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21594	----	[Illustration: "WE WIN! WE WIN! RIVERPORT TAKES THE RACE!" _Fred Fenton on the Crew_ _Page_ 196] FRED FENTON ON THE CREW Or The Young Oarsmen of Riverport School By ALLEN CHAPMAN OF "FRED FENTON THE PITCHER," "FRED FENTON IN LINE," "TOM FAIRFIELD SERIES," "THE CHUMS SERIES," "BOYS OF PLUCK SERIES," ETC. ILLUSTRATED NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY PUBLISHERS BOOKS FOR BOYS BY ALLEN CHAPMAN FRED FENTON ATHLETIC SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. FRED FENTON THE PITCHER FRED FENTON IN THE LINE FRED FENTON ON THE CREW FRED FENTON ON THE TRACK TOM FAIRFIELD SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. TOM FAIRFIELD'S SCHOOLDAYS TOM FAIRFIELD AT SEA TOM FAIRFIELD IN CAMP TOM FAIRFIELD'S PLUCK AND LUCK THE DAREWELL CHUMS SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. THE DAREWELL CHUMS THE DAREWELL CHUMS IN THE CITY THE DAREWELL CHUMS IN THE WOODS THE DAREWELL CHUMS ON A CRUISE THE DAREWELL CHUMS IN A WINTER CAMP BOYS OF PLUCK SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. THE YOUNG EXPRESS AGENT TWO BOY PUBLISHERS MAIL ORDER FRANK A BUSINESS BOY'S PLUCK THE YOUNG LAND AGENT CUPPLES & LEON CO. PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK Copyrighted 1913, by CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY FRED FENTON ON THE CREW Printed in U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. The Finger of Suspicion 1 II. The Tricky Canoe 9 III. A Boat Club Meeting 17 IV. In Camp on the Mohunk 26 V. Hoofs and Horns 33 VI. A Sudden Awakening 41 VII. Ice Cold Waters 49 VIII. A Surprise 56 IX. A Lucky Win 63 X. Fred's Home Coming 71 XI. News From Over Sea 79 XII. Bristles Has an Idea 87 XIII. A Call for Help 96 XIV. The Missing Opals Again 104 XV. Fred's Brave Stand 113 XVI. The Trial Spin 121 XVII. Snagged and Wrecked 130 XVIII. Lying in Wait 138 XIX. Nipped in the Bud 147 XX. In the Hollow Oak 156 XXI. A Plan to Catch the Thief 165 XXII. Telling the Good News 173 XXIII. The Start of the Race 181 XXIV. A Great Victory 189 XXV. Bright Skies 198 FRED FENTON ON THE CREW CHAPTER I THE FINGER OF SUSPICION "Hello! there, Bristles!" "Hello! yourself, Fred Fenton!" "Why, what ails you this fine summer morning, Bristles? You don't look as jolly as you might." "Well, I was only waiting to see if you cared to speak to me, Fred." "Why in the wide world shouldn't I, when you're one of my chums, Bristles Carpenter?" Andy Carpenter was known far and wide around the town of Riverport as "Bristles," on account of the way in which his mop of hair stood upright most of the time, much after the manner of the quills on a fretful porcupine. Usually he was a very good-natured sort of a chap, one of the "give-and-take" kind, so universally liked among schoolboys. But, on this particular early summer morning, with the peaceful Mohunk river running close by, and all Nature smiling, Bristles look glum and distressed, just as his friend Fred Fenton had declared. "You haven't heard the latest news then?" remarked the boy with the thick head of stiff, wiry hair; and he made a grimace as he spoke. "If you mean anything about _you_, then I haven't, for a fact," Fred replied, his wonder deepening into astonishment; for he now saw that Bristles was not playing any kind of a joke, as he had at first suspected. "Huh! didn't know you had an awful _thief_ for a chum, did you, Fred?" the other went on, laying emphasis on that one suggestive word, and frowning. "Rats! what sort of stuff are you giving me now, anyway, Bristles?" "Well, some people think that way, Fred; you ask Miss Alicia Muster, f'rinstance," grumbled the other, shaking his head dolefully. "But she's your rich old aunt, Bristles!" cried Fred, more surprised than ever. "That doesn't make any difference," complained the boy who was in trouble; "she believes I took 'em, all the same; 'cause, you see, I just _happened_ to drop in to see her twice inside the last week, worse luck for me; and, Fred, each time one of 'em disappeared the funniest way ever." "Go on and tell me what you mean; I can only guess that your aunt has met with some sort of loss. But why should she try to lay it on you, Bristles?" "Huh! you don't know how good that makes me feel, Fred, just to think that one feller isn't goin' to believe me a thief," the other boy went on, drawing a long breath. "Why, even over at our house I seem to notice 'em all lookin' kinder suspicious-like at me; just as if they couldn't quite make up their minds whether I might 'a been tempted to take 'em or not." "Take what?" demanded Fred, determined to learn the cause of his chum's trouble. "Why," Bristles went on, "don't you remember that time I took you over to see my queer old maiden aunt, who's got the rheumatics so bad, and lives in the big house all alone with a colored woman, and all her silly pets,--cats, squawkin' crows she cares for like they might be humans; and with that big bulldog chained under her window?" "Sure, I remember all that; keep going, now you've got started?" Fred broke in. "And don't you remember her showin' us that collection of pretty stones she said were opals from a Mexican mine she had an interest in long ago?" the other asked, almost breathlessly. "That's right, Bristles; and you said they just about caught your eye the worst kind," Fred observed. "Fact is, the old lady seemed to be tickled because you showed such a fancy for those milky stones that looked like 'moonlight,' as she called it." "Gee! you remember too much, Fred," complained the other, with a grimace. "Because you see, it was that silly remark of mine that's gone and got me into a peck of trouble. I really didn't care so much for the things as I let on; but you know, my aunt is as rich as all get out; and it's kind of the fashion over to our house to make her feel good when we can. That was why, I reckon, I made out to admire her collection of opals like I did, though they were pretty enough. Wish now I'd kept my tongue between my teeth; or that it'd been you who took that notion to make out you was interested in 'em." "And you mean she's lost some of the opals; is that it?" asked Fred. "Two of 'em gone, she told me yesterday afternoon, when mother sent me over to take her a cake she'd made," Bristles continued. "And did she really have the nerve to accuse you of stealing them, Bristles?" "Well, hardly that," replied the other boy, gritting his teeth; "if she had, I reckon I'd a flamed right out, and told her what I thought of old maids that had vinegar natures--I've heard my mom say that, though she told me never to repeat it to Aunt Alicia for anything. You see she acted like she suspected me." "Oh! and you felt bad on that account, eh?" questioned Fred. "She told me she'd just been saying to Sallie Kemper, when she was in, that it was the _queerest thing ever_ that twice her lovely little opals disappeared when I visited her on my own account. And Fred, you know as well as I do what Sallie is." "Sure I do," returned the other, promptly; "I hadn't been in Riverport a great many moons when I learned that she was considered the biggest gossip in the place." "That's right," Bristles went on. "Sallie went around right away, and told how the rich Miss Muster suspected her own nephew of actually taking some of her beautiful and valuable jewels. It kept gettin' bigger as it was told from one to another, and I just guess my sister Kate brought it home. Mom asked me if I'd done anything wrong, and I said point blank that I'd sooner cut my hand off than steal Aunt Alicia's opals, or touch anything she owned." "Well, didn't that end it?" asked Fred, who had troubles of his own, and could feel for his chum. "Oh! nothin' more was said; but I saw mom and pop talkin' together after supper; and when I went out I just know they rooted all around in my room, 'cause things was upset. But Fred, it's just _awful_ to feel everybody lookin' at you with a question in their eyes. I'll never be happy again till I find out what did become of those silly jewels of my aunt's." "Oh! I wouldn't worry so much as that," counselled Fred. "Perhaps by now she's found where she put the things. Cheer up, Bristles, and think of the great times ahead of us boys of the Riverport school, with that jolly shell coming to us, and the river in fine shape for rowing this summer." As they walked along the bank of the Mohunk, with Fred trying to cheer his companion up, a few words concerning the young fellows might be in place. Fred Fenton had come to Riverport within the year. He lived with his father and mother, together with three smaller sisters, in a cottage not far removed from the bank of the river. Mr. Fenton was employed by a concern in the town. He had at first been connected with a large manufacturing firm in Mechanicsburg, which was located some three miles up the river; but lost his position through the influence of Squire Lemington, who had a reason for wishing him to feel the biting pangs of poverty. An uncle of Fred's had left some valuable property up in Alaska, which would make the Fentons comfortable if they could only get hold of it. Unfortunately a big syndicate, with which Sparks Lemington was connected, pretended to have a claim on this mining property, and was doing everything possible to keep Mr. Fenton out of it. An important witness, whose evidence would have undoubtedly proved the Fentons to be the genuine owners, had been mysteriously carried off. His name was Hiram Masterson, and he was really a nephew of Sparks Lemington. Mr. Fenton had gone to the city late in the preceding Fall, under the belief that the missing witness was found; but arrived too late, since Hiram had been "shanghaied" aboard a sailing vessel belonging to the big syndicate, and carried away to unknown seas, perhaps never to return. So hope had gradually dwindled down to a very faint spark in the breasts of the Fentons, though they still refused to utterly give up dreaming that some day all would be made right. Fred had soon made many friends among the boys of Riverport, and some enemies as well. How he became the leading pitcher of the school team, and played his part in the great games against Paulding and Mechanicsburg, has been described in the first volume of this series, entitled "Fred Fenton, the Pitcher; Or, The Rivals of Riverport School." The chief enemy of Fred was Buck Lemington, son of the Squire, who had planned to ruin the Fentons' hopes for fortune. And just how the bully of the town, taking pattern from his father's usual methods of procedure, tried to get Fred disgraced, so that he could not play on the football team that Fall, you will find described in the second volume called: "Fred Fenton in the Line; Or, The Football Boys of Riverport School." During the Winter and early Spring Fred had continued to hold the good opinions of most of his schoolmates; and with the summer now at hand he was ready to join with a boy's enthusiasm in the new sports that the season brought in its train. Talking earnestly, the two lads were still walking along the edge of the river some little distance above the town, when, just as they turned a bend in the stream, they heard a sharp scream, accompanied by much splashing in the water. "Listen to that racket, would you, Fred?" cried Bristles, turning toward his comrade, his face filled with alarm; "as sure as you live, somebody's fallen into the river, and it sounds like a child, too." "Come on!" was all Fred said in reply; indeed, even while throwing these two words over his shoulder he was leaping down the bank of the Mohunk. CHAPTER II THE TRICKY CANOE Fred reached the edge of the water almost before his companion realized what was going on. Throwing off his coat and discarding his shoes he plunged headlong into the river. A canoe had unset in the stream, and a small boy was struggling to maintain his desperate clutch on the sloping side of the craft floating with the current. Fortunately the swift stream was bringing it toward Fred as he plunged into the water. Had it been otherwise he would hardly have been able to reach it before the boy sank for the last time. Bristles Carpenter had by now recovered his wits, and about the time Fred gave that mighty splash, when going headlong into the river, he too was hurrying down the bank, trying in his clumsy fashion also to discard his coat and shoes. The Fenton boy had, meanwhile, struck out straight for the canoe, with the little lad trying vainly to get hold of the bobbing gunwales, disappearing under the surface several times, to come up again spluttering, and choking. Fred was a good swimmer, and never in all his past life had he known such an occasion for making speed as then. He saw that the small boy could not remain long above the water; and if he did go down, it might be next to impossible to find him in time to get him ashore while life remained. Just as Bristles, panting for breath, and eager to lend a helping hand, arrived at the brink of the water, he saw his chum reach out, and grasp the sinking child by the shoulder. "Whoo!" That was Bristles, trying to give a cheer, but making a sad mess of it because of shortness of breath. He saw that Fred, by a great effort, had raised the little fellow, and actually pushed him into the canoe, which had not overturned when it threw its occupant into the treacherous river, though the craft was much waterladen. And now the rescuer was starting to swim back toward the shore, urging the little craft along with him. Bristles Carpenter had actually started into the river, and was already almost up to his waist when he chanced to remember that he was accounted one of the poorest swimmers among the Riverport boys. "Don't come out, Bristles; stay there and try to give me a hand!" From the way Fred called this, it was evident that his recent exertions must have quite exhausted him; and that he felt the need of some assistance, in order to get ashore with the canoe. The current was particularly strong at this place, it being accounted one of the danger spots of the Mohunk; and it seemed averse to letting its intended victim get away from its grip. Once Bristles had caught hold of Fred's arm he braced himself, and soon the other was able to get his feet on the bottom. Together they drew the canoe to the shore. "Why, hello! here's a queer thing!" exclaimed Bristles, as, having clambered out of the river he bent down to look at the half-drowned lad in the canoe; "did you know it was little Billy Lemington you yanked out of the water?" "Yes, I knew it all along," replied Fred, as he squeezed some of the water from his trousers, and then leaned over to see how the boy was coming on. Considering what a narrow escape little Billy had just had, he seemed to be pretty well off. He had swallowed some water, it was true, and his face was ashen white; but he could get up on his knees, and was soon feeling better. "It just kicked me out," he said, when Bristles asked him how the accident had happened. "Say, that's a way all canoes have, I understand," Bristles chuckled. "They just watch till you're not lookin', and then chuck you overboard. Some of 'em are worse than a bucking bronco at throwing a feller. But looky here, Billy, how does it come you're in this cranky boat? I'd 'a thought your dad would have told you to leave Buck's canoe alone." "He did," replied the little fellow, with a half sob; "but I thought I knowed how to manage it. But I'm never goin' to try again, no siree. But won't I get it when they hear all about me bein' in the water! Wish you wouldn't tell on me. Pop'll just give me hot cakes for not mindin' him. _Please_ don't tell. I'll promise never to get in this old boat again, sure I will!" Fred and Bristles exchanged glances. "What do you say, Fred?" asked the latter; "ought we keep still about it?" Under ordinary circumstances Fred would have said that the parents of the boy ought to know what chances he had been taking; but the conditions were rather peculiar just then. If he told, it would seem as if he might be trying to "draw the teeth" of his enemy, Buck Lemington, by boasting how he had saved the latter's little brother, of whom the bully was especially fond. And Fred's pride rose at the idea of his being considered that sort of a fellow. "Oh! I'm willing to keep mum about it, Bristles, if you are," he said, slowly, after having duly considered the matter. "He promises never to get in this cranky canoe again. For the life of me I can't see how he ever paddled it all the way up here." "I didn't," spoke up Billy, quickly. "Buck lent it to Bob Armstrong, and last night I heard him say he thought it funny Bob didn't drop down with his boat. So I just thought to-day I'd walk up to Bob's and if he was around, tell him I'd come for our canoe." "And Bob was silly enough to let you have it, eh?" asked Bristles, indignantly. Billy was rapidly recovering his nerve. He even made a wry face as he went on to answer the question put to him. "Why no. You see Bob, he wasn't around; so, because I didn't want to have my long walk all for nothin', I just hunted up the paddle in his woodshed, and started for our house. I'd a made it, too, if I hadn't leaned too far over when a rock bumped into us, and the old thing just pitched me out." "Well," said Fred, laughingly, "suppose you jump around a little, and dry off before you go home, Billy. And neither of us will let on what happened. I'll get the canoe down to your house in some fashion, though I hope Buck will be away this morning." "He's gone off with some of the fellers to Grafton, to look at somethin' they want to buy," the small chap continued; "and he won't be back till noon. That's just why I thought I'd help get his boat down the river. You see Bob's with him, I guess." So after they had seen Billy scamper away, keeping in the warm sun so as to get his clothes dried, and avoiding the road so that he might not meet inquisitive people who would wonder how he came to be so wet, Fred and Bristles together entered the canoe, the latter having recovered his shoes and coat. They recovered the paddle and Fred pushed off, and went quietly along down the river until finally he was able to bring the craft to the shore at the place where Buck generally kept it housed in a small shanty he had built. They tied it up, and sauntered away. By this time their clothes had dried fairly well. They were just leaving the vicinity of the boat house where Buck kept the canoe, when Bristles caught sight of a boy staring hard at them from a little distance along the river bank. "After all, Fred, I reckon that we'll hear something drop about this little matter," he declared; "because, you see, there's Sam Jinks watching us with his eyes just popping half out of his head. He wonders what we've been doing with Buck's canoe, because he knows right well we never borrowed it. And make up your mind Sam'll tell him all about it the first chance he gets, because he wants to get in with that bunch." "All right," replied Fred, with a shrug of his shoulders; "I don't see where we've got any reason to worry about it. Just say we found the boat drifting on the current of the river, which is the truth, Bristles. Buck can carry on any way he likes; we won't give him any satisfaction. And now, let's get back to what we were talking about when all this rumpus came along; the chances for a boat club in Riverport." CHAPTER III A BOAT CLUB MEETING "Great news, Fred! Our boat's come!" "Come on down to the railroad yards, and see her, Fred!" Two boys stood outside the Fenton cottage, and shouted these words up at Fred Fenton, who was leaning from the window of his room. It was several days after the events narrated in the preceding chapters, and Fred had meanwhile gone quietly on his way, saying not a word about the accident, whereby little Billy Lemington would have surely lost his life only for the good luck that brought Fred and Bristles to the river in time. Fred had not happened to run across Buck Lemington since, and hence did not know whether or not the bully had been told about Bristles and himself arriving with the canoe. Of course Fred made haste to rush out of the house at hearing the news brought by Bristles Carpenter and Sid Wells, the latter his most particular chum. "When did it arrive?" he demanded, adjusting his cap as he came up, and immediately falling into step with the other eager fellows as they hurried off. "Last night, I reckon," replied Sid. "I just happened to wander down there this morning, never thinking to run across a surprise, when what did I see but a long crate, and inside that a splendid eight-oar shell, just what we ordered with that money we earned in the winter, giving minstrel shows and gymnastic performances. It's a great day for Riverport school, fellows; and well have a dandy time this summer, believe me!" "I wish Mechanicsburg or Paulding would get a boat like ours, and give us a race on the river," remarked Bristles, eagerly. "Say, wouldn't that be just the best ever?" Sid went on; "we beat 'em out at baseball, and on the gridiron; perhaps we might win another victory on the water. The Mohunk is a good stream for rowing, at certain times of the year." "I suppose a lot of the boys are down there right now, all talking about what a great time this summer will be for the nine lucky fellows, and their substitutes?" remarked Fred, as they walked on into the town; for the Fenton's lived a little way outside. "Why, nearly the whole school is down there, and such jabbering you never heard," laughed Sid. Bristles tried to catch the eye of the third member of the group. "Yes," he remarked, with emphasis, "and Buck Lemington, he's there on deck, big as ever. To hear him talk you'd think he was already made coxswain of the crew, and could lord it over the rest of us like a king." "That's always his way, to claim everything at the first, and then give up a little, inch by inch," declared Sid. "There are just seventeen members of the rowing club, all picked out as being the best in the school. And who will be coxswain depends on the vote they'll take at the meeting to-night. I know one right now who'll never vote; for Buck Lemington." "Make it two, just for luck," Bristles said, with a grin; "and there are others to be heard from, also. Between you and me and the lamp-post, boys, I reckon Buck will get just five votes, besides his own; and they'll come from his cronies, Whitey, Clem Shocks, Oscar Jones, Con Jimmerson and Ben Cushing. The rest will go in another direction that I won't mention right now." He and Sid exchanged winks and nods as though there might be a secret between them; but Fred was paying no attention to this "wireless telegraphy." "Tell me, did you run across Buck, yourself, Bristles?" "Sure I did," replied the other; "and that was just what I was goin' to tell you about. He came swaggering up to me, just like he always does, you know, and wanted to know what business I had in _his_ canoe--that he heard you'n me was seen fastening up alongside his boathouse t'other day." "And what did you say?" demanded Fred, smiling at the aggressive manner of the boy who had the mop of hair. "Me? Oh! I pretended that we'd found the little boat driftin' down the river, and waded in to get her," Bristles went on. "Of course he didn't believe you?" Fred questioned. "Not much. But I didn't get riled up worth a cent, Fred, just grinned in his face, and kept on saying it _was_ so, and we _did_ find the boat adrift. Then, what d'ye think, he says that Bob Armstrong told him the paddle was all the while in the woodshed, so if the canoe did break loose, however in the world could it have been with the boat, 'less we took it?" "We know, all right; don't we, Bristles? Oh! never mind winking, and looking at Sid here, because I told him all about it, and he'll never peach; will you, Sid?" "Not much," replied the other, promptly; "all the same, I think you're doing the wrong thing to keep so close-mouthed about it. I'd just glory in telling Buck how his little brother Billy would have been drowned if you hadn't happened to be nearby when he was pitched out of the canoe." "Well, we made up our minds to keep quiet about it," Fred continued, quietly; "and what Buck believes cuts mighty little figure in it. But there's the railroad yard, and what a mob of boys and girls I've seen since school closed. Whew! I should think every fellow in town had got wind of it by this time; and I'm the last to know." There was indeed great excitement around the spot where lay the long shell, cased in its stout crate, having been lifted off the car upon which it had come from the boat-building establishment. Temporary quarters had been arranged for, until some later date, when possibly a new boathouse might be erected, provided the town people contributed the amount necessary. That night, in the schoolhouse, there was called a meeting of the members of the Riverport Boat Club in order to transact business of great importance. Buck Lemington was more friendly than he had ever before been known. But those boys who knew him so well understood what his sudden conversion meant. He aspired to fill the important position of coxswain on the crew, and was figuring to gain the votes of a majority of those entitled to pass judgment and select officers. It was well known that Brad Morton, the same boy who had carried the football team to victory during the last season, as captain, had once rowed in a racing shell when visiting a relative in a college town. And his name had been mentioned pretty much in opposition to Buck, who also claimed to have had experience. And as the coxswain was to have the power of choosing the members of his crew, it can be seen that the position was one carrying a certain amount of influence with it. As only eight fellows could be given places on the regular crew in the shell, and Buck's five cronies were all eager to be ranked as members, they electioneered for him most industriously. Fred had been given the place as chairman of the meeting, and he tried to carry out the duties of his position without fear or favor. What he wished to see was a square deal, with the best man winning out. After considerable talk, in which many of the boys joined, two candidates for the position of coxswain were put in nomination, Buck and Brad. And each had a noisy send-off when his backer started to tell what virtues as a coxswain the candidate possessed. "Move we vote!" shouted Bristles Carpenter, anxious to get the agony over. "Question! A motion that we proceed to vote has been made, Mr. Chairman!" called out Corney Shays, whose father was an old college man, and had once, many years back, rowed in a junior four-oared race. "Any second?" asked the Chairman. "I second the motion!" came from half a dozen throats. It was carried with a rush; and then the tellers went around, giving each one a slip of paper on which he was to write the name of the candidate he preferred to serve as coxswain during the season that was at hand. A few minutes later the tellers collected the slips, which were accurately counted, so that there should be no chance of fraud or mistakes. Then the result was announced by the chairman, as written out by the tellers. "Whole number of votes cast, seventeen. For Buck Lemington, six votes; for Brad Morton eleven. Which, being a majority, makes Brad Morton the coxswain of the Riverport Boat Club." Then a great uproar broke out, all of the boys shouting or cheering. Those who had voted for Buck Lemington, taking cue from their leader, declared that the election had not been fairly carried on; and that had all those interested in the club been allowed to vote, and not just those who expected to take part in the actual rowing, he would have carried the day. Buck himself was crimson with rage. He never could take defeat in a manly way, but burst into a passion. Jumping up, he rallied his five cronies around him. There was mutiny in the air, Fred saw, nor was he in his heart at all sorry, for Buck had promised to be the disturbing element in the association from the start. "Cheat me out of the position, will you?" he shouted, shaking his fist at the others, after the shouting had stopped, and everybody was staring at him; "make Brad Morton coxswain when I know more about the duties of the job in a minute than he can in a year! All right, I'm going to wash my hands of the whole bunch; and here's five husky fellers that'll go along with me. Keep your old boat, if you want to. I expected somethin' like this'd happen; and let me tell you, fellers, we've been up to Grafton to see an eight-oar shell that once won a college race. We've got an option on her, too, and just understand we'll buy her in, challenge your crowd to a race, and beat you to flinders! Come along, fellers, we don't train with this crowd any more," and the six stalked out of the building with sneers on their faces, amid a dead silence. CHAPTER IV IN CAMP ON THE MOHUNK On the day following the exciting meeting in the schoolhouse, the members of the boat club connected with Riverport school were in camp some miles up the Mohunk river, wishing to practice in their new shell, where curious eyes might not watch them. It was expected that they would stay several days in camp; so