crowd."

  "Most likely he's having tea on the lawn, and talking about 'beastlyrotters,'" suggested Sid.

  "Oh, Sid!" exclaimed Ruth. "He isn't such a bad sort."

  "Oh, do you know him?" asked Tom, quickly.

  "He called one evening," explained Madge, while just the faintestsuggestion of a blush suffused her pretty face. "He and Mr. Pierce."

  "They did!" exclaimed Phil, looking keenly at his sister.

  "Hush!" she exclaimed. "Silly boy. Don't make a scene!"

  "Senor Boswell--is he not here?" went on the Mexican, and there wasanxiety in his voice. "I was inform that he come off on a boat, and inthis direction. I see your launch moored here, and I am of the belief,perhaps, that he may be here. Is it not?" and again he smiled.

  "No, he isn't here, and we haven't seen him," said Tom.

  "Pardon, senors and senoritas," said the Mexican, bowing as well as hecould in his small boat. "I shall look farther. I have the honor to bidyou good afternoon," and he rowed away, up the lake.

  "What do you suppose he wanted of Boswell in such a hurry?" asked Sid ina low voice of Tom, as they were getting in the launch.

  "Give it up," was the answer, but Tom was doing some hard thinking justabout that time.