CHAPTER XXXII
BOSWELL'S CHANCE
"How about you, Dutch?" asked Tom eagerly, as he hurried up to hisdripping chum, while others followed. The lads in rowing costumes didnot hesitate to crowd close, while the other spectators, and there weremany on the float, rather held back, for Dutch, in the exuberance of hismirth, was shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog, scattering drops allover.
"Fine and dandy!" was the answer of the big lad. "I just needed a bath."
"Look here!" exclaimed Mr. Lighton, somewhat sternly, "you had betterget a good rub-down, and put on some dry togs. Have you any dry oneshere?"
"No, but----"
"He can take mine, I guess I'm not going to get a chance to row,"spoke Harry Morton, a Freshman, and he smiled gamely in spite of thedisappointment he must have felt, for he had practiced hard, as asubstitute.
"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Lighton, and he gave Morton a look that meantmuch. "Hurry now, Housenlager."
"Did you see me tumble in?" demanded Dutch, with a cheerful grin.
"Yes," assented Tom, somewhat sharply. "Quit your fooling now. We'll bein the race soon."
As the lad whose outrigger had delayed the race for single shells wasnot satisfied with the boat provided for him, another was gotten out.This further delayed matters, and it was decided to run off the doublesin the meanwhile. The singles would follow and then would come the greateight-oared contest, on which so much depended.
"Now boys, go in and win!" pleaded Mr. Lighton, to George Carter and BenBlake, who were to uphold the honor of Randall in the doubles. "Rememberabout keeping on your course. If you are in your own water you're allright. Once you get off the course, and there's an accident, you'll haveto abide by it. And pull hard! Save your breath for the spurt that issure to come. And look out for Boxer. They're straining every nerve tobeat us in every event to-day. They want to prove that it isn't possibleto make rowers in a single season, and I want you to prove that it canbe done. It's up to me--in a way--but I want you to do your share. Willyou?"
"We sure will!" cried Blake. "Eh, Carter?"
"Surest thing you know," assented the other.
"Remember, Blake, you're the bowman," went on the coach. "Mind yoursteering. That new mechanical contrivance on this boat works very well.It's delicate, though. The least touch of your foot will shift therudder. And give your orders so Carter can hear you, but don't waste toomuch breath doing it."
"Carter, mind your stroke. You may offset the change of the rudder ifyou pull too hard or too easy. Now go ahead--and may the Fates be kindto you. Randall needs those three points."
The three pair-oar boats moved off to the starting point and the crowdprepared to watch another exciting contest. Dutch had gone into thedressing rooms, accompanied by one of the trainers, who was directed togive him a rub-down. Tom followed, and as he went in he passed Boswell,who was also headed in the same direction.
"I guess they don't ever intend the singles to be rowed," remarked therich lad, with some disgust in his tones. "Here I've been fiddlingaround just because that chump from Boxer Hall can't get a shell to suithim. Why didn't they look over their outriggers before they came?"
"Oh, they'll be ready soon," spoke Tom. Boswell had, as you may haveassumed, been picked to uphold the Randall end in the singles. To dohim justice he had trained hard and well, and had been faithful. Hewas not a favorite, chiefly because he boasted so much, and talked soincessantly of his "private trainer," and other "possessions."
"I'm going to get a handkerchief for my neck," explained Boswell, as heapproached his locker. "The sun's hotter on the back of my neck than Ithought it was."
Tom passed on, paying no more attention to the single sculler. The tallpitcher was chiefly concerned to see that Dutch did no more "cuttingup," and dropped the horseplay with which he was wont to amuse himselfat all times.
"His monkey business may cost us the race," thought Tom, a bit angrily.
But Housenlager managed to contain himself, and was soon in dry rowingtogs again. He and Tom lingered in the dressing rooms of the boathouseuntil someone called for the loser of the tub races to come out. Tomfollowed slowly, and, as he did so, he passed Boswell, who was restoringsome of his garments to the locker, having tied a silk handkerchiefabout his neck. It was the same gaudy-hued one that had a strip tornfrom it, and, at the sight, Tom's memory went back to the hut on CrestIsland, to Ruth's lost brooch, and to the robbery.
"Well, I hope we get off soon," remarked the rich lad. He was stuffingsomething into the pocket of his trousers. The garments fell from ahook, and dropped to the floor. As they did so something fell from themand rolled over, stopping at Tom's feet. He stooped to pick it up, andto his surprise he saw that it was a gold brooch. His wonder grew ashe noticed that it was exactly like the one Ruth had described to himas missing, and similar in pattern to the one he had often seen herwear--an old-fashioned pin, heavy and massive in design.
"Thanks," began Boswell, holding out his hand for it.
Tom held it back. He glared at Boswell.
"Where--where did you get that?" exclaimed Tom.
"Well, I don't know that it's any of your affair," was the rather coolreply.
"Well, I intend to make it mine! Do you know to whom that pin belongs?"
"Yes, to me, and I'll trouble you to hand it over."
"Wait!" exclaimed Tom. "Wait, Boswell. That pin isn't yours, and youknow it."
"Well, I like your nerve! Whose is it?"
"Ruth Clinton's!" blurted out Tom.