tents had been taken along, as well as all sorts of supplies calculated to help the cooks in their work. The rebellion of Buck Lemington had not bothered Brad and his friends very much. True, several of their best scullers had been lost by the mutiny; but some of the more promising substitutes were moved up into regular positions, and others taken on to fill the places thus vacated; for there was no lack of candidates among the boys of Riverport school. Ever since Buck had let out his secret the talk had been about the possibility of the rival crew sending them a challenge, and an actual race taking place somewhere near Riverport, with hundreds of cheering people to watch the contest. It thrilled the boys just to talk about such a happening. "Don't get too gay, fellows," remarked a tall lad, whose name was Colon, and who had always been a good friend of Fred Fenton, from the day the latter first came to town. "Buck Lemington is a big bag of wind when it comes to bragging about what he's going to do. I think I can see him buying that shell over at Grafton, that Colonel Simms owns. His boy who went to college rowed in her, you know. There isn't money enough in Riverport to buy that boat." "Oh! I don't know," broke in Dave Hanshaw, who had always been more or less of a crack athlete on Riverport's teams; "I heard my father saying only last night that the old Colonel had lost all his money, and was selling out over in Grafton. So you see, perhaps he might be willing to let that pet boat, in which his son rowed to victory, go for a certain sum." "And Buck," observed Colon, "must have got wind of it a while back. Oh! he's a cute one, all right. He knows how to feather his nest. When he came to count noses he understood that there wasn't a show for him to be elected cox. in our club; so he gets ready to organize a little one on his own account. Wise old Buck, he knows which side his bread is buttered." "Hey! look who's coming on his wheel over yonder!" called out Dick Hendricks. "Who is it?" "Why, it looks like Sandy Richards. But what can he want up here, when they all understood we didn't expect to have visitors?" Corney Shays observed. Some of the boys began to show signs of sudden nervousness. They were not used to being away overnight from home, and could immediately picture all sorts of things as having happened since their departure very early that morning. Possibly to some of them it already seemed as though they had been off for a week. The younger boy on the wheel soon arrived at a point close to the camp. Abandoning his bicycle at the roadside he climbed the fence, crossed the field, and came to the fringe of timber. "Who's it for, Sandy?" asked Brad; and possibly there was just a trifling tremor in his own voice, though he tried to hide it in a fashion. "Got your name on it, Brad; and she's addressed to the Coxswain of the Riverport Boat Club," answered the boy, promptly; looking around him curiously at the camp, where he would very naturally have liked to remain, simply because it was forbidden territory. "A challenge, that's what!" yelled Bristles. "Buck's made good already, just think of it!" cried Corney Shays, throwing up his cap, and then jumping on it when it landed; a habit he had of working off any excitement. All eyes were turned on Brad as he tore off the end of the envelope. They saw his eyebrows go up in a manner to indicate surprise; and there also came a look of considerable satisfaction upon his honest face. "Where'd you get this, Sandy?" he demanded, turning to the bicycle rider. "Why, you see, Felix Wagner brought it over; and they wouldn't think of letting him come along up here, so I was sent with it," the boy replied, promptly. "Felix Wagner!" ejaculated Sid Wells; "say, has Buck had to go and borrow a Mechanicsburg fellow to fill out his eight?" "Hold on," interrupted Brad; "don't jump at things that way, Sid. This isn't a challenge from Buck at all. It's from Mechanicsburg!" "What's that?" shouted Colon; "are you telling me they've gone and got a boat up at that town, and want to race us for the championship of the Mohunk? That _would_ be the best news ever, fellows!" "That's just what's happened," Brad went on. "This paper is signed by Dub Jasper, who used to pitch for their baseball club, you remember fellows. Well, he's the coxswain of the Mechanicsburg Boat Club crew. He says they've got a shell on the way, and he hereby challenges us to a match, to be rowed within a month from date, and according to regular rules, the distance being marked off between their town and ours, in just what happens to be the best water at the time. How about that?" "Accept it, Brad!" several shouted, in great excitement. "Say, things in the boating line are picking up ground here," Corney Shays cried, laughingly. "Three shells on the river, to make things lively. If this keeps on the Mohunk will become the most famous boat course in this part of the country." As a unanimous vote to accept the challenge followed, Brad retired to his tent, where he wrote out a reply to the proposal made by Mechanicsburg; details to be decided later on. Sandy was accordingly dispatched with this missive, and requested to drop in again after he had seen the rival young athletes of the neighboring town. When Sandy returned, showing by the signs that he had made a swift passage from Mechanicsburg, some miles down the river, all the boys crowded around to ask him questions. "Oh! they're all worked up over there about it," replied the panting boy. "Seems like every feller in the old town is wild with the news that they're a-goin' to have a boat like ours, a present from the big manufacturer, Mr. Gobbler; and they all say they expect to lick the stuffing out of poor old Riverport this time, because the boys in their town have always been more like water ducks than we have, rowing boats, skating, making ice-boats, and all such things." "They're welcome to a think that way," laughed Corney Shays, apparently delighted with the prospect; "but perhaps we Riverport boys aren't so sleepy after all. We're just going to surprise 'em some; eh, fellers?" Judging from the shouts that broke out, all of them believed the same as the confident Corney. Sandy was soon sent back to the home town to report that the members of the boat club were nicely fixed in camp, and that none of their folks need worry a minute about them. So evening found them, with the several appointed cooks busily engaged in their work preparing supper. It was pronounced a fine meal, and as every lad had brought his vacation appetite along with him, the inroad they made upon the stock of provisions gave small hope that there would be anything to take back, when the little camping and training trip was over. Afterwards they sat around the blazing logs, for the evening had turned a bit cool, and it was pleasant near a cheerful camp fire. The conversation changed from one thing to another; but always seemed to return again to the exciting event of that day--when the challenge was received from Mechanicsburg. In imagination some of the young oarsmen doubtless already saw the scene that would take place upon the banks of the Mohunk when the rival towns cheered their pet crews on to victory, or defeat. Into the midst of all this good-natured chaffing and chattering, Bristles Carpenter suddenly burst, with his hair more on end than ever, it seemed, and his face white with apprehension. "Hey! wake up, fellers!" he cried. "There's some sneak down near our boat, and just as like as not he's been trying to cut a hole in her, so we can't row in any race! I saw him creeping around, when I stepped out just now!" CHAPTER V HOOFS AND HORNS "Get a move on, boys!" yelled Colon, as he unlimbered his long legs, on which he had been coiled after the fashion of a tailor at work. "Capture him!" shouted Corney Shays. "We ought to give him a licking if he's hurt our boat!" "First catch your rabbit!" warned another. Everybody was on the jump, and it was a furious crowd that went rushing down toward where the new shell had been laid, along the shore of the river, at a point where a little beach offered an ideal spot for launching. "Where is he?" shouted several, as they drew near the spot, and failed to discover the skulking figure of any enemy, trying to get away. "I see him, fellow's; right there in that shadow!" cried Corney, pointing. "Surround the spot, boys; and if he makes a dash for it, Colon, we look to you, with your sprinter legs, to overhaul the coward!" declared Brad. The lines were immediately extended so as to take in the dark spot indicated; and every fellow gritted his teeth, indignant at the mean trick being played by some unknown enemy, whereby perhaps harm was intended their boat. "Make him out yet, Corney?" asked one who was further removed. "Sure I do," came the exultant answer. "We closed in around so fast he didn't have sense enough to light out. Oh! we've got him cornered, all right, boys. And won't we make him sick of his bargain though!" "We ought to tie him up to a stake, and make him tell who sent him here to stick a knife through our shell, ripping her wide open!" declared Dick Hendricks, warmly. "Is there more'n one feller in all Riverport that would get down low enough to be back of a job like that?" asked Colon. "Mebbe we don't know who you mean, but we think we do," sang out Sid Wells; who had always been at loggersheads with Buck Lemington, from the time they were, as Sid used to say, "knee high to grasshoppers." "How about it now, Corney; is he there yet? Perhaps it was only a stump you set eyes on," called another from the opposite side of the circle. "Do stumps move, and duck their heads up and down?" asked Corney, indignantly; "well, that's what this one is doing right now. Don't you see him too, Brad?" "I sure see something in that shadow, and it keeps right on moving," the one addressed replied, positively. "Hey Colon, suppose, now, you run back to the fire and fetch us one of the blazing sticks you'll find handy? We'll give this thief in the night a little illumination. He thinks he can hide, does he; well, it's up to us to show him. Close up, boys, and don't you let him have a chance to sneak it." "He's our prisoner, all right, Brad; just you count on that," remarked Corney, jubilantly. "Say, what we'll do to him will be aplenty. There, didn't you see the way he yanked his head up that time? Reckon he's beginning to get scared right now; and can you blame him." "With all this crowd around," ventured Brad; "every fellow willing to give him a punch to pay him up for what he tried to do to our boat--well, I should guess not! Hurry along, Colon; that's the kind of torch for you; just look at her blaze, will you?" The long-legged boy came hurrying up, holding the burning stick in his hand. And as he advanced closer to the spot where the suspected spy was believed to be, the circle gradually narrowed, as the eager boys began to push in. "Wow! what do you think of that, now?" burst from Corney, as the light gave a sudden flash, and plainly revealed the spot that had up to now been in the shadows. "It's an old red cow, and she's getting her dander up too, fellows, because of all this noise, and the torch there! Look out if she charges you; and run like everything! There she comes, fellows, like a tornado! Run, boys! Scatter, to beat the band!" It was Brad who gave this advice. He himself did not hesitate to take it literally, for when the alarmed cow actually lowered her head, whipped her tail around several times, and then made a lunge toward the spot where Brad happened to be stationed, he whirled on his heels, and fairly flew to place a tree between himself and the frightened animal. Then there was a wild scene, every fellow being for himself. Colon flung his blazing torch at the advancing beast, and with such good aim that it actually came in contact with the cow's flank. Perhaps it stung, or at any rate gave the beast a new spasm of fear, for there immediately followed a fierce bellow, and the lunges grew more violent. With flying tail and lowered horns the cow went charging past the scattering boys. Luckily none of them was in her way, or they might have been flung high in the air; since the most expert athlete among them knew nothing about bull fighting. "She's going to charge our tents!" shrieked Corney, who was part way up a tree, so rapid had been his action after being warned by Brad of the danger. "Head her off, somebody!" whooped Colon, who, however, showed not the least intention of doing anything in that line himself; for he had found a convenient tree, that would afford plenty of shelter if necessary, against the charge of half a dozen frightened cows. If the animal headed directly toward the camp it was because she had been so bewildered by the various shouts of the boys that she hardly knew which way to turn, in order to escape from what she doubtless considered an attack. There came a crash. "There goes one of the tents!" cried Colon; "that's because nobody would do what I said, and head her off. Lots of you were closer than I was. Anyhow, she's gone gallopin' away. Let's see what damage she did!" Another torch was pulled from the fire; indeed, now that Colon had shown the way, several of the others made haste to secure flaming brands. "Take care, there, and don't set anything afire!" warned Brad, seeing that a few were inclined to be reckless; "there's quite a lot of dead stuff around here, left over from last Fall. Look out how you handle that torch boys!" A hasty investigation disclosed the pleasing fact that no harm had come to the racing shell through the wandering about of the grazing cow. Then the campers set to work to get up the tent that had been knocked over. Of course the excitement died down presently, since there had been no particular damage done, and the boat was uninjured. The boys sat around for an hour or two, talking. Then some of them began to yawn, and to examine the places inside the three tents where they had stowed their blankets, carried along because the summer nights were apt to get cool toward morning. One by one they crept off, until by degrees the ranks were thinned down to just three--Brad, Bristles and Fred. Even the captain of the club finally declared he was done up with the exercise of the day, and might as well "hunt up the soft side of a board," as he chose to remark; though a soft blanket, doubled on the ground, was really the kind of bed awaiting him. Fred had a reason for waiting up. He had received a signal from Bristles that the other wanted to speak with him in private; and remembering that he had been made a sort of confident before by the boy who was in trouble. Fred, though feeling very sleepy himself, sat it out. Bristles waited a few minutes after Brad had crawled into the nearest tent. Apparently he did not want the others to overhear anything he said to our hero. This caution on his part told the other that Bristles must have more reason for feeling gloomy; though he had somehow kept from saying anything all day. Presently Fred saw him get up, and start around the now smouldering camp fire, as if to join him; so he made a place on his blanket, which he had brought out some time before, to sit upon. "Did you want to see me about anything, Bristles?" Fred asked, as the other dropped down close beside him. "Yes, Fred," began the other, in a low voice; "you were so good to stand up for me when I told you about those pesky opals, that I just thought after all I'd let you know about some more that's happened." Fred started, and looked uneasily at the other's long face. "Does that mean, Bristles, your aunt has been missing more of her precious stones?" he asked. Bristles nodded his head in a forlorn fashion. "Two of 'em gone this time, Fred, and I guess I'm the unluckiest feller ever, because they disappeared yesterday afternoon; and mom sent me over with a message to Aunt Alicia about four o'clock." CHAPTER VI A SUDDEN AWAKENING "Well, that's a funny thing, Bristles," Fred remarked, as he allowed the full force of the other's story to sink into his mind. "Not so very funny for me, let me tell you, Fred," muttered Bristles. "Why, of course I didn't mean it that way, you know, old fellow," Fred hastened to say; "I meant that it was queer. Three times now you've just happened to drop in to see your aunt, and every time one or more of her precious stones have disappeared, as if they went up in smoke?" "Say, perhaps they did!" the other went on, moodily. "Always smells smoky to me in that house. Then again do you know, Fred, when I see that old black crow perched on the back of aunty's chair, it somehow makes me think of haunted houses, it's so spooky." "Now what do you want me to believe--that the old colored woman sits on the back of your aunt's chair, and smokes her pipe?" Fred asked, chuckling a little. "Oh! shucks! perhaps I am twisted up somehow in trying to tell you what happened; but then," and Bristles' voice sank into a half whine, "I just guess any feller would be rattled, if he'd bothered his head as much as I have the last few days. I meant the old tame crow Aunty's got, that talks sometimes to beat the band. Now do you know, Fred?" "Sure I do," replied the other, promptly; "I've never forgotten how Black Joe looked, blinking his eyes at us when we stood there talking to your aunt. But you're wrong in one thing, Bristles; it isn't just a plain, everyday crow at all. She said it was a raven, one of the wise old kind you read about; and that she brought it across the water. They're more cunning than our crows; and goodness knows I've always found _them_ smart enough, when you had a gun." "Oh! well, crow or raven, what does it matter to me?" grumbled Bristles. "But as I was saying, Fred, my mom sent me over in the afternoon. I didn't want to go; not much! That house gives me the creeps; and aunty has such sharp, piercing eyes. But there wasn't any getting out of it, so I went. But let me tell you, I was determined to toe the mark, and not even give a think to the measly opals that once I was silly enough to admire." "Well?" said Fred, encouragingly, as the other paused for reflection. "I gave my little message, and came away as quick as I could," Bristles presently went on, with a big sigh. "All the rest of the afternoon I was patting myself on the back, Fred, and saying the old lady would have a chance to change her mind about little Andrew. But it didn't wash, Fred, not a bit of it." "You said, I believe, that two more of the opals had vanished; when did you hear about that?" asked Fred, to hurry his chum along. "Why, after I came in just before supper time, feeling better than for several days. I saw with one eye that mom was bothered again over something, and I understood what it was when she handed me a little note she'd got late that afternoon from Aunt Alicia." He fumbled about in his pockets for several minutes, until Fred grew impatient. "Never mind about the note," he remarked; "perhaps you handed it back, or you may have lost it, Bristles. I should think you could tell me the gist of it." "You'd better guess I can!" burst forth the other, with renewed feeling. "It ran about this way, Fred: She had the unpleasant duty to perform of telling mother that two more of her opals had disappeared that afternoon, and could not be found, high or low. She was not accusing _anybody_ of taking them, oh! no, not for worlds; but it was a _strange coincidence_, that was all." "Whew! that sounds hot off the bat!" remarked Fred, with a low whistle to indicate his feelings in the matter. "Yes, she used that very word," Bristles went on; "and I guess it hit the case right well, for it _is_ a coincidence, I give you my solemn word, Fred, and nothing more." "I believe you. Bristles; I'm as sure of it as if she suspected me of taking her opals, and I knew I was innocent. But was that all the note said?" "Well, not quite, Fred. She went on to say that she would be very much obliged to mom, if, after this, when she had to communicate with her aunt--for that's what Miss Muster is to mom, you know--she'd send my sister Kate; because you see, Andrew is an unpleasant boy to have around!" Bristles tried to laugh as though his heart were steeled against showing any natural feeling; but Fred felt sure he was winking very fast, and he had little difficulty in guessing why. "It is a hard problem you're up against, Bristles," he went on to say, while he laid a hand affectionately upon the other's quivering arm; "but just perk up, and make sure that it's bound to come out right, sooner or later. If you don't go to see your aunt again, after a bit, another of her opals will disappear; and then the quick-tempered old lady must see that it wasn't you after all." Immediately Bristles raised his head, as though new life had come to him. "Say, I never thought of that, Fred!" he exclaimed. "It's a good idea, too, and is sure to work, sooner or later. Whoever is taking her opals will get tired of waiting for me to come around again, to be the scapegoat; and crib another lot. Then won't Rome howl, though! If it turns out to be the old mammy, she'll lose her steady job all right; because Aunt Alicia is stern and unforgiving. I used to be her favorite; but never again for me, after this." "Well, if you feel better now, Bristles, and there's nothing more to tell me, suppose we both crawl in, and get a little snooze? I'm as tired as all get-out; and I reckon you're in the same boat." "Just what I am," returned the other, actually yawning; "but you've made me feel a hundred times better, Fred. It's a mighty good thing to have a chum like you, once in a while, and that's the truth. You've got a way about you that just makes the clouds seem to roll right off, and the sunshine come again." "Oh! I'm glad if I've been able to do you any good, Bristles; but let me know if any more things come up, will you?" "I just will, and no mistake," the boy who had found new hope replied, while his face beamed. "But don't think I'm going to forget all about it. No siree; if there's any way I can learn whether a jeweler in Riverport or Mechanicsburg has been buying an opal lately, I'm bound to get on the track." "Be careful, that's all, when you make inquiries," cautioned Fred. "Now, I don't get on to what you mean?" remarked Bristles. "Why, don't you see, if your aunt should also choose to look around, and heard that you were making inquiries about the value of opals, and all that, of course she'd jump to the conclusion that you wanted to learn how the market stood, so you'd be posted when you wanted to sell the ones you'd hid away!" "Granny! I never once thought of that, Fred!" gasped the other, lost in astonishment. "But it's so, don't you think now, Bristles?" "That's right, it would look suspicious. But Fred, what ought I say if I wanted to find out?" "Tell Mr. Rhinehart, our jeweler, the exact truth, and what your object is in asking about opals. He seems to be a pretty decent sort of a man, and like as not he'll feel for you, Bristles. Anyhow, he can prove to your aunt that you wanted to know if anybody offered opals for sale." "That's just fine of you, Fred, and I'll do it as sure as anything. I'm going to crawl in now, and get a few winks. I need 'em the worst kind, because I rather think I didn't sleep any too much last night, I felt so bad." Both boys were soon under their blankets; and no doubt sleep quickly came to banish all thoughts of opals, boat races, and all such things. Fred's sleep was broken by dreams, and they were pretty well mixed up. At one time he was swimming in the river again, trying to locate little Billy Lemington, who had disappeared from sight, and could not be found. Then again he seemed to be in a city, somewhere, when there was great confusion, a rushing of heavy vehicles over the pavement, and loud shouts that seemed to thrill him. Fred sat upright. For a second he believed his dream had been so vivid that it was haunting him still; for he fancied that he could hear the rumbling of engines over the granite blocks; and surely that was a wild alarm of fire that broke upon his hearing. Then like a flash it came to Fred that there was nothing of a dream about it--some one _was_ shrieking the startling word "fire!" at the top of his voice; and even in that dreadful moment the aroused sleeper believed he could distinguish the well known tones of Bradley Morton. CHAPTER VII ICE COLD WATERS "Fire! Fire! Wake up, everybody! Help! Help!" So Brad was shouting at the top of his lusty young voice. Such an upheaval as his thrilling cries brought about in the three tents! Every one of the sixteen inmates scrambled out from under the blanket in which he had been so snugly rolled. They came flocking out just as they were, some in pajamas, others in all sorts of apparel suited to sleeping; and not a few about half disrobed, they having failed to provide for the night time. Nobody needed to ask any questions, because they had eyes, and could easily see what was the matter. A fire was blazing in the pile of dead stuff over near where the new boat lay. The sight gave every fellow a sensation of dread; for he naturally thought of what a disaster it would be should the racing craft be injured or destroyed. "Save the boat, fellows!" shouted Fred, who seemed to be able to keep his wits about him better than most of the others. "Yes, rush in, and get hold of her!" added Brad. "I don't believe she's been hurt yet. This way, boys! Everybody help!" There was at least no lack of volunteers. It seemed as though everybody felt anxious to have a hand in saving the boat, for there was a concerted rush on the part of all. One or two tripped, and fell down in their haste. Others stubbed their toes on stones or roots, and doubled up, groaning with pain. But all of a dozen managed to reach the vicinity of the shell, which rested there so dangerously close to the roaring blaze. "Take hold, all that can!" called Fred, as he himself clutched one of the out-riggers, and made ready to lift. "All ready now? Yo heave 'o! and away we go! That's the way to do it, boys! We've saved our boat, and don't you forget it!" With lusty cheers they carried the frail craft to a place of safety, each fellow proud to be counted among the savers. "Bully for us!" cried Colon, who was limping around as if he had struck his foot against something hard. "But look here, fellows, hurry and get some shoes on," Fred continued. "We've got to put that fire out, or it may spread. Anyhow, it'll make our camp a tough place if we let it burn itself out." Several who had been wise enough to pull on their shoes before starting out at once volunteered to get busy under Brad; and the balance hurried to the tents to provide themselves with foot covering. There were a couple of buckets in the camp, and these were immediately pressed into service by the enthusiastic young fire-fighters. One fellow stood down by the river, and dipped each bucket in as it came back empty. Then in turn it was relayed along from hand to hand, until finally either Brad or Fred received it. They used their judgment as to where the water was to be thrown, and with such good results that after a short time it was seen that the fire did not burn so brilliantly as before. "Hurrah! fellows, we're doing the business, all right!" shouted Corney, who had been working like an industrious beaver all the time. "It's dying out, and that's a fact!" cried Colon, the one who dipped up the water at the other end of the line. "Getting much darker down here. About time, too, I reckon, because I've just about emptied the whole river!" "Oh! quit your grumbling, Colon!" called out Sid, who was just above the bank, receiving each bucket that the tall boy reached up to him. "We ought to be sending up a regular chorus because we saved our boat." "Don't believe for a minute that I'm growling, Sid," the long-legged Colon gasped, for he began to feel winded by his exertion. "I'm only bothered for fear there won't be enough river left for that boat race to be pulled off." "Plenty more coming from above, Colon; so brace up. Perhaps it'll rain cats and dogs before the race comes off, and the river be bank full," and Dave Hanshaw tossed an empty bucket down to the boy at the brink of the stream. "A few more and we can let up, boys!" came the cheering news from Brad, who, being close to the burning brush, ought to know. And indeed, it did suddenly become gloomy as the fire failed to find any more dry fuel to feed upon, so that it gasped fitfully, and threatened to go out entirely. So, presently, there was no further need of exertion on the part of the now weary passers of water; and the boys began to gather around their own blaze, which some one had rekindled with fresh wood. Some of them were wet, and all more or less chilly after giving up their exertions; so that they were glad to gather around the fire, with coats on, or blankets thrown over their shoulders. Sleep, for the time being, had been utterly banished from their eyes; for one and all were desirous of comparing notes as to the origin of the furious fire. "Was it the work of some sneak, who wanted to burn our boat, Brad?" asked Dick Hendricks. "That's hard to say, Dick," was the reply. "I'd hate to think anybody could be so mean as to want to do that." "Huh! we happen to know one feller who wouldn't stop a minute," remarked Corney. "There's another possibility that none of you seems to have thought of," said Fred, breaking in just then. "What's that, Fred?" demanded Brad, turning toward the speaker, quickly. "Why, perhaps it was an accident, after all," observed Fred. "An accident!" echoed Colon. "Well, _something_ started that fire, we all know that," Fred went on, resolutely. "It never caught from a spark that came from the camp blaze, because in the first place there hasn't been a single spark flying for several hours; and then again you want to notice that the wind is right from the opposite quarter." "Then how could it catch by accident, I want to know?" asked Dave Hanshaw. "I'm on," sang out Sid. "He means Colon!" All eyes were instantly turned on the tall boy. "Well, I did throw that torch at the cow; I admit that much, fellows," he began; "but don't tell me it just kept on smouldering all this time in that brush heap, to take fire after everybody'd gone to sleep! Why, it must have been all of five hours ago. Shucks! you can't prove it; and I won't admit a single thing." "Well, it might have happened; and that's as near as we'll ever get to finding out the truth," said Fred. When they had talked it all over they began to feel sleepy once more; and one by one again crawled into the tents. There was no further alarm, and morning came to arouse the camp of the boat club. The day promised to be a beautiful one, but rather sultry. Indeed, even in the early morning the waters of the Mohunk looked inviting to the boys, so that as they came out of the tents they made a bee-line for the bank, to plunge in. Soon there was a great splashing and shouting, such as a dozen and more boys in swimming alone can produce. Bristles, remembering a promise he had made to himself, pursued his lessons diligently, and was making splendid progress, so that he began to grow quite encouraged. "I'll be a swimmer right away," he told Fred, as the two of them sat on the bank rubbing down, after coming from the water. "I'm getting to have confidence in myself, Fred, and already I went more'n twenty feet without touching bottom." "Good for you, Bristles; I said you had it in you to make a swimmer, if only you'd keep everlastingly at it. Every boy who goes on the water, either in a boat, or to skate, ought to know how to swim. It may save his life, or the life of a chum some day. But those fellows ought to come out, or they'll get blue around their lips, for the water is icy cold. Colon looked shivery the last time he was up on the bank for a high dive!" "There he is now, swimming across the river again, Fred. He ought not to try that so often, seems to me. Why, look at him, will you; he's making believe he's got a cramp or something!" Fred sprang to his feet excitedly, exclaiming: "There's no make-believe about that, Bristles; Colon _has_ got a cramp, and right now he's in danger of drowning away out there in the middle of the river. Quick! fellows, to the rescue! Colon is drowning!" CHAPTER VIII A SURPRISE Fred's words created much excitement. Some of the boys stood and looked out to where Colon was struggling desperately in the deep water, seeming to be almost paralyzed with alarm. Others, who kept their wits about them, started after Fred, who, plunging in, was already swimming across the Mohunk. Fred knew the danger that awaited them. When anyone is drowning, he or she seems to lose all the good sense which at another time he may have possessed. The instinct of self preservation is so strong that a drowning boy will clutch at his dearest friend, and hold frantically to him, not because he wants to pull the other down, but because he hopes to be himself buoyed up. "Help! help!" Colon was trying to scream, though the water, getting in his mouth, muffled the sound considerably. There was no need of his wasting what little breath he still possessed. His chums were doing everything in their power to assist him before it was too late. Fred presently arrived close to Colon, who had been under water once, and sank again even as his camp-mate arrived on the spot. It gave Fred a sickening feeling to see the poor fellow threshing wildly with his long arms, grasping at a floating chip, which, to his excited mind, was magnified into a log. Fred had made sure to be above the other when he arrived. He wanted the benefit of the current in carrying out the plan he had in mind. One last look he took to locate Colon. Then he dove out of sight, so that the other might not see him coming, and try to clutch him. Once those frenzied hands closed upon any part of his person, Fred knew that he would have to strike Colon in the face, and stun him, before he could break loose. But he had figured well, for he came up just behind the struggling boy, who was making one last effort to keep on the surface, ere going down for the last time. Quick as a flash Fred threw his arm around Colon, who, just as he expected, tried desperately to seize him. This the other prevented with all his strength. All he wanted to do now was to continue to hold Colon until some of the others arrived on the scene, when altogether they might be able to work him to the shore. Had he been alone with Colon, Fred feared he must have resorted to other tactics if he hoped to get the other out of the river alive. But Brad and several more of the strong swimmers had by now reached a point close enough for them to ask what he wanted them to do. Even in that moment they recognized the fact that Fred was the one to whom they should look for orders, because he always knew just what to do in an emergency. "Each one of you get a grip on an arm; and be sure you don't let him grab you," was what Fred said. Brad readily carried out the instructions, and helped buoy up the helpless boy; while Sid Wells took the other arm. "He's dead!" cried the latter, seeing that Colon no longer struggled, but lay like a log in the water. "Don't you believe it," answered Fred, instantly. "He's swallowed a whole lot of water, and is pretty far gone; but let's get him ashore, and revive him!" Others had by now come up, and between the lot poor Colon was hurried to the bank, up which he was carried. "Lay him here, face down, so I can straddle him with my knees!" Fred called out. "Now, some of you begin, and work his arms back and forth regularly, while I press down on his lungs so as to induce artificial breathing. That's the only way to get things started, you see. A little harder, Brad, please. And don't the rest of you look so scared. He's going to come out of this. He wasn't under the water any time at all, but just gave way because of the cramp and the scare." So Fred talked as he worked, and all the while he was building up the hopes of the fellows, who looked peaked and white, under the belief that they had seen the last of their chum, the good-natured Colon. And Fred was right. In a very short time one of the boys who were working Colon's arms like the piston rods of a locomotive cried out: "He moved a little then, fellows!" "And listen to that, would you?" exclaimed another delighted chum, as Colon plainly sighed. In five minutes Colon recovered enough to be helped back to camp, where he was rubbed down until his skin fairly glowed, and then hustled between a pair of blankets, to rest, while the others dressed, and got breakfast ready. Colon had learned his lesson. He would never again persist in remaining in ice-cold water when he was shivering, and his lips turning blue. Nature has a way of sending up a warning sign, that every intelligent fellow ought to heed. That day passed all too soon, and another night arrived, the last they expected to spend in camp up on the Mohunk. The following day the wagon belonging to Judge Colon, an uncle of the tall boy, and put at the service of the young campers, would come to "tote" all the stuff back to town again, and some of the boys in the bargain. Of course nine of them would go back, as they had come, in the boat. And this time there was no need of any secrecy, so they could expect to excite more or less curiosity when they shot past Mechanicsburg. The mere thought inspired the boys with eagerness. In imagination they could already see the wondering faces lining the bank, and the people running to see as the word was passed hurriedly along that the new eight-oared shell of the Riverport crew was sighted up the river. They had become very careful now about the boat, which was growing more valuable in their eyes every hour, as they developed its capabilities. Catch any of them throwing torches around promiscuously now; no one ever touched the fire so that the sparks flew, but half a dozen pairs of anxious eyes followed the course they took, and speculation arose as to the chances of their doing any damage. During the morning another trial spin was taken, with Colon again in his place, and pulling a strong oar. Brad and Fred both declared that the crew was coming on famously, and would be able to give a good account of themselves when the time arrived to meet their old rivals of Mechanicsburg. Along about three in the afternoon the wagon arrived. As the tents had been taken down, and all the camp things well packed, it took but a short time to load up. Then the wagon started, escorted by the eight fellows who could not find places in the boat. The crew gave them a cheer for a send-off, and received as loud a salute in return. After which they took their places in the long, narrow boat, for the run of seven miles down the river home. Brad was keenly alive to every little thing that took place. Like a wise coxswain he felt that he ought to know each man's weakness, if he had any, so as to build him up into a perfect part of the whole machine. For a boat crew must act as though it were one unit, at the nod and whim of the fellow who sits in the stern, doing the steering, and by his motions increasing or diminishing the stroke. If one cog fails to work perfectly, the entire thing collapses. "Fine! Great work, fellows!" Brad was saying again and again after they had passed over a couple of miles down-stream. "You're doing yourselves proud; and honest now, I believe you could take a little faster stroke. We must be doing our prettiest when we spurt past Mechanicsburg." Brad had just finished saying this when he received one of the surprises of his life. His eyes were the only ones that could see down the river, and as he happened to glance over toward the left bank, where there was something of a neck of land shutting a large bay out of sight, judge of his amazement when he discovered the pointed prow of a racing boat thrusting out, and headed toward the middle of the river. And as Brad sat there, almost petrified, as he afterwards declared, the boat shot into view, containing a crew of eight, and a coxswain, in the latter of whom he recognized Buck Lemington. CHAPTER IX A LUCKY WIN "Listen, boys!" When the coxswain said this, every fellow as the oars strained his hearing, under the belief that Brad had something mighty interesting to communicate. Possibly some of them, having their eyes constantly on the coxswain, had seen by his manner that Brad must have discovered something down-stream. But no one dared try and twist his head around, in order to see for himself. "Don't anybody try to look," Brad went on; "but we're going to have a little brush right now. Buck and his bunch have got that boat from Grafton, and, finding out that we are expected to pass down the river this afternoon, they've been lying in wait for us!" Every fellow gave utterance to an exclamation, or a whistle, to indicate both his astonishment, and pleasure as well. "Now, keep on working regularly as you are, and brace yourselves, every fellow, for a furious spurt, if we have to make one. Might as well learn what our boat can do, first as last. Take care how you dip in, because a crab would upset us all. They've struck the middle of the river now, and are letting us catch up on them. I can see Whitey, Clem Shooks, Jones, Jimmerson and Ben Gushing, anyway. And they're grinning as if they meant to make monkeys of the Riverport Boat Club boys. Shall we stand for it, fellows?" Evidently Brad knew just how to key his crew up to doing their best; for his question was instantly answered with a thunderous: "Not much we won't!" "Get ready, then, because we're bearing down on 'em fast now," the wary coxswain continued, in a husky voice, caused by the excitement, no doubt. "There, they've increased their stroke so that we will come up slower, and not take the advantage from them at the start. It's a race, fellows! Let's pitch in now, and overtake the outlaw crew!" Brad knew that the greatest danger lay in one of the boys becoming so worked up that he would miss a stroke, and "catch a crab," in boating language. This would cause him to break the stroke of the entire crew, if it did nothing more serious; and give the race to their rivals. And so he continued to speak warning words to them as he regulated his motions, and the stroke in turn. "Easy there Sid, old fellow; don't try to rush things. Keep in line with Fred, because he's the stroke oar, you know. That was a fine one. Again and yet again, boys! Now we're on even terms with 'em, and we're bound to go ahead, believe me!" "Like fun you are!" called out Buck Lemington, being close enough to catch what Brad was saying. Perhaps Buck added just a little more speed to his motions, rendered desperate by the fact that thus far he and his fellows had not been able to keep the other shell from gradually cutting down the lead they had in the beginning. No matter what he did, he must have helped stop this gain on the part of Brad's crew. Now the two boats were rushing swiftly down the river, neck and neck, as it were, and going at a speed that seemed marvelous to these boys, unused to anything of the sort. For a short time both crews seemed to be working with clock-like regularity; and it would have won the praise of an old boating man just to have watched them. Of course this could hardly last, for they were both sadly lacking in practice; and at almost any second one of the sixteen lads was apt to be taken with a sudden cramp, or miss his stroke, throwing his crew into confusion, and perhaps upsetting the boat in the excitement. But they could all swim now, even Bristles Carpenter; so the worst that could happen, should such an accident overtake them, would be the loss of the race, and the consequent disappointment. To have those fellows with Buck Lemington crowing over them, would be a bitter pill to Brad's crew. And they were really doing their level best to avoid such a punishment. There was the town of Mechanicsburg right ahead of them. Brad hoped that the river might be quite free of boats that would interfere with the passage of the two fleet racers. To have to dodge any pleasure craft would mar the sport, and give one or the other an unfair advantage. It was a square race, and Brad wanted to see the best crew win. Naturally he hoped it would fall to his side to arrive at the Riverport bridge ahead; but it must be a clean, fair win to satisfy him; for trickery and Brad Morton did not pull together very well. Of course the two boats did not always keep exactly on even terms. As one or the other crew exerted themselves a trifle beyond the ordinary there would be a little change. Sometimes it was the outlaw crew that made this gain; and then, on the other hand, Brad would do something to not only even up, but take them a quarter of a boat's length ahead. It was what might be called a heart-breaking row, and seemed to be anybody's race at the time they shot past Mechanicsburg. A few score of people were seen running to the river's edge, shouting their astonishment and delight. Nobody paid the slightest heed to them, however, for the warmth of the race occupied their attention. And now there were only three more miles before they would arrive at the railroad bridge, which must be accepted as the final goal. Going down-stream, and at the amazing speed they were now traveling, three miles could not take much time. "Keep it up, fellows, and we win!" Brad said, again and again, almost unconsciously; for he was watching the river ahead closely for signs of a rock which he knew lay under the surface at a certain point, with an eddy betraying its presence. He hoped Buck was also aware of its being there, for really it would be too bad if the other boat, with such a history back of it, should be finally wrecked. Brad was almost tempted to shout out a warning, when he saw with one look behind, that, judging from the change in course, Buck was fighting shy of the dangerous quarter. He had been brought up on the banks of the Mohunk, and ought to be acquainted with every foot of ground and water in the vicinity. The pace had now reached the limit. Neither of the young crews seemed capable of doing any more. But Brad made a discovery that appalled him. Colon was weakening! The boy had received such a shock on the previous day, when he came so near being drowned in the river, that he was not in as good condition for bearing the tremendous nervous strain as the balance of the crew. Brad recognized the signs, and feared the worst. Unless they could relax presently Colon would have to give up exhausted. And, of course, that would lose them the race. It was too bad, and Brad, being a high-spirited lad, would feel the defeat keenly; but he was determined not to take too great chances. When he saw that Colon had reached the limit he meant to slacken the pace, no matter what happened, nor how much the crew shouted at him for a "quitter." Buck's boat was coming on again now. Brad doubted whether they had been able to put any fresh vim into their efforts, for that seemed next to impossible, since already every fellow was straining his muscles to the limit. It must be that the growing weakness of Colon was beginning to make itself felt. Well, what they could not cure they must endure. Colon was too good a fellow to take chances of doing him an injury that would put him off the crew indefinitely. They needed his strong back in that real race with Mechanicsburg. The others had by now discovered that the outlaw boat was slowly forging ahead, and that, despite all their efforts, the gain continued. Slowly they could see each opposing oarsman creeping along; and it was discouraging to feel that after all Buck seemed to have the better "stayers" in his crew. Already they could hear the low, taunting remarks which the others were calling out, and they stung. Defeat is hard enough to stand, when pitted against honorable, high-minded fellows, whose first thought is to give an encouraging cheer for their whipped rivals; but it is doubly painful when forced to listen to all manner of insulting remarks from rough lads devoid of decent feelings, and only bent upon "rubbing it in." Brad had really lost all hope. He was even about to throw up the sponge, and slacken the pace to such an extent that the people of Riverport, seeing the two boats coming down the river so far apart, would never think they had been racing. Then something happened, unexpectedly, as it always does in a boat race. Brad heard a sudden loud snap. He saw that the crew in the other boat seemed to be floundering around in the utmost confusion. One fellow even toppled overboard, though he immediately clutched hold of the speeding boat, and was dragged along with it. Like a race horse, the boat containing the regular Riverport crew shot past the disabled outlaw craft. Buck was shouting in his disgust. He even shook his fist at his rivals as they went on speeding down the river; and they caught the tenor of his remarks. "We had you beat good and plenty, never fear, only for that pesky outrigger bustin' on us! Next time we'll rub it in all the harder. You fellers had all the luck to-day. Just wait, that's all!" And so good fortune saved the day for Brad and his crew, when all seemed lost. CHAPTER X FRED'S HOME-COMING "We win! We win!" The shouts of the fellows who wielded the oars in the leading boat came floating back to those who were still scrambling around in the cranky outlaw craft. Buck put his hands to his mouth, in order to make his voice carry the better, and yelled disdainfully after them: "Yes, you win, but only through a foul! Run into us, and broke one of our outriggers to flinders! But just wait till we get a new one made, we'll beat you to a frazzle! Wait!" "It wasn't so, was it, Brad?" demanded Corney Shays indignantly; "we never touched his boat, did we?" "Well, I like his nerve!" cried Sid Wells, for all of them were taking things easy, now that the race was over, and the victory won. "Why, hang it, I don't believe we were within thirty feet of their old boat any time." "And you're right, Sid," added Brad. "I ought to know, because I was in a position to see everything. When that outrigger smashed they were a quarter of a length ahead. Anybody with half an eye can see that it was the second oar that got in trouble. And boys, believe me, that outrigger was away up opposite our stem, far out of reach of our oars, end on end. It's too silly for anything!" "But I think, from all I know of the fellow, that it's just like Buck to say a thing like that?" suggested Fred. "You're right there, Fred," declared Dick Hendricks; "he never yet lost a game but what, quick as a flash, he made it a point to claim that it was a foul, and the beat an unfair one. Isn't that so, fellows, all you who've known Buck since he was a kid, and always a fighting bully?" "You never said truer words, Dick," declared Sid. "And I ought to know, because I've had a dozen fights with Buck in as many years. Fact is, they say we went at each other before we were able to walk, and that he pulled the only tuft of yellow hair out that I owned about then. He used to joke me, and boast that he had that yellow lock at home, tied with a string, just like an Indian would an enemy's scalplock. Oh! we've been at it, hammer and tongs, ever since. And just as you say, Dick, he never yet lost a fight or a race or a game but what he set up a howl that the other fellow cheated, or took an unfair advantage of him." "But by this time the people of Riverport ought to be on to Mr. Buck, and know how little truth there is in his whine," remarked Fred. "Well, a lot of them do," answered Brad, scornfully, for he was indignant over the small trick of the beaten coxswain; "but you know how it is, Fred. You'll always find a certain percentage of people in every place only too willing to think the worst of you, given half a chance." "Oh! well, we don't have to bother our heads about it, I suppose," remarked Sid. "It's the same old story, nine-tenths believing in our side, and the others backing up Buck. But, fellows, we know what we know. That race was won through a streak of luck for our side, perhaps, and I'm sorry to even admit that; but there wasn't the first hint of foul play on our part." "And given half a chance," said Corney Shays, "Buck would have easily punched a hole in our boat, if he really believed he was going to be licked. I've known him to do things twice as bad as that, and get away with it too, in the bargain. Accuse him of it, and he'd laugh in your face, and ask how you could prove anything." "Let's drop Buck and his ways for a while, and think of our chances with those husky Mechanicsburg chaps," observed Brad, as they came in sight of the outlying houses connected with the home town, scattered along the river front. "Oh! I know what you mean, Brad, all right," spoke up Colon, sensitive to anything like criticism; "every one knows that I weakened toward the end, and that's what threw us out of gear. Couldn't help it, if you killed me. That little trouble I had with the river yesterday must have still bothered me. Never had such a queer feeling grip me before, and hope never to again." "Oh! I wouldn't bother myself about that, Colon," Brad hastened to say, consolingly; "given a few days to rest, and you'll be as tough as ever. That strain was heart-breaking, and nobody could blame you for wilting under it, after what you passed through yesterday. If I'd known we were going to meet that bunch, all primed to give us a race, perhaps I'd have thought it good policy to put Joe in the crew for the run home. But it all turned out right after all." "And we won, which was the best part of it!" crowed Corney. "I differ with you there, Corney," declared Brad. "To me the best part of it was the game quality the whole crew showed. That was an eye-opener to me. I know now what you can stand; and next time won't be so much afraid to push you to the limit, if I feel that every fellow is fit." "Another thing," remarked Fred, "that is pleasant to know, is the fact that luck broke in our favor. It's been my experience always, in nearly every game, when the teams are about even, that when luck takes to turning one way, that side always wins out. Everything comes their way. It's begun to like us, boys." "And we sure have no kick coming," remarked Corney, with emphasis. There were quite a few people waiting to see what was going to happen. They had known of Buck and his outlaw crew going up the river in their boat; and since the regular crew was expected down that afternoon, by putting things together, they rather guessed a race might result. Some of these people had field glasses, and from the wild way they cheered Brad and his interested spectators of at least the conclusion of the race; for the river ran about straight for some distance up toward Mechanicsburg. "Hello!" Brad called out to a party of five or crew, it might be suspected that they had been six schoolboys who seemed to be trying to crack their voices yelling, as they waved their hats, and one of them a pair of glasses; "did you see us trim Buck's bunch, Lossing?" "You just bet we did, and you showed 'em up handsomely too," came the reply; "but what happened in their boat when they were in a dead heat with you?" "Why, they were a quarter of a length ahead at the time," answered Brad, frankly. "We'd been sea-sawing it all the way down, first one leading, then the other. All at once one of their outriggers snapped off short, and that threw them into all sorts of confusion." "Oh! that was it, eh? I had the glasses, but couldn't make out just what happened. But you _did_ beat them anyhow, Brad?" called the other, jubilantly. "You'll hear a howl from Buck, all right, Lossing," Brad went on, as they came in to the shore gently enough, this being their landing place. "Well, we reckoned on that," laughed the other. "It wouldn't be Buck Lemington if he didn't make a kick. What was he yelling out after you, Brad?" "Had the nerve to say we fouled his boat, and broke that outrigger, Lossing." "Hasn't he the colossal nerve though?" the boy ashore shouted. "Why, I know for a dead certainty that the boats were at least three lengths apart at the time. That sure does make me snicker, Brad." And before evening it might be set down as certain that two versions of the race would be circulating all through Riverport, one believed by nearly all the better element, and the other taken as truth by a few select persons who, from various reasons, thought it policy to back up anything done by Buck Lemington; or his father, the rich Squire, who had interest in several factories, and was moreover quite a politician in the community. Fred waited around the boathouse until the Colon wagon arrived, bringing the rest of the boat club, and all their ordinary clothes as well. Like the others of the crew, Fred dressed then, and along about dusk started for home, knowing that it was well on toward supper time, and his father must be in from his work. Once more Fred was thinking of his own troubles, and heaving more than one sigh, as he found himself wishing again and again that something might happen to bring a new joy into the lives of his mother and father. They seemed to be losing hope; and the cares that gathered were beginning to make them look old before their time. Oh! if only they could hear _something_ from Hiram Masterson, the miner from Alaska, who had been so mysteriously spirited away just when he had determined to testify against his own rascally uncle, Sparks Lemington, and put the Fentons in possession of such information as would enable them to win the suit for the mine. "But I suppose that would be too great happiness," he mused, as he drew near his home, in the window of which he could see the light placed there by his mother. He opened the door, and then stood there transfixed, because of what he saw; for his mother was in the arms of his father, her head pillowed on his shoulder, and she seemed to be weeping. But when she raised her head at Fred's entrance the astonished and delighted boy saw immediately that it must be great joy that brought those tears, and caused this deep emotion, for upon that dear face he could read a new-born happiness. And again he remembered what he had said to his mates on the crew about luck having chosen to hunt them out as favorites; for it even seemed to wait him at home. CHAPTER XI NEWS FROM OVER SEA "Oh Fred, it's come!" exclaimed his younger sister, Kate. "What, news