"Ruth Clinton's?" cried Boswell. "She never saw that pin. I--I intendedgiv--look here, Parsons, what business of yours is this, anyhow? I knowyou and Miss Clinton are----"
"You let her name alone!" cried Tom, fiercely. "As for her never seeingthis pin before--look here!"
He pressed on the secret spring in the back--a trick Ruth had taughthim. A tiny panel of gold flew open, disclosing the girl's photographbeneath it.
"There!" cried Tom. "I suppose that got there by magic. Ruth never sawit; eh, Boswell? I don't know what to think of this--of you. You musthave heard about the jewel robbery--of the missing Boxer Hall cups. Andnow you have this pin----"
"Stop!" cried Boswell. "If you dare, Parsons, say that I----"
"Ready for the singles! Boswell, are you there?" called a voice at thedoor of the dressing room. "Hurry out--Boxer wins the doubles!"
The two lads, almost ready to come to blows, started. This was newsindeed.
"Randall loses in the doubles!" cried Tom, aghast.
"Yes," went on Joe Jackson, who had come to call Boswell. "Carter brokean oar near the finish line, and it was all up then. It's tough luck,for our boat was leading."
"Fate seems to be against us!" thought Tom, bitterly. Boswell wasstaring at him and at the gold brooch, which he still held.
"Look here!" blurted out Tom. "I know more than you think I do. I sawyou and Mendez in the boat one day. You had a gold brooch then--you weretalking about old-fashioned jewelry."
"Wait--stop!" burst out Boswell. "I'll talk to you about this. I'll tellyou----"
"Boswell, they're waiting for you!" interrupted Joe. "The race iscalled. For the love of tripe win it! Randall sure is in the soupto-day. Win!"
"I will!" cried the rich lad. "I can't stop now!" he cried to Tom, as hehurried out. "You keep that pin. I'll explain later. The man I got itfrom may be around here yet!"
"You'd better guess I'll keep this pin!" murmured Tom. "As for anexplanation, you'll have some tall talking to do to convince me. I beginto see how things are now!"
Boswell ran out. There was a cheer from the float--from the crowds alongthe river bank.
"Come on, Tom!" cried Joe. "You and your crew are next. Oh, for the loveof Randall win that race! Boxer Hall has eight points now--the four andthe double. But if we win the eight and the single we'll have twelve,and be the champions."
"Then we'll win!" cried Tom, desperately, as he clasped Ruth's brooch inhis hand and raced out. As he came from the
dressing rooms he heard BeanPerkins yelling:
"All together now, boys! The 'Conquer or Die' song, and sing it as ifyou meant it. Randall is nearing the finish!"
Blake and Carter, bitter over the unforeseen accident that had robbedthem of victory, were getting out of their shell. Boswell and theothers, in the singles were being sent off after brief instructions. Tomlooked at his rival, and many thoughts came to him.
The crowd was now so dense on the float, and on the stairway leading tothe balcony, that Tom could not make his way up to tell Ruth the goodnews--that he had her brooch. He made the effort, but it was next toimpossible.
"Come on, Tom!" called Frank, behind him. "Mr. Lighton wants the crew ofthe eight in the dressing room for a last conference. Oh, cats! But thetime is getting close."
"Don't get nervous, you chump!" exclaimed Dutch. "Look at Kindlings, ascool as an icehouse."
Elation, worry, wonder and apprehension were Tom's mingled feelings ashe followed his chums and the coach. What Mr. Lighton said he hardlycomprehended. But the coach impressed on the lads the necessity forcoolness, the need of a spurt at the right time, and then the keeping upof the stroke until the bow of the boat had crossed the finish line.
Boswell, rowing with the others to the start, was almost upset in hismind as was Tom.
"So, he thinks I stole that pin--all the jewelry, I expect!" he mused."What can I do? What shall I do? I wonder where in the world Mendez is?If I could only find him----"
"Mind where you're going, Randall!" called a sharp voice, and Boswellchanged his course, that had threatened to cut into the Fairview shell.
Boswell and the others reached the starting line. There they got intoposition, the last word was given, there was a moment of suspense, andthe warning gun was fired. Then came the final signal, and they were off.
Three backs bent to the stroke, six oars took the water, there was aswirl of foam and bubbles. Tiny whirlpools formed at the ends of thespoons, and the single race was under way.
"Oh, if I can only win--if I can only win!" thought Boswell.
And the lads from Boxer Hall and Fairview thought the same thing.
It was half way to the finishing mark. Boswell was rowing well, and wasmaintaining the slight lead he had. Casting a glance over his shoulderto note his course, his eyes swept the crowd on the river bank, nearwhich he was. A face seemed to stand out from among the others.
"Mendez! Mendez!" cried Boswell. "Mendez, go to the Randall boathouseat once! I need you there! A whole lot is at stake! There's a hundreddollars in it for you from me! Go, do you hear! The Randall boathouse!Get there as soon as you can! I'll meet you after this race! Do youhear?" and Boswell fairly screamed the words.
"Yes, senor, I hear," replied the Mexican. "I go," and he started off onthe run, for Boswell's manner was such that it carried conviction withit. And then Boswell set himself to the race again. But he had hesitatedjust a moment--just a fatal moment--and the next instant, with the ladsin them picking up their strokes, the Fairview and Boxer Hall shellspassed him.
"I'm done for!" murmured Boswell.