from Hiram?" demanded the boy, his heart beating rapidly with the sudden excitement. "That's it; and he says----" began the impulsive girl, when her mother's voice restrained her: "Wait, and let Fred read the letter for himself, Kate; he will understand it much better, I am sure; for in your present condition I doubt whether you are capable of making anything clear." Releasing herself from the arms of her smiling husband, she held out a crumpled sheet of paper to the eager Fred. He saw that there were only a few lines of writing on it, and that even this was done unevenly, as though the one who used the pen wrote under unfavorable conditions, perhaps on the edge of his bunk aboard a sailing vessel. This was just what Fred read: "On the way home by easy stages, and under an assumed name, so as not to arouse the suspicion of those who have kept me away. Determined to right a great wrong that has been done you. Willing to testify in your behalf. Be sure and keep secret, especially from the one you have to fear. "You Know Who." "Where is the envelope this came in, mother?" Fred asked the first thing; for he found nothing about the letter itself to indicate from what part of the world it might have come. "I was very careful to keep it, Fred," Mrs. Fenton replied; "for I knew you would want to see it." No sooner had Fred glanced hastily at the postmark than he whistled to indicate his astonishment. "Why, it was mailed at Hong Kong, and a whole month ago," he cried. "Yes, away at the other side of the world," his father remarked. "And from the tone of the letter I feel satisfied that our troubles will soon be of the past; for Hiram Masterson is tired of being kept away from his native land, just because he wants to tell the truth; and he is coming soon to testify for us." "This is great news, mother, father!" declared Fred, tears standing in his eyes as he contemplated the joyous faces of those he loved so well, for the careworn expression had fled from the countenances of his parents; and he thought both of them looked ten years younger, such is the mission of happiness. "I'll never hear the name of Hong Kong again in school, but what I'll just love it," declared Kate, laughing and crying by turns; "because it sounds so good right now." "A month ago he wrote this," continued Fred, reflectively. "Why right at this time Hiram must be on the way to America on his vessel, and may show up here any old time. He says he is sailing under another name, so they won't know him. After all, Hiram has turned out to be a good friend of ours, father, even if he does belong to that Lemington family that has given us so much trouble." "Oh there may be good branches on even the poorest tree," remarked gentle Mrs. Fenton. "So it is with families. There's little Billy, now, Buck's brother; didn't you say he was as nice a youngster as you ever met, Fred?" "That's so, mother; and I'll try and not forget again. But I suppose we ought to do what Hiram says, and keep quiet about this latest news. Why, I believe that if people only knew we had a letter postmarked Hong Kong, they'd talk about it; and if that suspicious Squire Lemington heard, he'd put things together, so as to make out a true story." "How that imagination of yours does take wings, son," said Mr. Fenton, with a laugh. "But you're right about one thing; we must tell no one. Remember, Kate, not a single word to your closest chum." "Oh! don't be afraid I'll tell, father!" declared the girl. "And I promise that not even Sid shall know," Fred put in; "though I'd trust any secret with him, for he's as close-mouthed as an oyster, Sid is." "But even Sid might talk in his sleep, or let a hint fall," Kate insisted; "and you know he's got a sister, Mame, who loves to gossip a little--I kind of think all girls do," she added, with a little giggle, and shrug of her shoulders. "Won't Hiram have a story to tell when he gets back again?" observed Fred, who, boy-like, thought of the adventures the kidnapped miner must have passed through during his long enforced absence. "I imagine," Mr. Fenton observed, "that the harsh treatment he has endured at the hands of those who are in the pay of the company his uncle controls must have had just the opposite effect upon Hiram to what they intended. He feels very bitter toward them, and is more determined than ever to beat them at their game. I was always told that when evil men fall out honest ones get their due, and I believe it now." "I don't believe Hiram can be so very wicked," interposed Mrs. Fenton, gently. "When he came down here from Alaska to help his uncle by giving false testimony, he must have been laboring under some wrong notion of how things stood. Since then he has seen a great light, and his better nature has come to the front." "Then it was what Fred did for him when he first came, that opened his eyes," declared Kate. "You remember, mother, if it hadn't been for our Fred, Mr. Masterson would have found himself in serious trouble." "Yes, that must have been the entering wedge," Mr. Fenton remarked, nodding his approval of the girl's idea. "It set Hiram to thinking; and once a wavering man does that, the good in him gets a chance. But come, this doesn't look like supper. I didn't think I was one bit hungry; but now I'm fairly ravenous." "And the splendid news has taken my desire to eat away," Mrs. Fenton said; but she immediately started to get the meal on the table, her face radiant with the new happiness that had come. At the table Fred was seized with a sudden thought, pursuing which he turned to his sister to ask a few questions. "Do you remember who gave the letter to you at the office, Kate; was it that red-headed clerk, Sam Smalling?" "Why, to be sure; he always hands out the mail at the General Delivery window," she replied, without hesitation. "He's an inquisitive sort of a fellow, I've found," Fred went on; "and I've even seen him reading post cards that pass through. Stop and think, Kate, did he mention the fact to you that you were getting a _foreign_ letter this time?" "Why, yes, that is just what he did, Fred," Kate answered quickly; "how could you guess such a thing now?" "Oh! I just remembered hearing him make remarks to several persons when they came for mail, which told me Mr. Sam Smalling kept tabs on about all that went on in Riverport. It must keep his brain working all the time, trying to remember when Susie Green expects a letter from her aunt away up in Basking Ridge; and if Eph Smith has written home to his ma regularly once a month. But joking aside, sis, what did he say to you about it?" "Why, as near as I can remember, Fred, he only remarked that he noticed our far-away cousin in Hong Kong had finally taken a notion to write to us. I thought he was trying to be smart, you know; and to carry the joke along I laughed, and said it was too mean for anything the way Cousin Jim had treated us for a long time; and that it was about time he wrote." "Splendid!" exclaimed Fred, laughing. "And what did he say to that, Kate?" "I didn't wait to hear," she replied; "but when I went out of the door I looked back, and saw Mr. Smalling patting himself, as if he thought he had the greatest mind ever, to be able to just guess everything." "Well, I reckon you've spiked his guns, then," Fred went on. "You see, he has a younger brother who trains with that crowd of Buck's; and I didn't know but that Sam might make some mention of the mysterious letter we got to-day from the other side of the world. And then, in some way, it might get around to the ears of Buck, who would carry it to his father; because, I guess every little thing about the Fentons is of _some_ interest up there at the big house." "Fred, if you make up your mind to be a lawyer, I think you have a future ahead of you," declared his father, proudly; "because your reasoning powers are first-class. But the chances of the post office clerk mentioning the fact now are so remote, that we need not give it a thought." The evening that followed was one of the happiest the Fentons had known for a long time. There was much to talk about, and a spirit of coming joy seemed to pervade the very atmosphere of that humble cottage home, that certainly never brooded over the much more pretentious establishment of Sparks Lemington. And when, rather later than usual, Fred went up to his small room close under the rafters, where rainy nights he could listen to the patter of the drops on the roof just over his head, he believed that he must be the happiest boy in all Riverport. And in his new found joy his thoughts turned to the chum who was worrying so much over his troubles; so that Fred resolved on the morrow to try and do something to help poor Bristles Carpenter. CHAPTER XII BRISTLES HAS AN IDEA The following morning, as Fred was tinkering around, fixing up some of his traps, he heard the whistle of one of his chums outside. Poking his head out of the window, and wondering why, if it should be Sid, he did not come upstairs without any knocking at the door, he saw to his surprise that it was Bristles. "Hello! Fred! Can I climb up, or will you come down here?" the latter called out. "Walk right into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," replied Fred, being in rare good humor himself, and wishing he could do something to help Bristles. The other boy soon made his appearance in Fred's little den of a room; which, however, was mighty comfortable, and as neat as wax. Mrs. Fenton was a good housekeeper, and she had always trained her children to never leave things "at sixes and sevens," as she termed it. Fred saw that Bristles was considerably excited over something or other. And of course the chances were that it must concern his own personal affairs. Having made a confidant of Fred, and gained more or less benefit because of his sympathy and advice, Bristles was rushing over the first thing with further news. "You look worked up, Bristles," Fred remarked, as the other threw his cap on the table, and dropped down in the rocker. "Well, I am, for a fact," the visitor replied, nodding his head to emphasize his remark. "Anything happened to make you feel better?" suggested Fred; "has there been another mysterious robbery over at your aunt's house, so that she can understand you didn't do it, because you were far away this time?" Bristles heaved a big sigh. "Huh! no such good luck as that, Fred," he remarked; "I only wish it was that way. P'raps it will be, just as you say. But an idea hit me in the night, when I was a-lyin' there, trying to get to sleep again. I don't like to be awake when it's only three o'clock, you know. Makes me feel bad in the morning. And I was tired as all get-out last night, after what we did yesterday up at camp and on the way down, when we beat Buck's bunch so neat in that race." "Hold on, stick to the text," remarked Fred; "you're the greatest fellow to ramble all over the lot when you start to telling anything. Now you said you had run across an idea; let's hear it, then; for I reckon it must have something to do with your trouble, Bristles?" The other actually grinned, showing that he was feeling more hopeful on this bright, sunshiny, summer morning, at any rate. "That's right, Fred, it had a whole lot to do with it!" he burst out. "Say, I've discovered who's been cribbing all those pretty little stones up at my aunt's!" "You don't mean it?" cried Fred, really taken aback. "Yes, I do, now," went on the excited Bristles; "and you couldn't guess it in a year of Sundays. It just seemed to pop into my head while I was lying there on my back, grunting because I couldn't get to sleep, or take my mind off Aunt Alicia and her queer old house." "Now, don't stop like that, and chuckle, Bristles; but go on telling, if you want me to sit here and listen." Fred prodded his chum with his finger as he said this, to bring him to his senses. "It's playing a mean game on the old lady, too, to take those opals so slick, and give her all that bad feeling; but if she _will_ keep such tricky pets, why she's got to pay for it, that's all, Fred." "Pets!" burst out the other. "Sure thing," laughed Bristles; "that wise old crow's the guilty thief!" "The black raven that she brought over from England, you mean?" Fred went on, rather staggered himself by what Bristles had said, and yet discovering an element of possible truth in it. "Yes, the old chap that cocks his head on one side when you come in, and examines you over from head to foot, just like he meant to say, 'If you're not good looking you're not wanted here!' Oh! he's a gay old villain, I just tell you! And, Fred, mark my words, he's the scamp who's been taking Aunty's opals." "Why, I do remember reading, more than a few times, that crows and ravens have been known to fly away with bright spoons, and all sorts of things that seem to catch their fancy; but I never heard of a bird stealing from its mistress, and opals at that." "Well, that's what this one is doing, you mark me," Bristles said, positively. "Why, just see what a great chance the old boy has. He finds the door open into the parlor once in a while, and just hops in, takes up one of the shiny stones, and carries it away to some place where he keeps his treasures. I just bet you now he's been carryin' on that way a long time, and Aunty never noticed that things were disappearing till I began to come over to see her." "You think so, do you, Bristles?" remarked Fred, still pondering over the matter, and wondering in his mind whether it could really be an explanation for the peculiar little mystery that had given his chum so much heart-pain. "Why, it's a dead open-and-shut cinch that the answer to the conundrum lies in that silly old black bunch of feathers," declared the other, conviction in his voice. "I looked up all about ravens in our big 'cyclopædia as soon as I got downstairs this morning; and the more I read, the stronger my mind got that Black Joe _must_ be the guilty one." "Will you go and tell your aunt, and ask her to make a search for his hiding-place?" Fred inquired. "Well--er--no; not just that," answered the other, slowly, and watching Fred out of the tail of his eye; "fact is, I'm afraid she'd laugh at me, and say it was only another excuse for me to get inside her house. Now, if _you_ could drop in to see Aunt Alicia on some excuse or other, Fred, perhaps you might get a chance to look around, and find out where Black Joe keeps his little crop of treasures hid." Fred burst out into a laugh. "Oh! I see, you want me to be the one to take chances; is that it, Bristles?" he demanded. "Well, I didn't think you'd mind doing a little more for a poor fellow, as you've been such a help already to me, Fred; and then, she won't accuse you of wanting to do anything wrong like she might me. Fact is," he went on eagerly, so as to better carry his point, "she once said she kind of liked your looks, after you'd been in there with me. I sure believe you made a hit with Aunt Alicia; because, as a rule, she doesn't care much for boys, you know." "Hold on, Bristles," said Fred, laughingly; "that won't wash a bit. You're giving me some taffy now, just to make me agree to visit your aunt. But, honest, I don't care to take the chances. My reputation is pretty good up to now; but it might go to flinders if anyone said I was taking things that did not belong to me." "But, good gracious! Fred, she wouldn't have any reason to accuse you!" Bristles burst out, very much disappointed because his pet scheme promised to meet with a hitch so early in its development. "You forget one thing?" said Fred, soberly. "Perhaps I have, because, you see, I'm all excited; and it isn't apt to leave a fellow in decent trim for thinking. But what was it I forgot, Fred; tell me that?" "Why, perhaps one or two of the balance of those opals might take a notion to disappear about the same time I dropped in to see your aunt, without any invitation to do it. And in that case she'd just naturally think you'd put me up to keeping the queer business going. I'd hate to have her think that of me, and much worse send word to my father and mother that I was a thief!" "I should say so," declared Bristles, gloomily. "Bad enough to have her say that I was; and that's all in the family, you see. I never once thought of that, believe me, Fred. Wouldn't have asked you to take such chances, if I had. 'Course it wouldn't be fair, and I'm a selfish feller for hinting at it." "I don't think so, Bristles," Fred went on, consolingly. "It looked good to you, because you never thought of the chances of another raid being made on your aunt's opals. But perhaps you might have your mother go over and see Miss Alicia. She could mention what you thought, and even if the old lady did pretend to scoff at the idea, it would put a flea in her ear, so perhaps she'd keep an eye on Black Joe." "I'll think about it, Fred. I don't fancy dragging my mother into the game if it can be helped. I'd like to lift the lid myself, and then have the laugh on Aunt Alicia. Some day, perhaps, she'll be sorry she thought so mean of me, and wouldn't listen to my defense. You wait and see. I'm going to get at the bottom of this thing if it takes me all summer." "Well, General Grant got there in the end, and let's hope you'll be as lucky, old fellow," said Fred, cheerfully. "Anyhow, that was a bright thought about Black Joe; and it would be a jolly story to tell if it did turn out that way." "Why, right now you more'n half believe it yourself, Fred!" cried Bristles. "It's worth thinking about," was the noncommittal answer Fred made. "Oh! by the way," his visitor suddenly exclaimed, "while I was on my way over here I met Corney, who said he'd heard the Mechanicsburg fellows got their boat last night." "Good for that," remarked Fred, with satisfaction. "Now both crews can get busy, and whip themselves in shape for that big race later on. I expect we'll do much better next time. Colon wasn't himself at all, after being nearly drowned only the day before. But he'll come around all right; and when he's in trim there isn't a huskier fellow in the Riverport school." "We practice again this afternoon, don't we?" asked Bristles. "That was the programme last night, Brad told us," replied Fred. "Well, I only hope I get relief from this cloud that's hangin' over my head all the time," Bristles went on, sighing again. "It's just like the toothache, Fred; you suffer, and know it means goin' to the dentist's chair; but how you hate to go and get her yanked out! But once you make up your mind, and the job's done, how glad you feel you went; eh? Well, some bright day, I'm hoping, I'll feel just as happy as if I'd had a tooth drawn," and Fred was compelled to smile at the homely way his chum illustrated the condition of his feelings, though he understood just how Bristles felt. CHAPTER XIII A CALL FOR HELP "I hope you take a notion to get your mother to go around there some time to-day," Fred went on to say, as his visitor got up to leave. "Perhaps I might," Bristles admitted; though he shook his head as if the idea did not wholly appeal to him. "She could smooth things over a whole lot, you see," Fred continued; "and then, if by some luck, another of the little gems has disappeared since your aunt sent that note over, your mother would be able to show Aunty how unjust she had been when she hinted that you'd taken the others." "Yes, it looks that way, Fred; and I'm obliged to you for giving me the hint," said Bristles. "But I want to think this over again. I'm going back home and stay there the whole morning, doing some high and lofty work with my head. What's the use of having brains if you can't make 'em work for you. So-long, Fred. You're sure the handy boy when it comes to making a feller see things in a new light. But I still believe it's old Black Joe, the little villain!" After he had gone, the matter was often in Fred's mind, and he really began to grow quite excited while thinking about it. "It may be stretching things a whole lot to believe a bird could be so smart as to take those stones," he said to himself, seriously; "but anyhow, the opportunity was there before Black Joe, if he wanted to try it. I remember that when the old lady showed me those opals, and told me how they were taken from a mine in Mexico where she had sunk a heap of money, she put them back on the cabinet shelf, and they were just lying in a little bowl with some other curiosities she had. Yes, Black Joe could fly up there, and pick out what he wanted, sure enough." Somehow the thought was still strong in Fred's mind when, later in the morning, he started out to go over to see what Sid Wells might be doing. And it even took him out of his way, so that instead of making his usual short cut across lots to his chum's house, he passed along the street where Miss Muster (the boys called her Miss Mustard on account of her peppery temper) lived. He even turned his head while passing, and looked in toward the rather expensive building (for a small place like Riverport) where the old maid lived alone with her colored "mammy" and her several pets. He could see the big bulldog that was chained to his kennel, placed under the windows of the room the maiden lady slept in. Yes, Beauty was asleep on the top of his box then, curled up as if not "caring whether school kept or not." "Boy! boy, come over here! I want you!" Fred at first thought that it was the talking bird calling to him in this way, for he had heard Black Joe rattle along just like an educated poll parrot. Then he recognized the shrill tones of Miss Muster; and at the same moment caught sight of the maiden lady. She was standing on her broad porch, and beckoning to him. Being close to the gate, he pressed the latch, and passed through into the yard, where there were a great many flowers. Possibly Fred felt a queer little thrill as he walked toward the porch, where Miss Muster awaited him. He remembered the proposal Bristles had made, and which he had seen fit to turn down. The old lady was peering at him through her glasses. "Oh! you are the boy who was in here with my--er--nephew that time?" she remarked; and at first Fred thought she was about to say she had no use for anyone who would keep company with Bristles, but she did not, much to his relief. "Yes, ma'am, I remember being in here with Bris--er--Andy Carpenter, once," Fred remarked. "And you were kind enough to show me a lot of mighty interesting things, too, Miss Muster. What can I do for you this morning, ma'am?" The sharp face softened a little, and the faintest shadow of a smile crept over the old maid's features. "Let me see, what's your name?" she asked. "Fred Fenton, ma'am. We have not been in Riverport much more than a year. I think my mother said she met you a while ago, down in the grocery, and had a nice talk with you." "I remember, and a fine little lady Mrs. Fenton is, to be sure. If she is your mother, boy, you've good cause to be satisfied. And I wouldn't say that about many women, either. But I was just wanting a little assistance, and called to the first person who happened to be passing along the street. My old servant is laid up to-day with an attack of lumbago; and the gardener is off on an errand that will take him two hours. Could you give me a few minutes of your time, Fred?" "Why, yes, ma'am, sure I can. I was only going over to look up a chum, and talk about the chances we have in a boat race that is going to come off soon. What do you want me to do, Miss Muster?" She looked at him again, with that suspicious gleam in her eyes. Somehow, Fred could not help feeling a little indignant. Because she chose to think the worst of her poor innocent nephew was no reason why Miss Muster should believe ill of every fellow. He was almost tempted to say what he thought, and free his mind. Perhaps, then, she might understand that even a boy has feelings, and can suffer mentally, as well as bodily. But on second thought Fred wisely kept his peace. There might be a better way to teach the old maid a needed lesson than by sharp talk, which would only serve to make her feel more bitter toward "upstart boys" in general. Evidently Miss Muster must have gained a favorable impression from her survey of the lad, whom she had called inside. "I guess after all there _is_ a difference in boys," she muttered, much to the secret amusement of Fred, who could easily imagine that she was comparing him with poor Bristles, and evidently much to the disadvantage of the latter. He waited for her to speak, and wondered whether she wanted him to do something in the garden that possibly old Jake had neglected to look after, before going upon his errand; or if he would get an invitation to enter that big house again. And as he involuntarily glanced toward the spot where the ugly-looking bulldog, called Beauty by his mistress, was now stretching his broad-beamed body, after his recent nap, Fred resolved to draw the line there. If she wanted him to approach the defender of the manse, he thought he would be showing the proper discretion if he politely but positively declined. "Are your shoes clean, Fred?" she finally asked, looking down at his feet while putting the question. "Why, yes, ma'am, they seem to be. There is no mud; and I'm in the habit of keeping my shoes clean at home," he replied, understanding from this remark that it must be the house, and not the garden, where his task awaited him. "Then come into the house with me," she continued, as if thoroughly satisfied with her scrutiny. Fred took off his cap and walked up the steps leading to the broad veranda. He would not have been a real boy had he not speculated as to what the lady wished with him. And it was in this frame of mind that he followed her into the wide hall of the house, which was to Bristles the home of mystery and the seat of all his trouble. "Come right into this room, Fred," said Miss Muster, leading the way into what he remembered to be her living room, where she sat most of the time she was home, reading, writing letters, and paying attention to her business matters; for she had considerable money invested, and insisted on looking after the details herself, rather than trust a lawyer with them. The first thing Fred saw upon entering was the pet cat, a big Persian, with long hair, and a handsome face. Then a restless movement from above called his attention to the raven, perched upon a curtain fixture, or pole, close to the ceiling, and, looking down wisely at them as they entered. Fred immediately wondered whether he could be looking at the sly thief, who had been secretly making way with the old maid's treasures, as he noted the cunning aspect of Black Joe. Miss Muster shook her finger angrily at the bird. "Now we'll see whether you can defy me so impudently, you sly baggage!" she remarked, in rather a tart tone; and it burst upon Fred that, singularly enough, his unexpected visit to the mansion of the rich old maid was evidently in connection with something that had to, do with Black Joe. Why, it really looked as though the luck that had come to the Fentons only the day before might still be following him, even in his desire to do his chum a good turn. Perhaps the golden opportunity to find out something about Black Joe's tricks might be close at hand. How little he had dreamed of this when leaving his home only a few minutes before. "Once in a great while," the lady went on to explain, "Joe gets a stubborn fit, and refuses to mind when I tell him to come to me. It always exasperates me; and twice before I've sent for the gardener to come and get the step-ladder, so that he can chase the rascal from pillar to post until finally he would fall into my grasp. I punish him by chaining him fast to that perch for a week; and as a rule he seems to amend his ways for a long time. But the last occasion failed most miserably, I must confess. Do you think you are strong enough to carry the step-ladder up from the basement, Fred?" Fred had some difficulty in keeping his face free from a smile. The idea of her doubting his muscular ability, after all the athletic exercises he practiced; but then of course Miss Muster would not know that; so he only replied that he believed he would have no difficulty in doing all she required. CHAPTER XIV THE MISSING OPALS AGAIN Following out the injunctions of Miss Muster, Fred easily found where the step-ladder was kept in the basement. Nor did he have the slightest difficulty in carrying it up the stairs after he had discovered it. He noticed that the lady was very particular to keep the door of the living room closed; and remembered that it had been in that condition at the time of their first arrival. "The artful rogue," Miss Muster explained; "would be only too glad to fly out, and scour the entire house, laughing at me, and mocking me as though possessed of the spirit of evil our great poet Edgar Allan Poe gave to the raven. But now that you have succeeded in getting the ladder, we shall soon corner him." Fred was highly amused at the comical way the old raven watched the preparations being made, looking to his capture. He would cock his head on one side, as he looked down, and occasionally utter some droll word that seemed to fit the occasion exactly. Having had considerable experience in chasing the mutinous bird all over the big room, Miss Muster seemed to know just how to manage things in order to get results with as little waste of time as possible. "Fred, you take the ladder, and place it under this picture," she went on to say; "he always comes back there after each little flight. Then, with the broom I will shoo him off that curtain pole. He does get so excited, and goes on at such a terrible rate. Why, I sometimes seem to suspect that some of those strange words he uses may be what that Portuguese sailor, from whom I purchased him while over in England, taught him." And indeed, once she started the bird flying wildly about, Black Joe did shriek out all manner of phrases, some of which Fred could understand, while others he was able to make nothing out of. Fred knew the part he was expected to take in capturing the rebellious raven. He crouched there on the step-ladder, waiting for his chance. Trust a lively, wide-awake boy for being able to outwit any raven that ever lived. Black Joe may have believed himself smart, but he could not match wits with an up-to-date lad. Fluttering his feathers indignantly, and still giving vent to a volume of angry cries, the raven presently, just as his mistress had said would be the case, settled on the top of the big picture frame. Instantly a hand shot upward, and there was a squawk that seemed to be choked off, as Fred's fingers closed around the body and neck of wily Black Joe. "Oh! please don't hurt him any, Fred!" cried the lady, dropping the broom, and hurrying over to take the bird from Fred's hands. Indeed, the boy was not sorry to get rid of the savage creature, which was trying its best to give him vicious pecks, and struggling with wings and claws to break away. Once in the possession of Miss Muster, however, it seemed to become very meek. She stroked it, murmuring endearing words, and proceeded to fasten a nickeled chain about one of it's legs, so that it could not fly away from the perch over in the corner by one of the windows, that were covered with wire mosquito netting. "That was very cleverly done, Fred," remarked Miss Muster, in a tone that rather caused the boy to alter the opinion he had formed concerning her. "Poor old Jake is so clumsy he makes half a dozen attempts before he is able to catch the speedy bird. Once he upset the step-ladder, and sprawled all over the floor. And upon my word, I have always believed that sad wretch there laughed at him. It sounded like it, at any rate." She was beginning to thaw out, and Fred found himself wondering if, after all, under the surface, Miss Muster might not have more feeling than she chose to let people believe. He actually began to like her. And more than ever did he hope that something might come along to enable him to bring about a better understanding between the rich old maid and her once favorite nephew, now under an unmerited cloud. "Sit down a few minutes, Fred," she continued. "And get your breath back after all the exertion of lugging that heavy ladder up here. Then I'd like you to take it back to where you found it. And I think I've got a book you'd like to own. I did mean to give it to Andrew on his birthday next week, but I have changed my mind." Fred did not exactly like the way she pursed up her thin lips when she said this. She was doing Bristles an injustice, he felt sure. Of course he could not decline to take the book she meant to present him with, as pay for his services; but in his mind, as he was carrying back the ladder, Fred was determined that he would consider that it belonged to Bristles, and not himself. Once more he entered the living room, where he found Miss Muster waiting for him, seated in her easy chair. The raven sat on his perch, with all his feathers ruffled up, as though he knew he was in disgrace with his indulgent mistress. "Here is the book I want you to accept from me, Fred, and I hope you will enjoy reading it," and as she said this she held out a volume, which he saw was just such as a boy who loved athletic games would most enjoy. "Thank you, ma'am," he hastened to say, seeing his opening. "I know I will like it; but I feel bad because you meant it for Bristles--I mean your nephew, Andrew." She frowned at once. "Please forget all about him just now, Fred," she said, decisively. "It's hard work for me to keep him out of my mind; but I never could bear deception; and, as for a sly little rascal, who looks you in the face, and denies everything, when you know he is _positively_ guilty, bah! I wash my hands of him forever. I could never believe him again, never!" "But Miss Muster, he is innocent," said Fred; at which she started violently, and looked keenly at him. "Then he has fooled you as well as me," she snapped. "I warrant you he is chuckling in his sleeve right now because he managed to deceive me so handily. Much he cares about my feelings, when I was beginning to have a foolish old woman's dreams about Andrew inheriting all my money, and making the name of Carpenter famous one of these days. Oh! it did hurt me cruelly, boy." "But you are mistaken, ma'am, when you think he doesn't care," Fred went on hastily. "Why, he can't sleep nights, thinking about it." "Well, that doesn't prove anything," Miss Muster remarked sarcastically. "A guilty soul often writhes when being punished; and I suppose my last note to my niece, his mother, brought him into a peck of trouble. I suppose now he does lie awake nights, thinking. Perhaps he wonders what he can do with my lovely opals, now he's got them. Or he may be scheming how to lay hands on the balance." "He was in to see me this morning, ma'am," Fred observed. "Oh! is that so? And do you think, Fred, that nice little mother of yours would like it, if she knew you were keeping company with a boy who was suspected of abusing the confidence of, his fond aunt, and helping himself to her possessions." "I think," said Fred, stoutly, "that if she heard all Andy had to say, and saw how he suffered, she'd believe just as I do, that he is innocent, and never touched your opals, Miss Muster." "Well, somebody did;" the old lady snapped; though evidently more or less affected by the staunch way Fred stood up for his chum; "does he have any idea who could have done it? Perhaps he thinks my old black Mammy did; or poor, but honest, Jake Stall. He was always a fanciful boy, and it might be he suspects I walk in my sleep, and go around secreting my own property?" "No, ma'am he has never hinted at any such thing; but he says, while lying awake at three o'clock this morning, thinking and thinking how he could prove his innocence, he suddenly seemed to guess who it might be taking your pretty stones." Fred turned and pointed toward the blinking raven as he spoke. "Well, now," remarked Miss Muster, looking surprised, and then smiling disdainfully; "if that isn't just like Andrew for all that's out, to accuse my poor pet of doing so mean a thing. It is true, I know they will steal, and secrete such things as they particularly fancy; but I watch Joe closely. Besides, there is another good reason why he couldn't have taken those opals." "Yes, ma'am," said Fred, when she paused as if for breath. "He has been chained to that perch for more than a week past, and I only set him free this very morning. So you see how Andrew's brilliant theory falls to the ground. He must think up something else, if he hopes to prove his own innocence. I wish he could, indeed I do. My heart feels very heavy these days, for I was beginning to have some faith in boys. But say no more. If you are going, Fred, please come into the other room with me. I want to show you a splendid specimen of a saw, taken from a sawfish down in the West Indies, and sent to me. It is more than three feet long. You will be interested, because nearly all boys like everything pertaining to fishing." So Fred followed her across the wide hall. She opened the door of the parlor, in which he remembered he had been on that former visit, at the time she showed him the little bowl containing the opals, and other valuable curios. After opening the door Miss Muster passed in, Fred followed, but remained a respectful distance behind her, a fact for which he afterwards had reason to be thankful. Some sudden notion seemed to take possession of the old lady for quickly crossing over she took down the little Japanese bowl, as if to count the opals remaining. Fred heard her give a startled cry. Then she hastily looked again, after which she set the bowl down on a table with a hand that trembled violently, and turning angrily upon Fred, she cried in her sharpest tones: "He sent you here to follow up his miserable trick! All boys are thieves, and in spite of the lovely little mother you have, Fred Fenton, you are as bad as the rest of them!" Fred could hardly believe his ears when thus accused. He stood there for several seconds, no doubt turning red and white by turns, as he tried to restrain the indignation that swept over him like a great wave. CHAPTER XV FRED'S BRAVE STAND "Excuse me, ma'am, but surely you do not believe that," Fred managed to say in another minute; and his voice may have trembled a little with emotion; though his manner was as frank and fearless as ever, as he looked straight into the snappy black eyes of the angry old lady. "Three more of the gems are gone, and they were here this morning, because I took them out in my hand, and counted them," she declared, furiously; yet beginning to feel uncomfortable under his steady look. "But why should you even think that I took them, Miss Muster?" he demanded. "Because--you are the only person besides myself who has been in this room the entire day. Mammy has been sick in bed since nine o'clock; and Jake Stall did not put a foot inside the house to my personal knowledge," but although she said this as if to signify that her mind was made up, Fred could detect a little hesitation. She already began to realize the absurdity of the accusation. "Stop and think, ma'am, and I'm sure your own sense will tell you that you are wronging me when you say that," the boy argued, with the same positive air of conviction that had made his father declare he would make a good lawyer, if ever he felt inclined to study for the bar. "In what way, boy?" Miss Muster faltered. "Because in the first place you called me into your house of your own accord, when I was passing. I wouldn't have come, only that you said you were in some sort of trouble, and needed help. Then, think again, Miss Muster--you opened this door which had been shut all the time; you hurried into this room, and over to that stand. You know, ma'am, I was never within six feet of that little bowl. Right now I am half way between the table and the door. My arms would have to be pretty long to reach over there, wouldn't they now, Miss Muster?" She saw his point. And indeed, even before he clinched the fact in this ingenious way the old lady was ready to admit that she had been unwisely hasty in making that passionate accusation. "I beg your pardon, Fred," she hastened to say, holding out her hand, which he did not hesitate to take. "I was entirely wrong, and acted from a foolish impulse when I found that, in spite of all my precautions, more of my opals had mysteriously disappeared. You could not have taken them had you wanted to; and I do not believe you would touch them if you had a dozen chances." That was saying a good deal for Miss Muster; and Fred, who knew considerable about her sharp tongue, felt that he could hardly have been paid a higher compliment. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, smiling in a satisfied way. "If you please, then, we'll consider the thing closed. But that doesn't explain where the opals have gone to; does it?" "Indeed, it does not," she replied. "I have been deeply stirred by this mystery; but Fred, believe me, it was not the value of the jewels one quarter so much as the shock given to my faith in human nature. I believed that the boy had been tempted beyond his power of resistance. Perhaps he wanted a certain sum of money for some purpose, and conceived the wicked idea that he could sell the stones, and get it that way. Oh! I would have gladly given him five, yes ten times their value, if only he had not given way to temptation." "But Miss Muster," said Fred, quick to take advantage of his splendid opportunity; "you were just as sure, right now, that I was the thief; and yet how easy it was for me to prove my innocence. Wouldn't you be glad if I could do the same for my chum, Brist--I mean Andy?" "Indeed, I would, Fred," she replied, warmly. "Do that, and there will be a whole shelf of boys' books come to your house, and an old woman's blessing in the bargain. But I'm afraid you'll find it a harder task than clearing your own skirts." "But give me the chance, won't you, please, ma'am?" Fred insisted. "Do you want to speak now about it, Fred?" she asked, eagerly enough. "Why, yes, if you don't object, ma'am," he replied. "You know there's an old saying that 'it's best to strike while the iron is hot'." "And you think that I'm pretty warm just now; is that it?" she asked, smiling a little in a way that made her thin face look almost friendly to the boy's imagination. "Well, while we were on the subject I thought I'd like to call your attention to just one thing," Fred continued, persistently. "And after you've heard what I want to say, I think you'll agree with me that Bris--er, Andy, couldn't well have been guilty of taking these last opals. Why, he surely hasn't been in your house this whole day, has he, Miss Muster?" "N--no, not that I know of, for a fact, Fred," she said, slowly. "You keep the doors locked, don't you, ma'am, so Bristles, or any one else for that matter, couldn't have come in this morning, _after_ you counted those things?" "Yes, the doors are always locked. I am very particular about that. When the grocer's boy or the one from the butcher, come for orders, they wait in the kitchen while Mammy comes to me here, and we talk over what we need." "Did that happen this morning, ma'am? Were both those boys inside here to-day?" Fred asked. The old lady looked sharply at him when he said this. "Ah! now I see in what direction your suspicions lie, Fred," she remarked, her face lighting up. "And if you can prove to my satisfaction that one of those boys took my opals, and they are returned to me, I will say nothing, do nothing, to prosecute the guilty one. Perhaps I was foolish to leave the door of opportunity open; the temptation within their reach. In that case the fault was partly mine." "But I haven't accused anybody, ma'am; only I wondered whether one of those tradesmen's boys could have done it," Fred went on. "I'm going to look them up right away, and if I can recover the opals, and make the thief confess before you, then that will end the affair, will it?" "So far as he is concerned, it will," the old lady answered; "but I shall never forgive myself for suspecting my niece's son of such a thing. Fred, do you suppose he would come to see me if you took him a message?" "Who, Andrew?" exclaimed the delighted Fred. "Why, I'm as sure of it as that I draw breath. He'd almost fly here, he'd be that glad you believed him innocent. Do you want me to tell him, ma'am?" "Wait, let it go for a little while. When I send you word, you may tell him all that has occurred here to-day, and how a silly old woman had her eyes opened to the truth by a clever boy. Meanwhile, please do not say a word to any one, will you, Fred?" He was a little disappointed, because it would have given him so much pleasure to carry the joyful news to Bristles; but then, a little more delay could not hurt. And besides, it would give him a chance to look around, find out just what the habits of both the grocer's and the butcher's boy were, and possibly make the guilty one confess, on promise of immunity from punishment. "I'll promise to do just whatever you say, ma'am, though I hope for the sake of poor Bristles you won't keep me waiting long," he answered. "Fred, shake hands with me again," said the old maid, surveying him with kindling eyes. "I take back a lot of the mean things I've been thinking about boys these few days. There _is_ something worth while in some of them. My better nature told me so right along. They're not all bad. I reckon now, you'd sooner do most anything than to break the fond heart of that fine little mother of yours; wouldn't you, Fred?" "Oh! I haven't always been above suspicion, ma'am," Fred hastened to say, in confusion. "I'm no better than the average fellow, and I'm afraid I haven't always been just the boy I ought to be, either. I suppose I've made her feel bad a lot of times. But as to doing anything real wicked like stealing things--the worst I ever did was to get in some neighbor's orchard at night, when we had plenty of good apples at home." Miss Muster laughed at that frank admission, as though she thought it quite an original plea for the boy in general. "Oh! I understand all boys have failings like that," she said; "and sensible people wouldn't have them grow up like little saints. But Fred, I'm sure you'll never either as a boy, nor yet as a young man, do anything that would grieve your mother's heart. I'm ashamed of what I wrote my niece, and when I can muster up enough courage I'm going right over to her house, and explain. It makes me feel that it's worth while living, now that, through you, I've found that Andrew is innocent." The way she said that last word told Fred that she was near the breaking-down point, and he thought he had better leave. He went away from that place with a heart that was considerably lighter than when he first started to pass the fence behind which the property of Miss Muster lay. He had had a wonderful experience, and from that time on must feel differently toward the old maid, whom the boys of Riverport always looked upon as hateful. She had shown him that, under the surface, she was a lovable woman after all, and possessed of a woman's heart, somewhat starved it is true, but still there. CHAPTER XVI THE TRIAL SPIN "Which way are we going this afternoon for a practice spin?" asked Corney Shays, as he came alongside Fred Fenton. There was a lively crowd around the long, low shed in which the new boat was temporarily quartered, while the new building, a start upon which had already been made, was being erected. Several score of persons had gathered to see the boys row, for it began to look as if the whole community was going wild over the prospects of another school victory coming to Riverport. Baseball and football, it seemed, did not wholly satisfy the appetites of the now aroused Riverport athletes. They had beaten both of their rivals again this season on the diamond; and now, with Fall a long way off, this boating fever had seized upon them in its full strength. Of course most of those present were boys and girls, enthusiastic believers in the fellows who carried the honor of good old Riverport school in their hand. It goes without saying that every member of the crew probably had at least one fair admirer present, who believed that without _him_ the chances of victory must be mighty small indeed. "Oh!" replied Fred, turning to greet Corney, who was a bit late in arriving, but was now dressed ready for business; "down-river, of course." "Why do you say 'of course,' Fred?" persisted the other, who always wanted to understand everything he talked about, and who would go into details indefinitely until everything was plain. "There's a fine course up-river. You remember we rushed it with Buck's crowd. And I understand that it will like as not be made the official course when the great boat race is pulled off." "That's true, Corney," Fred continued; "but there are several reasons why Brad has picked out the other side of the town for all our trial spins. First of all, you know the big, broad channel the Mohunk has for three miles between here and Paulding?" "Sure I do; and a splendid place to make good speed, too," the other admitted. "Then, again, if we kept going up the river we'd be apt to interfere with the practice of the Mechanicsburg fellows, who have no other course but that one between the two towns." "And they'd be more apt to get a line on what sort of time we were making; isn't that so, Fred?" "Just what I was going to add, Corney. Now you know about all the reasons Brad has for going down the river to-day, and other days as well." "And is it true that he's got a three mile course all marked off?" asked Corney. "Brad says he was down there with Colon on their wheels this morning," Fred went on to say. "They carried a long tape line, and as the road runs close to the bank of the river, they marked every eighth of a mile." "How did they do it?" questioned the other. "You see I want to be posted, so I can get a pointer on our speed if I happen to look along the bank while we're making a spurt." "That's the time you'd better keep your eyes glued on the coxswain, and the stroke oar, and not bother trying to find out for yourself what the speed is. Brad will look out for all that, Corney." "But if you know, you're going to tell me, I hope?" pursued the tireless one. "Oh!" Fred replied, with a laugh, "if you really want to know, I understand that every eighth of a mile is marked with a single small white rag; each quarter has a blue one; while the mile shows a plain red one. I hope some meddlesome fellow doesn't go to changing the signals on Brad, and make him think he's doing a record stunt. But I believe he's got some other secret sign of his own to depend on besides the flags." He managed to break away just then; and as Corney saw that it was a very pretty girl who had beckoned Fred over, he made no attempt to question him further. In fact, Fred would have firmly declined to stay, because it was Flo Temple who had signalled. Flo was the prettiest girl in all Riverport. She and Fred had long been the best of friends. It was he who always took her to singing school in winter, and to the school dances, sometimes given in country barns, where a long sleigh ride was necessary to reach the scene. Once Buck Lemlngton had aspired to keep company, girl and boy fashion, with Flo. She and Buck used to squabble frequently, and then come together again for a short time. But with the arrival of Fred Fenton in town all this had been changed. Which was another reason for the enmity of Buck toward Fred. Like some of the other girls Flo waved a little flag which was made of purple and gold silk, the adopted school colors for Riverport. This she used to considerable advantage; and Fred thought that when it came up against her face the contrast with her rosy cheeks and sparkling hazel eyes made her look prettier than ever. "I suppose you will be getting away soon now, Fred?" she asked as he joined her. "In five minutes we will launch the boat, and be off," he replied; "you see, all the subs are on hand, and ready to jump in if any one of the regulars fails to show up, or is taken sick. They'll wait around an hour or two while we're down-river. When we get back Brad's promised to take them off for a spin, and some exercise." "Yes," she remarked, with a merry laugh, "I've been listening to some of them talking here. They do hope so much, poor fellows, that a chance will come along to put them on the regular crew. Why, I fairly believe they'd be happy if some of the rest of you had to leave town on vacations. But Fred, take care!" She raised her forefinger as if in warning, and looked about her in quite a mysterious way when saying these last words in a low tone. "What about, Flo?" he asked, not at all worried. "I understand that the other crew went down the river an hour or two ago," she continued; and he could guess who was meant without asking. "Well," he answered, "there's plenty of room for half a dozen crews to practice without interfering with each other. You remember the river gets very wide between here and Paulding. In fact lots of people always refer to it as 'the lake.'" "But it would have to be an ocean that would be wide enough to keep Buck Lemington from carrying out any of his pet schemes, Fred. And somehow he seems to have picked on you as his especial enemy. It seems so strange, when I know you've never gone out of your way to do him the least harm." The demure lassie looked at Fred out of the corners of her merry eyes when she said this, and it was hard for him to refrain from declaring that she ought to know that Buck's hatred for him began when she started to bestow her favors on the new boy in Riverport. However, Fred held himself in, and only remarked: "It has happened that lots of times Buck and myself have been up against each other in what should have been friendly rivalry. Because fortune was generally kind to me, and allowed me to carry off undeserved honors, he has made up his mind that I'm always trying to do him out of everything he wants to win. And he never loses a chance to let me know what he thinks of me." "You haven't been the one to suffer _very_ much, up to now, Fred, if half that I hear is true," Flo went on to say, with a pride in her voice that somehow thrilled the boy, and made him very happy. "Oh! I've had lots of good luck, I must say. But there's Brad beckoning, and I'll have to be going, Flo. Will you be here when we get back?" "Perhaps," she answered. "I've an invitation to go in Judge Colon's new auto, to watch the practice from the shore down below. If you happen to see us waving, why please do your best to give us confidence. They say those big Mechanicsburg boys are fearfully strong, and can pull a professional stroke. And they have a coach, too, you know, Fred." "We're going to have one too after to-day, for Corney's father used to be on a big college crew, and has consented to train us." With this Fred had to hurry off, but he turned and waved his hand to _somebody_ in the crowd just as he took his place, a few minutes later, in the eight-oared shell; nor did any one seem to doubt for whom the good-bye signal was intended; at any rate there was an unusual flutter to Flo Temple's purple and gold flag just about that time. The crew quickly fell into the swing, and the boat fairly flew down-stream under their vigorous strokes. Brad, however, was keeping them down. He did not want to let everybody know just what Riverport could do. Doubtless more than a few of Mechanicsburg's admirers would be ready to take every opportunity possible to time the rival crew, so as to get a pointer with regard to their capacity. That could not be helped; but Brad was determined to be as cautious as possible. Soon they were down to the broad stretch, where the little fluttering rags of various hues close to the edge of the water told the parts of the mile. Here the coxswain thought it good policy to increase the stroke, and they were soon hitting up a lively pace. How splendidly the delicate boat flew over the water, just for all the world as a swallow skims along the surface of a pond! The boys were enthusiastic over their work, and Brad did not hesitate to give them the praise they deserved. "We'll turn here, and pull up-stream," he said, as they rested for a few minutes. "That will come harder, and try you more. But it's all a part of the game. Once more, now, my hearties, with a will!" They covered the distance up to what Brad had marked as the turning point, in better time than he had believed possible. A buoy had been floated to serve as the upper end of the course. Rounding this they shot down the river with tremendous velocity, as though striving for victory on the home stretch. For some reason Brad took them down further than before, so that they even drew near the sharp bend before he gave the signal to stop rowing. The boat continued to glide along with the current, though gradually easing up. And it was just at that moment, when the young oarsmen of Riverport were breathing hard after their recent exertions, that they heard a sudden crash as of splintering wood, immediately accompanied by a conglomeration of shouts, all in the plain, unmistakable voices of boys. Startled, they stared at each other, as if not knowing what to make of it; and thrilled by the knowledge that danger must be threatening some fellows around the bend just below. CHAPTER XVII SNAGGED AND WRECKED "What in the world's that?" exclaimed Dave Hanshaw. "Sounds like some fellows might be in a pickle. Listen to 'em howl; would you?" cried Corney Shays. "Isn't one of the lot whooping it up for help?" asked Fred. "You're right, Fred; and we've got to get a move on, and turn that bend yonder, when we can see what's what. Ready, boys!" called out Brad, at which every young oarsman dropped back into his place; for they had been turning half around at the time, desirous of seeing what it all meant. "Must be that Buck Lemington bunch!" sang out Sid, who perhaps had recognized one of the loud voices; for he and the bully of Riverport had been in conflict so often in the last twelve years, that it would be very strange if the excited tones of the other might not be known when heard. "Then it's good-bye to that old college shell," declared Corney. "You're right," asserted Dick Hendricks; "because that smash must have ended its days of usefulness forever." As the signal to drop oars and pull was given, the boat once more took on new life, and rushed down upon the nearby bend. When they shot around this, of course the coxswain was the only one who immediately saw the exciting scene presented. And it certainly spoke well for the discipline under which that novice crew labored that not a single one of them tried to twist his head around, in order to gain advance information. They left details to Brad, knowing that they would quickly be upon the scene, and able to see for themselves, without a breach of discipline. What Brad saw was just what he anticipated, but all the same it must have given the boy a thrill. Sure enough, the delicate boat which had once won a big college race, and had been kept for some years by the gentleman over in Grafton, simply because his dead son had rowed on the winning crew, was piled up on some sort of a hidden snag, or concealed rock, at a point where the swirling water must have warned any cautious coxswain to keep away. Several boys were clinging to the wreck. Others were swimming around like rats deserting a sinking ship, two being already on the way to the nearest shore. And about every fellow was letting his lungs give full vent to his feelings; so that the racket was tremendous. "Help! help! I can't keep up much longer! This way, fellers! Get hold of me!" one of those in the river shouted; spluttering over the words, as though he might already have swallowed a considerable quantity of water. "Aw! let up on that squawk, Clem Shooks; can't you?" shouted Buck angrily, as he swam toward the fellow who declared that he was exhausted, and sinking. "Want any of that bunch to give you a hand? I'd see myself asking favors of Brad Morton or his crowd. We'll get you ashore, all right, never fear. Hi! there, Whitey, this way, and you too, Oscar. Give this ninny a helpin' hand and tow him to dry land." Apparently Buck was in a towering rage. He had been steering the boat when it struck the snag, and hence must be held responsible for the accident that would deprive the outlaw crew of a racing craft for the remainder of the season. There was not one of Brad's chums, however, but who felt sure that sooner or later the bully would try to put the blame on one of his companions. That seemed to be the natural way with him; a scapegoat was as necessary to Buck's manner of doing things as it was for him to take all the credit when success came along. Some of those who clung to the wreck were, however, not averse to accepting assistance from the regulars of the Boat Club. Brad directed them how to hang on, and in this way towed them close to the shore. When the water shoaled enough to admit of their standing up, with it only waist high he stopped the boat. "That'll do for you, fellows," Brad said, pleasantly; "and we'll go back now for the other pair." "Aw! you needn't bother yourselves about them," broke out Buck, who had managed, with the assistance of Whitey and Oscar, to get the weak-kneed Clem Shooks in the shallow water; "they're on the way right now." It turned out to be as Buck said. The last pair, realizing that they would be apt to incur the anger of their leader if they waited to accept favors from those Buck hated so bitterly, had indeed abandoned the wreck, and were even then swimming toward the shore. None of Brad's crew laughed, though the aspect of the wrecked ones was most forlorn, and doubtless they wanted to make merry. "We're sorry for your accident, Buck," Brad ventured to say, in as pleasant a tone as he could ever use when addressing the boy he detested so much deep down in his heart. "Nobody wants you to be sorry!" grated the other, in an ugly humor. "We've been talking about that race your bunch gave us yesterday, and honestly we hoped it would be repeated," Brad went on to remark; for he fancied he could understand how such a disaster must upset any fellow; and he tried to make excuses for the surly temper Buck was displaying. "Oh! let up on that sort of talk; won't you?" growled the other. "I s'pose you'd just want to use us as a practice crew; hey? Well, it's off, anyhow; and all owin' to Clem Shooks here taking a crab, just when I was starting to steer clear of that nasty snag!" "Why, I nev----" the astonished Clem started to exclaim, though he had swallowed so much water that it was difficult for him to get his breath as yet; when the irate bully turned on him like a flash, and shook his big fist threateningly. "Don't you go to denyin' it, now, Clem Shooks!" he roared, furiously. "I ought to know, hadn't I, when I saw the whole thing? And didn't you get throwed further than any of the rest? That was because you didn't have any oar left to hold on to. You ought to be made to pay for the boat, that's what. No back talk now, or else I'll show you who's boss here. Button up your lips, d'you hear, Clem Shooks?" And poor Clem, who was doubtless as innocent as he claimed, dared not speak further. By degrees the blame would be settled on his shoulders, without his venturing to protest in the hearing of the bully. Fred and his chums exchanged significant looks. It was as much as saying: "Didn't I tell you Buck would fix it all right?" They knew the ways of the bully to perfection. And if Buck noticed the nods and sly grins, he thought it good policy to pay no attention to them just then. "Well, since we're not wanted here any longer, let's be going, boys," remarked Sid, as usual thoroughly disgusted with the actions of the bully. "Good-bye then!" sneered Buck, and Bristles noticed with a sudden thrill that he looked at the trim boat belonging to the regulars with a malicious gleam in those black eyes of his. They once more backed into the deeper water, and were soon alongside the wreck. "Shall we tow it ashore for them, boys?" Asked Dick. "What say?" Brad remarked. "Better leave it alone, if you know what's good for you," Sid spoke up. "Once you touch it, and there's no telling what Buck will try to tell people. Perhaps he'd even say we ran into him, and did the damage. But I reckon some people ashore saw it all; for there's Judge Colon's auto, standing up yonder; and they've got their field-glass leveled this way. It's Flo Temple, too, who's doing the looking." "Better leave it alone then, fellows," Brad went on to say, being convinced by the logic of Sid that it was dangerous business meddling with anything belonging to Buck Lemington, even in a spirit of sporting fairness. "It's so smashed anyway, that it'll never again be worth fixing up. Too bad, too, for it was a boat with a history." "How d'you reckon it happened?" asked Colon; "for of course Clem Shocks never caught that crab, or some of the other fellows would have jumped on him? Didn't you all see how silly they looked when Buck was accusing Clem? They knew, as well as he did, that it wasn't so, but not a single fellow had the grit to declare the truth." "Oh!" Brad went on to remark, "Buck may have heard us coming around the bend, and forgot for a few seconds to keep as bright a lookout for snags as he ought. So they ran on this one at full speed. Say, wasn't that a fierce crash, though?" Once more rounding the bend that shut out all sight of the wreck, and the forlorn members of the outlaw crew, who would have a walk of five miles and more before they could get to town with their sad news, the regulars put in some time in diligent practice. "You're rounding out in fine shape, fellows," Brad declared enthusiastically, as they finally started up-river, bound for home. "To-morrow we're promised the valuable assistance of Mr. Shays, who knows the ropes from beginning to end. He'll be apt to give us a heap of valuable information, and correct a lot of our blunders; for I know we can do better work than this, once we get on to the right swing." It was in this happy frame of mind that they came in to the little float that had been made by using a number of empty water-tight oil barrels; and from which the boat was to be launched, as well as taken from the water. Every one of them felt thankful it had not been their craft that had met with disaster on this sunny afternoon. Of course, when the startling news was told to the crowd that lingered around the boat shed, it created a big sensation. As Buck really had no admirers present, few felt very sorry for him. He had long been the terror of the town, and every decent boy and girl went in his company as little as possible. CHAPTER XVIII LYING IN WAIT Fred, after some time, saw that Bristles was lingering nearby while he chatted with Flo and some of the others. He fancied that the boy with the mop of hair was trying to catch him alone, as though he wanted to say something in private. That caused Fred to remember that he knew something which Bristles would give considerable to hear; and it also pained him to think that his promise to Miss Muster would prevent him from telling, until she gave the word. But then perhaps it might be something not so personal that Bristles wished to say to him. Fred had noticed the way the other looked, at the time they were leaving Buck and his shipwrecked crew down the river. And perhaps he had made the same discovery that Bristles had. Flo Temple, about that time, declared she must be running home, and left, accompanied by some of the other girls, her chum, Cissy Anderson, whom Sid liked; and Mame Wells, the little hoyden sister of Sid, who seemed to be more than, half boy, because she dearly loved to play baseball, ice hockey, go fishing, and even aspired to go hunting when she got older, and her father would buy her a gun. Thus Fred saw no reason why he should any longer hold aloof from Bristles, who immediately came bustling up to him, with a mysterious wink, and drew him aside. "I made up my mind I ought to say something to a few of the fellows, Fred," he began, by remarking; "and you're one of the select. Colon and Corney I've seen already, and they're of the same opinion as myself." "Well, what's all this row about, Bristles?" asked Fred, somewhat amused; and at the same time pleased because the other did not seem about to put questions to him which he might find it difficult to dodge, without arousing suspicion. "Why, about Buck, to be sure," replied the other, confidentially. "But since his boat has gone to flinders, isn't he out of the game altogether?" demanded Fred. "That's just it, Buck being out of business is the kind of a fellow who can't bear to see anybody else prospering. He won't have a boat for the whole summer; and we have. All the fun's going to come our way. That makes Buck grit his teeth, and feel ugly. Are you following me, Fred?" "Sure I am, and it might be I understand what you're going to say better than you think I do," answered the one addressed, with a smile on his face. "Looky here, did you see how Buck glared at our boat when we started off, and did you notice the cunning expression, almost like a grin, that came over his face? Tell me that, Fred Fenton." "Yes, I saw all that," answered Fred. "And what did you think it stood for?" queried Bristles. "Oh! I just kind of thought Buck was wishing we'd run on a snag, the same way he did, and lost our boat, too, replied Fred, promptly; at which Bristles chuckled. "I see you're on, all right, Fred," he continued; "but as you don't know Buck quite as well as some of the rest of us, you're not on to his curves as much. Now, I'm willing to risk my reputation on it that when Buck eyed our boat, and then let that half grin come on his black face, he was thinking how easy it would be to make sure that something _did_ happen to upset all our calculations." "Do you mean he'd put a snag in the course, so that Brad would run on it, never dreaming there was such a thing there?" asked the indignant Fred. "Huh! worse than that," pursued Bristles with vehemence; "Buck wouldn't stop a minute to hack our boat to pieces, or even set fire to that old shed, if he believed he could do it on the sly, and not be caught!" Fred saw that his chum meant every word of what he said. The idea was startling. "That's a pleasant lookout then, we've got before us, Bristles," he observed. "All right, it's what I believe, just the same," the other went on, firmly. "If we let things just slide along I give you my word some fine night we'll be aroused by the fire whistle, and get down here in time to find the boathouse ablaze, and our new shell ruined for keeps." "If that seems to be the opinion of several of the boys, we ought to do something to prevent it," Fred declared, positively. "That just brings me to the point," ventured Bristles. "Are you in with our little bunch--Colon, Corney, perhaps Sid, and me?" "I'm ready and willing to do anything I can to defend the boat, if that is what you mean," came the ready response. "Shake on it, then. Wait here till I send the other fellers around. Then we'll just have a little confab, and see what we can fix up. I'll sound Sid while we're coming along; though if you're in, he's sure to say yes, because he always sticks by you like a plaster." A minute later Colon arrived, wearing a serious look; and then Corney followed. The three had just got started talking when Bristles hove in sight, bearing Sid along with him. "Here we are, now, the whole big five," Bristles said, loftily, as he came up. "Now, let's go all over this thing, and see if we agree." He again told what he had seemed to read upon the malignant face of Buck at the time they left him standing knee-deep in the river. Afterwards he called on Fred to describe what he had seen, and the impression it made on him at the time. "You see!" Bristles cried, triumphantly, in conclusion; "both of us thought about the same thing. Buck is up to some meanness. He would be just delighted if we lost our boat, because he doesn't like to see anybody having a good time when he can't be doing the same. And as it isn't likely we'll hit a snag, or set fire to the old shanty ourselves, why, he might think to save us the trouble." "Then there's only one thing to be done," said Colon, with set lips. "We five must guard the boat each night!" declared Bristles. "Right along?" exclaimed Corney, with something like dismay in his voice; "sure I'm willing to do all I can, but I must sleep once in a while!" At that the others laughed. "Don't be silly, Corney!" burst out Bristles. "Of course we'll take the job by relays. We can draw for to-night, the two getting the short straws bunking out in the house. After it gets dark blankets can be smuggled down here. Don't say a single word to anybody, not even Brad just now. Fred, you've got the key to the door; haven't you?" "Yes, Brad asked me to keep it at our house for the present," replied Fred. "Now, let's draw, and see who has the honor of keeping the first watch," and as he spoke Bristles hunted around until he had found five straws, which he broke off until they were all different lengths. Each of the other four drew, after Bristles had concealed one end in the palm of his hand. "Now measure and see. Oh! slush!" he continued, eagerly; "you left me the longest, after all, when I was hoping it'd be me. And it turns out to be Colon and Fred. Well, fellows, here's wishing you luck. To-morrow night I'm just bound to do the camping-out act, anyhow." When Fred got home he explained to his folks the necessity of some of the crew guarding the boat. His father quite agreed with him, and readily gave permission that he spend the night out. So, a little later, Fred bundled up a blanket, and made his way down along the river bank unseen. In due time he came to where the old building, squatty and dilapidated, stood under the bank. A dark figure arose in front of him. He heard the low whistle that he and Colon had agreed upon as a signal each might recognize in the dark. "Glad you came along," Colon declared; "was just getting tired waiting; been here half an hour, 'cause I heard the church clock strike; but it seemed like five times as long." Fred opened the door carefully, and they entered the shed. A lantern hung on a hook nearby, ready for use. They would need its light so as to get things in readiness for passing the night. Besides, Colon had a little idea of his own he wanted to put into practice; and which had been suggested by the sight of a big empty hogshead that stood outside the door, on the shelving beach. "I'm going to lay a neat little trap, and see what luck I have," he chuckled as Fred asked why he wanted the lantern, after they had fixed their blankets and made ready for taking things easy. Colon was gone quite some little time. Fred could hear him working away like a beaver at something. And as a rope seemed to figure in the affair he felt a little curiosity to know what sort of a trap the ingenious fellow could be constructing, all by himself. Finally tall Colon came in again. "It's all fixed, and the door locked once more, Fred," he said. "Then the quicker you blow that glim out the better," remarked the other; "for you see, one of those fellows might come around to spy out the land, and noticing a light in here, he'd be suspicious." Colon took the hint, and put out the lantern, which, however, was kept near, so that in case of a sudden alarm it could be quickly brought into use again. After that the two lads made themselves fairly comfortable, though they did not remove their shoes. In case of trouble they wanted to be in condition for active and immediate work. Fred had filled several old buckets, so as to be ready to fight fire. And for a little while they lay there, occasionally whispering to one another. Finally Colon went to sleep. Fred knew this from his steady breathing; and since he was feeling more or less tired himself, after the strenuous labor of rowing in the afternoon just passed, he too allowed his senses to be lulled into the land of Nod. How time passed Fred had not the remotest idea, when he was suddenly awakened by a terrific clamor, that, to his excited imagination, sounded like a railroad train running off the track, and smashing into a kitchen, where the walls were lined with all manner of tinware. Both he and Colon sat up suddenly. CHAPTER XIX NIPPED IN THE BUD "Hear that, Fred?" Of course it was foolish of Colon to ask such a question as this of his companion. That racket was enough to awaken the soundest sleeper. But then he was so excited he just felt that he had to say something. Fred threw his blanket aside. Then he reached out for the lantern, and his handy match-safe, so that they could get some light on the subject. As soon as this little task had been accomplished, he and Colon started for the door full-tilt. Opening this, they passed out. The noise of falling tinpans had by now entirely ceased. Of course the artful Colon had piled up all the waste cans he could find, so that if they were toppled over they would make considerable racket. Once upon a time there had been some sort of manufactory connected with the shed; and back of it Colon had discovered a regular mine of what he wanted in the way of rusty cans, large enough to suit his purpose, and make all the noise heart could wish. "Look! I got one!" Colon pointed excitedly as he said this, and as Fred looked he burst out into a loud laugh. Evidently Colon's trap had worked. A boy was dangling by the heels, held up in the air by the loop of a rope, which seemed to pass over a post connected with the building, and then extend to the hogshead, partly filled with stones, and which was now half way down the beach, the rope taut, and holding the victim in his elevated position. "It's Conrad Jimmerson!" exclaimed Colon, as they arrived close to the boy, who was kicking furiously, and groaning dismally. His coat hung down over his head in such fashion that he could not see what was going on; Colon must have recognized him by his clothes, or through some boyish instinct. "Oh! get me down, quick!" moaned the trapped prowler. "All the blood's agoin' to my head, and I'll be a dead one soon! Please cut me down, fellers! I won't run!" "I'm right sure you won't," remarked Colon, drily; "but while I've got you held up so neat, I might as well make it doubly certain." With, that he secured the other flourishing leg so that when Conrad was lowered to the ground he could not move without their permission. "Give us a hand here, Fred, and we'll get him out of the trap," remarked the proud inventor of the running-barrel game. "You see, he stepped right up on this box, just as I figured, and touched the trigger. With that he started the heavy barrel rolling down-grade; and the loop caught him by one leg, instead of both, as I meant it should." "But what was all the fierce noise that woke us up?" asked Fred, as he assisted Colon to take the victim down, by dragging in on the rope, so as to slacken the loop around the leg of the trapped one. "Oh! shucks! just a pile of tin cans I built up, to be knocked over when the barrel got to turning around. You see, I was a little afraid that we mightn't hear when the trap was sprung, and I wouldn't want to miss this funny sight for anything. Here, you are, Conrad; lie there now, till we can drag you inside the house." The boy was evidently very much frightened. He had thought his ankle in the grasp of some unseen giant, when the loop tightened, and snatched him upwards. No wonder he trembled and wheezed as he cowered there. "We'd better go in right now, then," remarked Fred. "Some of that crowd might take a notion to come back and see what has happened to Conrad. Take hold of him on that side, Colon, while I look after this one." "Oh! what you a-goin' to do with me?" queried the prisoner. "I haven't done a single thing, fellers, cross my heart if I did. Just wanted to see if anybody was a-sleepin' in the old shed. Buck told me to be sure and not hurt the boat. He says that its bad enough because we lost ours, without anything a-happenin' to yours. I wouldn't do a little thing, sure I wouldn't. Hope you believe me boys. Don't lick me! I got about all I ought to have already. I'm shiverin' to beat the band. Quit jerkin' me that way, Chris Colon; I ain't hurt you!" "Oh! come along, you silly!" said the tall boy, who had a contempt for so great a sneak and coward as Conrad Jimmerson. Fred closed and locked the door again after they had entered. The sound of the key being turned in the lock started the frightened boy into protesting again. He judged others by Buck's standard, and the bare thought of finding himself alone and a prisoner, in the power of those he would have injured, seemed to give him a case of the "trembles," as Colon called it. "Now I want you to take a look into his pockets," the tall boy remarked. Immediately he uttered a triumphant exclamation. "See here, Fred, he had a whole lot of matches with him!" he called out. "Looks like he was ready for business, all right." "Say, I always carry matches with me, and you know it, Chris Colon," protested the alarmed prisoner, vigorously. "Perhaps you do, but never so many as these," Colon went on. "I kind of reckon you thought you'd have good need of 'em this night. But what're you carrying under your arm that way, Fred? Saw you step over, and pick somethin' up outside there. Find anything worth while; another feller's cap, maybe?" "No, it was this," and Fred held an object up. "What's that? Looks like a bundle of old rags!" remarked Colon, quickly; while the prisoner gasped and shivered worse than ever. "There was something more; what do you think of this?" and for the second time Fred elevated his hand, containing an object that made Colon utter a cry of rage. "A bottle!" he ejaculated. "What's in it, Fred? Three to one I c'n guess. Kerosene!" "That's just what it is," returned the other, gravely. "Some fellows came here to-night prepared to throw this stuff over one end of the old shed, and start a fire going. Perhaps they even meant to break in, and scatter the oil over the boat, so nothing could save it, once the fire got started. We've nipped as mean a little game in the bud as I ever heard about." Colon turned on the prisoner with a black face, and gritting teeth. "Who set you on to this thing, Jimmerson?" he demanded. "You never thought of it by yourself, because you haven't got the brains. Tell me now, wasn't it Buck Lemington who got you to come here, and try to set the shed afire?" Conrad tried to look defiant, but somehow he lacked the spirit. He saw those two frowning lads on either side of him, as he stood there leaning against the wall of the boathouse, his ankles tied with the rope; and he began to weaken. "I never would a' thought of coming here to spy if it wasn't for----" he had just started to say, when there came a loud whistle, twice repeated, from outside, which must have been recognized by the fellow as a terrible threat of what would happen to him if he opened his lips to betray his cronies; for he shivered as if he had been showered with ice water, nor could they influence him after that, either by threats or promises, to say another word. Fear of what Buck would do seemed to have a greater influence over him than the possibility of punishment because of what he had tried to do. One was sure, while the other might be set down as only a chance. Besides, perhaps the fellow began to realize that Fred and Colon really could not prove that he had been carrying that bundle of old rags, as well as the bottle containing the kerosene. No court would decide that because they had been found there on the ground, he had brought them. Fred understood this and it was what made him say presently: "Well, we might as well let this fellow loose, Colon. After all, the proof, if there is any, must rest in these rags and this bottle. If we can find out just where they came from, we'll be satisfied in our own minds whom we have to thank for this midnight alarm." "Just as if there could be any doubt about it!" scoffed Colon. "Didn't we hear that whistle, and don't I know who gave it? Buck carries a little silver whistle and likes to communicate with his bunch that way. They've got a regular code, I've heard tell. And didn't you notice how quick Conrad, here, buttoned up his lips when he heard that order to keep mum?" "Another night," said Fred, threateningly, "we'll have a shotgun handy; and it'll go hard with prowlers, if we get a sight of them. Unfasten his legs, Colon, and then show him the door." The prisoner seemed to regain a little of his lost courage upon finding that they did not mean to hurt him any. "And you just stop pinching me when you do untie this rope, Chris Colon," said Conrad. "I want you to know you don't own the earth. A feller what lives in Riverport all his life ought to have the right to walk along the river here without having tricks played on him, and bein' yanked head-down up in the air. You'll pay for your fun yet, see if you don't, Chris Colon." "Shut up!" roared the exasperated Colon, shaking the other, whom he was now escorting to the door, with the intention of ejecting him, just as Fred had directed. "You ought to be tarred and feathered, if you got your dues. Like to see our boat go up in smoke; would you? And Buck aims to keep us from using the river, just because he was foolish enough as to smash his own boat? You tell him to come himself the next time. We'll be glad to see him; and perhaps he might meet with a surprise worse than the one I sprung on you, Conrad. Now don't forget to tell him; you hear me!" Colon had managed to get the door open while speaking. Then he gave the other a little push, as if to start him going. Conrad somehow seemed to suspect what was coming, for he tried to hug close to the tall boy, who, however, gave him a shove. So Conrad, thinking he had a chance, made a bolt; but that long leg of Colon shot out, and caught him fairly and squarely, sending him flying. The boy who was thus thrown out picked himself up, and thinking he heard his enemy coming toward him, fled into the darkness, howling in mingled pain and fear. Colon, laughing heartily, closed and fastened the door, after which he rejoined his watch-mate, to see out the balance of the eventful night in Fred's company. CHAPTER XX IN THE HOLLOW OAK After that there was no further alarm, and the two watchers secured quite a fair amount of sleep before the coming of dawn warned them to hie away home. They left the blankets at the boathouse, for they had purposely brought old ones; and hence, when it came time for the next watch to take up their duties, there would be no occasion for them to duplicate. On second thought the boys had come to the conclusion that it might be wise for them to tell Brad what had happened. The fact that the vengeful Buck had not stopped at such a grave thing as setting fire to the shed, worried them both. So a little later they both met again, having had breakfast. Together they hunted up the other three who were in the game; indeed, Bristles was meanwhile searching the whole neighborhood for Fred, having called at his house after he had gone. "Well," he remarked, after he had caught up with Fred, Sid and Colon, on their way to get Corney and himself; "seems to me you fellows are in a big hurry this same morning." "We are," replied Fred. "We wanted to get the entire committee together, and go in a body to see Brad. He ought to know that the boat is always going to be in danger unless something is done to curb Buck Lemington." "Say, was I right?" cried Bristles, exultantly. "You were," replied Colon, solemnly. "Then he _did_ try to break in, so's to cut the boat, and injure her?" the other went on, eagerly. "Worse than that!" said Colon. "Far worse!" Fred added, looking mighty solemn himself. "Oh! come, let up on that sort of thing; open up and tell me what happened!" the excited boy demanded. When they did give him the whole story he could hardly contain himself, between his natural indignation because of the meanness of the act, and his delight over the success of Colon's little trap. "Caught that sneak Conrad Jimmerson, and strung him up like a trapped 'possum, did you?" he cried, clapping his hands in glee. "Gee! what tough luck that I wasn't around to see it. Always my bad fortune, seeing lots of game when I haven't got a gun; and never a thing when I'm heeled for business." "You see Colon and myself got to talking it over," said Fred; "and we made up our minds that it was hardly fair to keep the thing from Brad. He's our head in the boat club, and ought to know all that's going on. Besides, when toughs begin to want to burn down houses just for spite, that's going pretty far. Something ought to be done to stop it." Brad was of course duly impressed when he heard the story. He laughed heartily at the comical element connected with Colon's man-trap; but took the other part seriously. "I'm going over and see my uncle about it," he declared in the end. "Being a lawyer, and a judge at that, he'll tell me what to do. I think he'll say he wouldn't mention a single name; for you know all lawyers are mighty cautious how they give cause for a suit for slander. But he'll tell me we ought to scatter the story all over town, and also let it be known that from now on there'll be somebody in that house every night, armed, and ready to fire on trespassers. See you later, fellows." Fred found a chance a little later to get away from his other chums. He really did have an errand for his mother in one of the stores, but he remembered something besides that he had intended doing at the earliest opportunity, and it was this that swayed him most. Now, it chanced that the place he had to visit to leave an order was the largest grocery store in Riverport. And one of the boys employed there was Toby Farrell. Fred knew that he was generally sent out each morning on a wheel, to visit a line of customers, and take down their orders; though most of them had telephones for that matter, and could have wired in their necessities. Still, this grocer was enterprising, and instructed his boy clerk to tell each customer just what new and attractive goods they had received fresh that morning, possibly strawberries, vegetables and the like. And in the course of his wheeling about Toby was accustomed to visit the establishment of Miss Alicia Muster each and every day. In fact, Toby was one of the two boys hired by trades-people whom Fred suspected of being the person guilty of taking the old maid's opals from the parlor. Both of them were allowed to cool their heels in the kitchen for possibly ten minutes at a time, while the aged "mammy" consulted her mistress in her private room. And an inquisitive half-grown boy might become so familiar with the premises that, in a spirit of curiosity, or from some other reason, he would look around him a little at such times. Mr. Cleaver, the grocer, was in a good humor, and when Fred mentioned that he knew someone who had shown an interest in his young clerk, he immediately broke out in Toby's praise. "Best boy, barring none, I ever had, Fred," he declared. "Never late in the morning, neat in his work, obliging in his manners to my customers, and willing to stay after hours if there is a rush. In fact I'm so well satisfied with Toby that I expect to add a couple of dollars to his wages this very next Saturday. And I'm told he's the idol of his mother's eye. She's a widow, you know, with three small children, Toby being the eldest. He shows signs of being like his father; and Matthew Farrell was one of our leading citizens up to the time of his death. I hope she gets his pension through; it'll mean several thousand dollars for her. He died really of wounds received long ago in the war. Never would apply for the pension he was entitled to. Toby's all right, you tell your friend; and he's promised to stick right here. Some day he might be a partner in this business, who knows?" Well, after that, Fred was ready to throw up his hands in so far as Toby was concerned. He felt that he could never strike pay dirt in that quarter. There never was, and never would be again, quite such a paragon as Toby Farrell. It would be wasting time to try and bark up this tree. The scent had evidently led him in the wrong quarter. Accordingly, he turned toward the butcher's, and here he fully anticipated getting on the track of something. Gabe lived in an outlying quarter, and when he went home in the evening, or at noon, he took a short-cut through Ramsey's woods, where there was a convenient path. Now it happened that Fred knew this fact, for he had many a time seen the butcher's boy going and coming. Gabe had a big whistle, and used to amuse himself as he walked to and from home in trying to get the airs from the popular ragtime songs of the day. Fred had heard it said that the boy who whistles is generally an honest fellow, and that guilt and this disposition seldom, if ever, go hand in hand. How much truth there was in this saying he did not know; but it was on his mind now to try and find out. Perhaps the fact that it was about ten minutes of twelve influenced Fred in what he set out to do. First he passed all the way through the strip of woods. It was not very thickly grown, and there was really only a stretch of about one hundred feet where he did not find himself in sight of some house or other. Fred secreted himself about midway here. It was rather a gloomy spot, considering that it happened to be so near a town. The trees grew pretty thick all around the rambling path; and one big, old, giant oak in particular caught Fred's attention, on account of the fact that it seemed to be rapidly going into decay, being full of holes, where perhaps squirrels, or it might be a raccoon, had a den. Then he heard the whistle from the factory in town, immediately followed by the ringing of the church bells. Noon had come, and if Gabe carried out his regular programme he would soon be coming along the trail. Yes, that must be his whistle right now, turning off the latest air that had caught his fancy. Fred wanted to see him at close quarters. Perhaps he even had some faint idea of stepping out, and walking with Gabe, to judge for himself whether the other had a guilty air or not. But if such were his plans he soon found cause to change them. Gabe came whistling along, looking behind him occasionally, and then all around. Fred became deeply interested. He fancied that this must mean something; and it did. Suddenly the whistling stopped. Looking, he saw Gabe hurry over to the old tree trunk. He seemed to thrust his hand in, and draw something out. Fred, watching sharply, noticed that the boy was deeply interested in what he had taken from the hollow trunk; and he could give a pretty good guess as to what this must be. But Fred did not move from his place of concealment. Lying snugly hidden he saw Gabe replace the little package, after which he stepped out into the trail, picked up the ragtime air just where he had dropped it, and came walking smartly along, a satisfied grin on his face. Waiting until he had passed out of sight around a bend in the path, and his loud whistle began to grow fainter in the distance, Fred hurried over to the big tree. He had noted that particular crevice in the hollow trunk too well to make any mistake now. A minute later and he had fished up a little cardboard box, not over four inches in length, and secured with a rubber band. With trembling fingers Fred took this fastening away, and raised the lid; just as Gabe had recently done, no doubt being consumed by a desire to feast his eyes once more on the contents. Fred gave a satisfied sigh. It was all right, and Bristles' reputation had been cleared; for in that little cardboard box which Gabe Larkins had secreted so carefully lay seven milk-white opals, doubtless of considerable value. CHAPTER XXI A PLAN TO CATCH THE THIEF "That settles it!" Fred was saying these three words over several times to himself as he stood and stared at the seven little opals. They had appeared rather pretty when he looked at them in Miss Muster's best room, on the occasion of his visit there in company with Bristles. They gave him a shiver now; just because he knew that they had tempted weak Gabe Larkins to commit a terrible wrong. What had he better do about it? Fred had, in fact, about made up his mind that there was only one course open to him in case he found the opals. This was to go to Miss Muster at once, and let her know what had come to pass. She would be glad, for the sake of Bristles and his parents--yes, Fred began to believe the old maid really had a heart of her own, and would herself rejoice over the vindication of her nephew. But should he take the opals along with him? He decided against this as unwise. To fully prove his case, he should be able to catch Gabe in the act of handling the precious stones, and with a witness present. So he put the small cardboard box back into the cavity of the hollow oak, just as near where he had found it as he could. Then, with a cautious look along the trail, to make sure Gabe was not already returning, Fred hurried away. He was unusually quiet at lunch time, his mother and sister noticed. They even asked him if he felt unwell; but Fred laughingly replied that he never was better in all his life. A little while later Fred took his way to the large house in which Miss Muster lived. His heart beat high with satisfaction, because of the fact that he had in so brief a time fully proved the innocence of Bristles. At sight of Fred it was remarkable what a sudden look of expectation flashed over the thin face of Bristles' aunt. Apparently, then, she had come to place considerable confidence in the boy, whose manly bearing must have impressed her, as it did nearly everyone with whom Fred came in contact. "You are bringing me news, Fred!" she exclaimed, as she put out her hand toward him. "Your smiling face tells me that, for you cannot hide it. Oh! I hope I am not mistaken. Have you found my opals?" "Yes, ma'am, the whole seven that you said you'd lost," he answered, promptly. "That is good news," the lady went on; "but tell me more; have you learned who the thief is, Fred?" A vein of anxiety might have been noticed now in her voice; for she could not help fearing that after all it might prove to be her nephew. "I saw him take a little cardboard box out of the hollow of a tree," Fred started to say, "look at what it held, and then stick it back. After he went away, ma'am, I examined that same box, and found the opals there." "W--who was the boy?" she faltered, her hands shutting tightly as she kept her eyes fastened on Fred. "Gabe Larkins, ma'am!" "Oh! the butcher's boy!" and she gave a great sigh, as of relief. "Yes, ma'am. On the way home from the shop to get his lunch, he had to stop and take a look at his treasures," Fred continued. "He did not see you watching him, I suppose, Fred?" "Oh! not a bit of it," replied the boy, smiling. "I looked out for that." "Have you the opals with you now, my dear boy?" she asked. "No, ma'am," replied Fred. "You see, I thought it would be better if you could see Gabe handling the things, and know by the evidence of your own eyes he was the guilty one." "That sounds very clever of you, Fred," Miss Muster remarked, with a look of sincere admiration. "Perhaps now you may even have figured out some sort of plan that would allow of my doing such a thing?" "I have; that is, if you don't think it too much bother," he answered. "Too much bother?" she echoed; "after what I have done in my haste to bring sorrow into the happy home of my niece, nothing could ever be too much trouble for me to attempt. And, besides, I should really like to face that unhappy boy, to reproach him for his wrongdoing. I know his mother, and she is a very good woman. Yes, tell me, Fred, what is your plan?" "It's simple enough, to be sure," observed the boy. "Just give Gabe an extra chance to-morrow morning to slip into that parlor again. He's got the habit, I guess, and can't resist, if he sees an opening. Then, at noon, on his way home, why, of course, he'll stop at the big oak to add what he took to the others. You will be hiding right there with me and we can give Gabe the surprise of his life." "I should think that would be a splendid idea, Fred," Miss Muster said, nodding her head approvingly. "I suppose that it would be what they say in the newspaper accounts of an arrest in the big cities, 'caught with the goods on!'" "Then you'll agree to do it, ma'am?" asked Fred, eagerly. "Yes. I will give Master Gabe the finest chance he ever saw to slip into my best room; and then about half-past eleven will meet you wherever you say. And, Fred, after it is all over, you will have full permission to tell Andrew; for my part, my first duty will be to go to his home, and ask his mother to forgive a foolish old woman because of her unjust suspicions." The particulars were soon arranged. Fred mentioned a place where he would be on hand the next day, rain or shine, at eleven-thirty; and Miss Muster promised just as faithfully to keep the appointment. After that they separated. Just as luck would have it, as Fred came out of the house he heard his name called; and looking up saw his chum, Bristles. Surprise was expressed upon the face of the other, to discover Fred issuing from his aunt's home. A dozen questions could also be seen there; but Fred put a damper on all these. "Don't ask me a single thing, Bristles," he remarked mysteriously. "I've taken hold of your case, and things are working splendidly. All I'm going to tell you right now is that there's great hope you'll hear something, say by to-morrow afternoon. You ask me when we meet, about two or three, and perhaps I'll have some; news that'll surprise you. Now let's talk about the race that's going to be pulled off pretty soon. Have you had a line about what Mechanicsburg's doing?" In this way, then, he closed his chum's mouth. Bristles was puzzled to account for the actions of his friend; but at the same time he had so much confidence in Fred Fenton that he accepted his explanation, and even began to take on a more cheerful appearance. That afternoon the boys had the benefit of a coach; for Corney's father, the old college grad. and oarsman, gave them an hour of his time. He corrected numerous little faults that, as amateurs, they had naturally fallen into, and when finally Brad took his crew for a three-mile working-out spin, he was tremendously pleased at hearing the compliments bestowed upon them by Mr. Shays. "You are doing finely, boys," declared the coach, in a tone as though he meant all he said. "The improvement in your style of rowing is decidedly worth seconds to you; and they count big in a race, you know. I shall come out again the next time you want me, and show you some more little faults in the way you recover after giving the stroke. I can save several of you more or less unnecessary exertion, which in turn means a concentration of energy for the final spurt that accompanies every boat race." The boys thoroughly enjoyed having so pleasant a coach, and went home that evening convinced that their chances for victory in the coming struggle had been increased fully twenty per cent. "Don't forget your promise, Fred," said Bristles, rather pathetically, as he parted from his chum where their ways separated. "Depend on it, I just won't, Bristles," answered the other, positively. It seemed a very long time until eleven o'clock the next morning; and Fred kept around the house, for he did not want to run upon Bristles, and have the other look at him in that eager way. When he reached the place appointed for the meeting with Miss Muster he found her there, a heavy veil hiding her face. Together they made their way along the path that Gabe was accustomed to take as a short cut home. "Do you think he took another of the opals, ma'am?" Fred asked, as they drew near the big hollow oak. "I really had not the heart to look," she replied. "I gave him all the opportunity he could ask; and when he talked with me later on, I thought the boy looked confused; but I felt so sorry to think he had a mother who would be heart-broken, that I would not go into the parlor to examine. But guilt was written large on his face, or I am a poor judge of boy nature. Perhaps I am, after the mistake I made about my own nephew." Fred soon found a spot where both of them could hide, and yet be very close to the big tree; indeed, a few steps would carry them alongside when the time came for action. Then they settled down to wait. After a time the sound of bells told that noon had come. A few minutes later, and Fred touched the arm of his companion. "That's Gabe coming now," he remarked. And the trembling old maid could distinctly hear a very boisterous whistle that kept getting louder and louder as the butcher's boy strode jauntily along the path, heading in their direction. CHAPTER XXII TELLING THE GOOD NEWS Gabe Larkins' big whistle suddenly stopped. The boy was looking craftily around him, up and down the winding path, as though anxious to make sure that no person was in sight. Convinced of this act, he quickly stepped over to the big oak, and thrust his arm into the hollow. Miss Muster fairly held her breath with excitement as she saw him take out the little cardboard box, and opening it, drop something in, which he had drawn from the depths of a pocket. Fred arose; and the lady, taking this as a signal, did likewise. Together they began to advance upon the crouching Gabe. The boy seemed to be so intent upon his business of admiring the gems that he was unaware of the presence of others, until possibly the rustle of the lady's dress startled him. Then Gabe looked up, and his face turned ashy pale when he saw Miss Muster. In that one terrible moment he knew that his thievery had been found out. Nobody could ever know the thoughts that flashed through the boy's mind with the rapidity of lightning. "Give that to me!" said Miss Muster, holding out her hand toward Gabe. He dared not refuse; and as she received the little cardboard box the old maid, glancing in, counted ten of her opals there, just half of the entire collection. Gabe had increased his "take" that morning, and added three to his plunder. His apparent success was making him daily bolder. He tried to face the indignant, yet sorrowful, lady, but his eyes quickly fell before her look. "Have you ever stopped to think where you are going to land, if you keep on this way, Gabe?" she asked slowly. The boy made no reply. Perhaps he was inclined to be ugly and sullen; but, on the other hand, as he was a young offender, It might be conscience began to awaken. And Miss Muster believed that, since she meant to let him off this time, she at least ought to impress a lesson of some kind on him. "It means the penitentiary for a boy who begins to steal, as you show signs of doing, Gabe; yes, and a broken heart for your poor mother. Oh! I do hope this will be a warning that you will keep before you always. Because of that mother I am going to let you off this time, my boy; but unless you mend your ways there is only one end before you. Fred here will keep your secret also; you can depend on him. And make up your mind, Gabe, that even though you think you have succeeded in doing some evil deed in secret, the truth will sooner or later come out, Now you can go. I shall not speak to your employer, nor tell your mother; but from time to time I am going to have something to say to _you,_ my boy. I want to be your friend." Gabe had never opened his mouth to utter a single word, and when he hurriedly took his departure Fred was not sure but what it was a wide grin that appeared on his face; as though he fancied that he had gotten off cheaply after all. Whether Gabe would take his lesson seriously and reform, was a question in Fred's mind. "That ends it, thank goodness!" remarked Miss Muster, after they had seen Gabe turn the path in the direction of his own home. "And now, Fred, you get your lunch. After Ive had my own I shall drop in to see my niece, and confess all my shortcomings. I fancy she will be too happy at learning her boy is innocent to hold any grudge against her wretched old aunt." "Thank you," said Fred, laughing; "I do feel kind of hungry now. Just knowing what bully good news I've got for Bris--I mean Andy--seems to give me an appetite. I'll get there just in time to sit down with mother and Kate; because father doesn't come home at noon from the works." "And, Fred, believe me when I say that I'll never forget what you've done for me and mine," were the parting words of the old spinster, as she squeezed the boy's hand. "I'm glad, because I just know you'll make it all up with Bris--that is, Andy," he said; and she nodded her head in the affirmative. And at the lunch table, after making them promise that it should go no further than the head of the Fenton family, Fred interested his mother and sister by a recital of the strange case of the disappearing opals. "And remember, Kate," Fred went on, shaking his linger at his younger sister; "you must never, under any circumstances, mention a single word of all this to even one girl. Just forget you ever heard it I'm going to make poor Bristles mighty happy this afternoon; and the thought of it gives me so much delight that I guess I'll be off now to find him." He hurried out of the room, followed by the admiring glances of those who knew only too well what pleasure It gave Fred to be of value to a chum. Bristles was not at home, it turned out, having gone down to the river to hang around the boat-house, and wait for Fred to join him; because something seemed to tell him the other was going to bring good news. But Fred did see Miss Muster coming down the road as he turned away; and from what she had said, he understood that the determined old maid meant to "eat humble pie," as Fred called it, by asking Bristles' mother to forgive her mistake. None of the other boys happened to be around when Fred came upon Bristles. The latter was sitting on a pile of boards which were going to form part of the new house being erected for the Riverport Boat Club. As he heard the sound of approaching footsteps Bristles looked up, and smiled broadly to see Fred. "Now tell me what's on the bills, Fred," he entreated. "I just feel it in my bones that you've got news for me. Have you found out where the opals went?" "That's right," replied Fred, promptly. "Say, you don't mean to tell me you've got 'em back for Aunt Alicia?" gasped Bristles, turning red, and then pale, by rapid turns, and leaning weakly against the pile of boards. "Every one," declared the other; "your aunt says there isn't a single opal missing." "And was it that cunning old bunch of feathers, Black Joe, after all; was my guess good, and did you find out where the old bird was hiding them?" continued Bristles, possibly pluming himself a little on having conceived a very brilliant idea. "'Not for Joseph, not for Joe,'" sang Fred, merrily. "Fact is, when I told what you had in your mind to Miss Muster she said it was a fine thought, but she was sorry to say in this case no raven need apply. 'Cause why--well, she'd chained Joe to his perch for a week because he got sassy, and wouldn't mind; and so you see, if he had to stay there all the time he couldn't hop or fly into the other room and get away with the opals every other day or so." "Shucks! I should say not," replied the grinning Bristles; "but do take pity on a poor fellow, Fred, and tell me the whole story. Who stole the opals?" "Gabe Larkins, the butcher's boy," replied the other, soberly. "You don't say?" was Bristles' comment, after he had given a whistle to emphasize his astonishment. "And yet, after all, I oughtn't to be much surprised, because I happen to know he's always reading the sporting page of the city paper his mother takes; and I've heard him even talking about horse races and betting. But, however in the wide world did you get on to him; and does Aunt Alicia know it all?" "I think she's with your mother at this minute, telling her how sorry she is for suspecting you; and also what she means to do for you in the future to make it up. Now listen, and I'll make your eyes open a little, I reckon, Bristles." "Never heard the like of it in all my life!" declared Bristles, when the narrative had reached its conclusion with the detection of Gabe in the act of adding his morning's spoils to the balance of the plunder which he had hidden in the old hollow oak. "I'll never pass that tree without thinking of what you've just told me. Gee! I'm glad I wasn't in Gabe's shoes when Aunt Alicia caught him. I can just see the look of fury in her snapping black eyes." "You're wrong there, Bristles," said Fred, quickly. "Unless I'm mighty much mistaken there were tears in her eyes, when she looked down at Gabe cowering there. Your Aunt Alicia is a different woman these days from what you used to believe her. She's seen a light. She knows there are boys, and then again boys; and that not all of them are alike in everything." "But what can I say to you, Fred, for getting me out of this pickle?" continued Bristles, with a quiver in his voice, as he squeezed the hand of his chum. "Only for you, look what would have come to me? I owe you a heap, sure I do; and I only hope the chance will come some day to show you how much I feel it." "Oh! let up on that sort of talk, Bristles," said Fred, laughingly. "You'd have done just as much for me, or any of your chums, if the chance came your way; and you know it." "You just better believe I'm going to keep on the watch to pass this along," declared the other, fervently. "That's the way to talk," Fred remarked, looking pleased at being given the opportunity to bring happiness to one he thought so much of as Bristles; "and perhaps you'll be able to pull a better oar, now that this load is off your mind." "Why, Fred, believe me," said Bristles, soberly, "I feel right now as though I'd be able to put more vim into my work than ever before in all my life. Wow! if I had wings I could hardly seem more like flying, my heart is that light!" CHAPTER XXIII THE START OF THE RACE The great day of the boat race between Riverport and Mechanicsburg opened with a clear sky. This made happy the hearts of the hundreds of young people belonging to the two towns on the Mohunk River. Daily the husky crew of the town up the river had been busily engaged in practicing; and all sorts of ominous rumors were current among the more timid Riverport boys and girls as to the astonishing speed they had shown. But when those who had faith in the ability of their own crew to come in ahead heard these tales, they only laughed, and nodded, as though they felt no fear. As to the ability of their rivals to "make circles" around the boys of Riverport, did they not realize that these stories were being industriously circulated for the very purpose of making them count the race lost even before it was started? The clever coach, Corney Shays' father, warned them against believing anything of this sort. He said it was an old trick, and had been used by college men as far back as he could remember. "Just believe you can do the job up clean, and pay attention to everything your coxswain tells you; and it'll come out right," he declared. Early in the afternoon crowds began to assemble along the banks of the river, where the course had been marked off. Those in charge, being a committee of older pupils from each school, had taken all necessary precautions looking to having a clear course. They had also marked the turning point, where the rival boats must start on the return trip toward the home goal. This latter was a boat anchored in the middle of the river, and bearing a large red flag, with the words "Stake Boat" in white. Each contestant had to turn this, without fouling, in heading for home; and the one capable of accomplishing this with as little waste of time and distance as possible would gain an advantage that might count heavily in the final result. It was indeed a gay scene about half-past three that afternoon; the time of the race being scheduled for four exactly. Thousands of people lined both banks of the river, for the entire country had become deeply interested in the result, and taken sides, one way or the other. While Paulding had no proper boat club as yet, evidently every boy and girl attending school there, together with many older persons, had flocked to witness the sight of a river regatta so near at hand. School flags were waving everywhere, and class cheers accompanied their appearance, as the young people gathered in groups, the better to chant their patriotic songs. When the long shell from above came speeding down to the starting point, the occupants were given a rousing welcome from friends and foes alike. For everybody admired the game, sportsmanlike qualities of those Mechanicsburg fellows. "Who are they all, Flo?" asked Cissy Anderson, as she cuddled down alongside her chum, who was using a field glass; the girls being in the midst of a group that had a particularly fine place for witnessing the start and close of the race. "Oh! we know everyone of them, because they've figured in the battles on the diamond and the gridiron," replied Flo. "Wagner, of course, is among them; they say he has been made the coxswain of the Mechanicsburg crew; and then there must be Sherley, who was such a dear captain in their football games last fall; yes, and Waterman and Gould, too." "That's right, Cissy," the girl with the glasses continued; "and Hennessy is stroke oar, for I can tell him by his big, bushy crop of hair. He makes me think of Bristles Carpenter, who, they say, is pulling a wonderful oar these days. Let's see, there's Harkness, too, and Boggs--how many is that, Cissy? Just six oarsmen, you say? Well, I can see Smith there, I'm sure; and the other, why, of course it's that fussy Bob Jones. Don't they look splendid; and how evenly they pull." "You don't think now, for a minute, do you, Flo, that they can beat our boys?" the other girl asked, somewhat fearfully. "Of course I don't, silly," replied Flo, who had the utmost confidence in the sterling ability of Fred and his fellows to hold their own, no matter whether on the football field, the baseball diamond, in a hotly contested hockey match on the ice, a snowball battle, or in athletic sports; and consequently in aquatic matters as well. "There comes Sid and the rest!" exclaimed Cissy; just as though, in her eyes at least, the whole chance of success for the Riverport boys lay in the stalwart figure of Sid Wells alone. As Brad Morton led his eight sparsely-clad young oarsmen from the new building, bearing the glistening and carefully kept shell on their shoulders, a cheer started that gained force as it ran along the crowds lining the banks of the river, until it died away far in the distance. It had been decided to use the up-river course. And as the stake boat, which was to mark both the start and finish, was directly opposite Riverport, the turning point upstream must be just a mile and a half away; for the course was intended to represent exactly three miles, which was considered a long enough pull for young crews. The first half would be against the strong current of the Mohunk, now pretty high for the beginning of summer; but when the two rival boats had made the turn, they could come down with greater speed. It was this rush along the home stretch that all of the spectators were most anxious to witness. And this accounted for the throngs on both shores of the river near where the boat containing the judges of the race was anchored. It was now getting very close to four o'clock, and everybody began to breathe with eagerness, and possibly a little anxiety. No matter how loud the adherents of each school may have shouted for their colors, when it came right down to a question of supremacy the opposing crew began to loom up as a very dangerous factor; and they felt a faintness come into their hearts while watching the splendid way the rival eight carried themselves. "They're getting them placed in line!" shouted a small fellow, who carried a megaphone almost as long as himself, and through which his voice carried as far as a mile, when he strained himself to give a yell. This was a cousin of tall, long-legged Colon, and whose name of Harrison had long ago given way to that of Semi-Colon, to distinguish him from his big relative. "Look at poor old Buck Lemington; would you?" remarked another, close to the bevy of girls around Flo Temple and Cissy Anderson. "He's in an ugly humor to-day, because he threw away his chance to be pulling an oar in our boat, and went off to get up a boat club of his own." "And then smashed his shell on a snag the first thing," continued Semi-Colon, who had heard what was said. "Wasn't it just like him to try and say poor Clem Shooks was to blame, when everybody knows it must have been only Buck's fault, because he didn't remember about that stump under the water," one of the girls remarked. "And I even guess he'd have cared precious little if our boat had been burned up, when some of those tramps, they say, tried to set things on fire," a second girl broke out with; which remark appeared to amuse Semi-Colon very much, for he roared through his megaphone the word: "Tramps! Ha! Ha!" Evidently, while officially it had been decided to keep secret the facts connected with the finding of the bottle of kerosene and the rags, at the time Conrad Jimmerson was caught in Colon's trap, enough had leaked out among the boys connected with Riverport school to give them a pretty fair idea Buck must have been the leading spirit behind the miserable game. "Silence there! the referee wants you to keep still while he says something to the crews!" roared a heavy voice through a megaphone. "He's going to advise 'em what not to do," broke out Semi-Colon, for the benefit of the girls; "and that a willful foul with carry a penalty. There goes Coach Shays in that little launch; he's going to get in that car belonging to Judge Colon, and be whirled along the road, which keeps pretty near the river all the way. So you see, he can every little while shout out his directions to the coxswain." "There, the referee is talking to them now," said Flo Temple, plainly excited, since the critical moment was at hand. "Oh! don't I just hope our boys will leave them away behind right in the beginning! Because, they say that the first one around the turning boat will have a big advantage. Every second on the down-current will put yards between them, that the second boat may never be able to make up." "Brad Morton knows that, make up your mind, girls; and he won't let those Mechanicsburg fellows turn first, if he can help it," Semi-Colon advised. "That's it, if he can help it!" mocked a girl near by, who was boldly waving the banner of the up-river town right in the stronghold of the rival school. "Watch, they're going to start!" cried Cissy Anderson, shrilly. Every sound seemed to cease like magic, as doubtless thousands of eager eyes saw that the decisive moment was at hand. Then suddenly there came the sharp report of a pistol, which they all knew was to be the signal that would send those two boats forward with all the power that sixteen pairs of trained and muscular arms could bring to bear in exact unison! Immediately a roar arose. CHAPTER XXIV A GREAT VICTORY "They're off!" "Mechanicsburg leads!" "Yes, she does, smarty; better look again! They're tied, neck and neck!" "But watch that stroke, will you; did you ever see anything so fine? Oh! you poor Riverport, get your tear-rags ready to weep!" "Wait a little. You'll be laughing out of the other side of your mouth, Crabtree!" So the various backers of the two teams bantered each other as they kept their eyes fixed on the rival shells. Thef boats were pushing up against the strong current of the Mohunk, steadily biting into it, and increasing the distance between them and the stakeboat that was presently to mark the closing scene of the river drama. Steadily they kept on, nearing the bend that would shut them out from the sight of the great crowds gathered on either bank near the judges' boat. If the cheering diminished in volume at that point, it was taken up above, until one long wave of sound arose, every conceivable noise being used to create an uproar, from horns and whistles to megaphones, and class yells from the various schools. It was a time long looked forward to, and which would last for so short a period that everyone seemed to think it necessary to exhaust himself or herself as speedily as possible. "There they are, turning the bend now!" declared the anxious Cissy. "Oh! which one leads, Flo; tell me, please?" "As near as I can make out, they seem to be running evenly," the other girl replied, with the glasses to her eyes, as though she could not drop them, or even gratify the curiosity of her best chum by allowing her a peep. "And do you see Sid, and is he showing all the others how to keep cool, and hold himself in reserve against the last home quarter-stretch?" demanded Cissy. "Well, I like that, now!" exclaimed the indignant Flo, who, as we chance to know, also had someone she admired in that school crew; "just as if there didn't happen to be seven other fellows rowing alongside Sid Wells. I know one at least who plays second fiddle to nobody." "There they go around the bend!" cried another girl. "And listen to the roars above there; will you?" called a boy passing by, who was decked out in Riverport colors. "Why, there must be a whole mob of people up to see 'em turn the other boat. I'd like to be there right now, if I could jump back here to see the finish." "Watch the signals!" now arose on every hand. Everybody knew what this meant, and consequently the eyes of the entire multitude began to be fastened on a particular place up at the bend. Here arrangements had been made by those in charge of the race, whereby the news would be flashed to those far down the stream which one of the rival boats had managed to make the turn ahead. "Which are the signals?" one boy asked, as though he had become slightly confused, owing to the excited condition of his mind; and which, after all, was not to be wondered at, with all that racket around him, and his pulses thrilled with the hope he hugged to his heart that Riverport might win. "Red if Mechanicsburg is ahead, and blue if Riverport turns first!" someone obligingly called out. "There goes the flag up!" shrieked a voice just then. There was a tall pole at the bend, and they could see some dark object mounting rapidly upward. The flag was bunched in some manner, to be released when it reached the top of the mast And how those few seconds did seem like hours to the anxious hearts of the onlookers, who were holding their very breath in suspense. Then a mighty shout broke out that was like the great billows dashing on a rock-bound coast: "It's blue! Riverport turns first!" "Oh! you Mechanicsburg, how we pity you right now!" "A runaway! They'll never be in sight when we cross the line!" "The easiest thing ever! Football, baseball, and now rowing; why, you're not in it at all, Mechanicsburg!" "Sure they are--in the soup!" However, in spite of all this brave talk, those who taunted the up-river boys understood that it was quite too soon to do much crowing. What if Riverport had succeeded in getting the inside track of their rivals, so as to turn the upper boat first, that did not mean the others would lie down, and allow their old-time enemies of many a hard-fought game to triumph over them. Mechanicsburg players had the reputation of being stayers, who would not admit defeat until the last man was out, or the concluding yard been passed over. Doubtless both boats were even now coming down the river at a marvelous pace. The question remained to be seen whether Mechanicsburg could throw enough power into their strokes to cut down the lead their rivals had obtained, and forge ahead as they drew near the goal. "Will Colon overdo himself again?" That was the question one white-faced Riverport boy put to a mate as they stood there, with their eyes glued on the bend above, around which the boats must come flying at any second now. "Aw! come off with you, Tatters," was the immediate and scornful reply; "you know mighty well what made him drop that other time. Hadn't he been pretty near drowned the day before, so that his nerves shut up on him like a jack-knife? He's fit as a fiddle now, they say; and Bristles Carpenter is pulling like a race-horse. You watch and see. We're bound to win this race in a walk." "There they come!" The boats shot around the bend, and it was seen that while Riverport still held the lead, it was only by a margin of part of a length. As yet, then, it might be called anybody's race, since a very slight thing would serve to turn the tables. On the river road could be seen the car belonging to Judge Colon, racing along from point to point; and above all other sounds the spectators could hear the sharp, shrill voice of Coach Shays as he shouted words of cheer to his crew; or warned them against some possible fatal blunder. Despite the gruelling pull against the current that had marked the first half of the fiercely contested race, both young crews seemed to be keeping in perfect rhythm with the movements of their coxswains. And doubtless those shrewd leaders were keenly on the alert for any advantage that might come to them through either a quickening of the pace, if they thought the rowers capable of standing it, or some other change in the existing conditions. Louder grew the shouts and songs as the two boats came flying down the stream, the young oarsmen pulling like mad to either retain or secure an advantage. Hope flickered up again in the hearts of the loyal Mechanicsburg rooters, who had well nigh taken a slump when they learned that their favorites were behind at the half-way boat. How they did cheer their boys on! It was enough to almost make any fellow try to perform impossibilities, and strain himself to the breaking point, to hear how his comrades were banking all their hopes on him in particular. Loud and dear sounded each name of the Mechanicsburg rowers through a megaphone, backed by a voice that had Semi-Colon's put out of the running: "Hennessy--Sherley--Harkness--Gould--Smith--Boggs--Waterman--Jones-- Wagner--_everybody pull!_" And they did certainly pull for all they were worth, desperately anxious to overcome that half boat-length that still lay between them. But, on the other, hand, an equal number of young athletes in the other shell were just as doggedly determined not to yield one inch, if it could be held by any power of theirs. Brad believed he could call for just one more little advance in the stroke, and he was only waiting until they reached a certain spot marked in his mind as the place where the final spurt must be made. "Now, Riverport, once more, and for the last time, _give way!_" came in the shrill tones of the coach. Immediately the final spurt was on. Mechanicsburg, too, had been holding just a mite in reserve for this killing last quarter of a mile. As a consequence, the two boats seemed to retain about the same relative position as before, despite this change of stroke to a faster one. The excitement ashore, as they drew rapidly nearer the line, was tremendous. Some fellows jumped up and down, waving their hats, and shrieking; while girls swung their colored banners frantically any way, in order to add to the confusion. But there was not a single one who would remove their eyes for even a second from the stirring spectacle of those two shells, spinning side by side down the river, with only the little space of a second, as it were, marking the difference between victory and defeat. Now they were close on the line, and Mechanicsburg gave one mighty pull, as if hoping to send their boat at least level with that of their antagonists, so that the chances of a tie might be improved. "Look at Riverport, would you? They've been keeping it back all the time!" "Oh! my, what a spurt! See 'em go, boys! We win! we win! Riverport takes the race! Hurrah! whoop! R-i-v-e-r-p-o-r-t! Siss! boom! ah!" Amidst the roar of uncounted voices, the booming of several cannon held in readiness for just this very purpose, the bleating of horns, and everything else that could be utilized to create a racket, the Riverport shell shot pass the deciding stakeboat, fully a length ahead of their rivals. It had been a clean race, with not a single note of discord. Although beaten, Mechamcsburg had carried their colors with honor; and a mighty shout from friend and foe alike attested to the satisfaction felt by all who had witnessed the close contest. CHAPTER XXV BRIGHT SKIES Riverport went fairly wild that night over the success of the school crew in the race against the crack oarsmen of Mechanicsburg. Perhaps there were a few fellows who took little or no satisfaction in the great victory. Buck Lemington might be set down as one of these; because, as a rule, Buck never enjoyed seeing his school win, unless he could be the central attraction, the hero to whom the plaudits of the cheering throngs were mainly given. But no one cared much what Buck Lemington thought. Surely Fred Fenton was of a mind that the Lemingtons, father and son, were soon to be routed, horse, foot and artillery, when the long missing Hiram Masterson returned, as he had promised to do in that letter from far away Hong Kong, and tell all that he knew about the scheme of those in the syndicate to cheat Mr. Fenton out of his just rights. And Bristles, too, was a happy fellow those days. He had known what it was to taste of the bitterness of having unfounded suspicion cast upon him. The pleasure of feeling that his name was fully cleared made him secretly resolve that if he knew it, his mother would never have to experience the sorrow that was evidently in store for Gabe Larkins' parent, unless that tricky boy changed his ways. Nor was Bristles apt to forget that he owed most of his present condition of satisfaction to the earnest efforts of his good chum, Fred Fenton. Who but Fred would have taken it upon himself to interview Miss Muster, and get acquainted with the facts in the case? And who but he could have guessed the identity of the guilty party; which he later on proved so wonderfully well, in the presence of the old maid who had met with the loss of her precious jewels? Bristles never told what a siege of suspense he had passed through. And if there were any curious ones among his mates, who took it upon themselves to wonder why their usually lively, wide-awake comrade moped, as he had done for a time, they had to take it out in guessing. Fred did have one very pleasant little surprise sprung upon him, and which made him feel more drawn to the old maid than ever. On the very night of the boat race, when the atmosphere of all Riverport was vibrating with parading crowds, and bonfires were already springing up, to celebrate the great victory of the young oarsmen, Fred, returning home about supper time, found a little packet beside his plate. It had not come by mail, and undoubtedly his mother knew something about who sent or brought it; for there was a glow in her eyes as she watched him handle it, with a questioning look in his own. "Suppose you open it, Fred, instead of trying to guess," proposed his sister Kate. "Well," he replied, laughingly, "that does seem like a sensible thing for you to say, Kate. Perhaps I am a little dazed or rattled; who wouldn't be after taking part in such a grand race as that? You were there, Mom; for I noticed you waving your pocket handkerchief; and I wager now, you never saw anybody but the Fenton boy who was on the crew. I say, now, what's all this mean?" Father, mother, and sister all watching him, Fred had opened the little packet; and out upon the table rolled three handsome opals, that seemed to take on all the hues of the rainbow as the light of the evening lamp fell upon them. He also unrolled a sheet of paper on which were a few lines in a rather crabbed hand; which Fred would once have said was just like the character of the whimsical old maid herself, but which he now knew must be caused by age. "Dear Boy:--I want you to accept these few tokens of my esteem, to know that I shall never forget what you have done to show me how necessary it always should be to look well before you leap. You will make me happy by keeping these, and saying nothing about the folly of "Your Old Maid Friend, "Alicia Muster." "Just to think, she sends me these valuable opals, because I happened to help prove that Bristles didn't take her gems," Fred said, wonderingly, as he looked down at the handsome present that had been given to him. "Well, I think you earned them," remarked Mrs. Fenton, proudly; "and when your father hears the whole story, which I have only kept from telling him because I wanted you to have that pleasure, I'm sure he'll agree with me. Yes, you ought to be a lawyer, Fred. You are cut out for a successful one." "And then to think that he was on the crew that beat those smart Mechanicsburg fellows," Kate declared, as though to her mind that fact dwarfed everything else; "but, Fred, they are beginning to talk already how they mean to get even with Riverport this Fall. You know they had a fine gymnasium given to them by a rich man, and already they have started to practice all sorts of track events. I understand they mean to challenge Riverport to a meet; and having the advantage of that gymnasium, they expect to pay us back for the times we've beaten them." "Oh! they do, eh?" remarked Fred, as though not greatly worried; "well, there will be two who must have a say in that, Riverport as well as Mechanicsburg. Perhaps they may turn out to have the better all-'round athletes; time will tell." And time did tell; for the proposed athletic meet came to pass in the Fall. What stirring things happened along about that time, as well as the inspiring incidents connected with the great meet itself, will be recorded in the next story of this series, to be called: "Fred Fenton on the Track; Or, The Athletics of Riverport School." Of course the Fentons were looking eagerly forward to the time when Hiram Masterson would redeem his promise to return and testify against the overbearing syndicate that was endeavoring to get possession of that rich Alaska mine, which had once belonged to Fred's uncle. Days might pass, but each one meant in all probability that the missing witness, abducted by orders of the powerful combination of capitalists, was drawing closer; and every night on his return home Mr. Fenton fully expected to find the man from Alaska sitting at the table awaiting his coming. True, he seemed to have so much knowledge of the almost unlimited powers of he syndicate, with which Squire Lemington was connected in some way, that Hiram had declared his intention of coming in some sort of disguise, so that he could give his evidence under oath before his unscrupulous uncle even knew that he was on this side of the ocean. And so, on the whole, those summer days were times of almost unlimited pleasure to Fred Fenton. After his unsuccessful attempt to burn the racing boat of the Riverport schoolboys, Buck Lemington had remained a long time quiet. Possibly he feared that his crony, Conrad Jimmerson, when he was caught in Colon's quaint trap, might have told something of the truth before his mouth was closed by hearing that threatening signal outside. And Buck was waiting now to learn if anything was about to be done, in order to bring him to punishment. Of course such a nature as his could not remain very quiet for any great length of time; and as the days grew into weeks doubtless his resentment toward Fred would once more become hot. Then there would be more exciting times; for when Buck really worked himself up to a certain pitch, things were apt to happen. The boys and girls of Riverport always did manage to have a good time during the summer holidays. True, there could be no singing school, and dances in the barn, such as winter brought along in its train; no skating on the river, sleighing over country roads with a pretty girl alongside, and the merry chime of bells in the air; but then picnics were held every little while; and as for the group of boys who somehow looked upon Fred as a sort of leader, there was hardly a weekday during the entire vacation that they did not go fishing, or at least pay a visit to the old "swimming hole." When together, Bristles and Fred often talked about the affair of the opals. The latter said that his aunt kept in constant touch with Gabe Larkins, and seemed to be gaining considerable influence over the wild lad. "I don't just know whether he means to reform, or is only pulling the wool over Aunt Alicia's eyes," Bristles declared; "but, anyhow, he seems to be walking a straight line now. Why, his mother told mine just yesterday that she didn't know what had come over Gabe, he was that considerate of her feelings nowadays. She wondered if he could be feeling ill, and expectin' to die. But maw just told her not to worry; that she reckoned he was only feelin' sorry because he'd been so bad in the past." "I hope he means it," said Fred, with considerable earnestness in his voice. "It's a pretty hard thing for the leopard to change his spots, father says; but if Gabe does turn over a new leaf, he certainly ought to be helped by everybody." "Oh!" said Bristles, quickly, "I stopped and shook hands with him the last time we met. And say, Fred, there did seem to be something a little different about his eyes; looked me square in the face, and you know he used to be seeing somethin' over your head every time before. I wonder now does it mean anything?" But that again was another thing that only time could prove. Whether Gabe did really see a light, and mean to change his ways, or was playing a foxy game for some purpose, there could be no way of telling, until he chose to come out into the open. Here, with the horizon looking so bright for those in whose fortunes we have come to feel such a deep interest, it may be as well for us to say good-bye for the present, and leave a further recital of their adventures and contests to another time. THE END THE SADDLE BOYS SERIES By CAPTAIN JAMES CARSON 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. All lads who love life in the open air and a good steed, will want to peruse these books. Captain Carson knows his subject thoroughly, and his stories are as pleasing as they are healthful and instructive. THE SADDLE BOYS OF THE ROCKIES _or Lost on Thunder Mountain_ Telling how the lads started out to solve the mystery of a great noise in the mountains--how they got lost--and of the things they discovered. THE SADDLE BOYS IN THE GRAND CANYON _or The Hermit of the Cave_ A weird and wonderful story of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, told in a most absorbing manner. The Saddle Boys are to the front in a manner to please all young readers. THE SADDLE BOYS ON THE PLAINS _or After a Treasure of Gold_ In this story the scene is shifted to the great plains of the southwest and then to the Mexican border. There is a stirring struggle for gold, told as only Captain Carson can tell it. THE SADDLE BOYS AT CIRCLE RANCH _or In at the Grand Round-up_ Here we have lively times at the ranch, and likewise the particulars of a grand round-up of cattle and encounters with wild animals and also cattle thieves. A story that breathes the very air of the plains. THE SADDLE BOYS ON MEXICAN TRAILS _or In the Hands of the Enemy_ The scene is shifted in this volume to Mexico. The boys go on an important errand, and are caught between the lines of the Mexican soldiers. They are captured and for a while things look black for them; but all ends happily. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK THE SPEEDWELL BOYS SERIES By ROY ROCKWOOD Author of "The Dave Dashaway Series," "Great Marvel Series," etc. 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. All boys who love to be on the go will welcome the Speed well boys. They are clean cut and loyal lads. THE SPEEDWELL BOYS ON MOTOR CYCLES _or The Mystery of a Great Conflagration_ The lads were poor, but they did a rich man a great service and he presented them with their motor cycles. What a great fire led to is exceedingly well told. THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR RACING AUTO _or A Run for the Golden Cup_ A tale of automobiling and of intense rivalry on the road. There was an endurance run and the boys entered the contest. On the run they rounded up some men who were wanted by the law. THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR POWER LAUNCH _or To the Rescue of the Castaways_ Here is an unusual story. There was a wreck, and the lads, in their power launch, set out to the rescue. A vivid picture of a great storm adds to the interest of the tale. THE SPEEDWELL BOYS IN A SUBMARINE _or The Lost Treasure of Rocky Cove_ An old sailor knows of a treasure lost under water because of a cliff falling into the sea. The boys get a chance to go out in a submarine and they make a hunt for the treasure. THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR ICE RACER _or The Perils of a Great Blizzard_ The boys had an idea for a new sort of iceboat, to be run by combined wind and motor power. How they built the craft, and what fine times they had on board of it, is well related. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK THE FRED FENTON ATHLETIC SERIES By ALLEN CHAPMAN Author of "The Tom Fairfield Series," "The Boys of Pluck Series" and "The Darewell Chums Series." 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. A line of tales embracing school athletics. Fred is a true type of the American schoolboy of to-day. FRED FENTON THE PITCHER _or The Rivals of Riverport School_ When Fred came to Riverport none of the school lads knew him, but he speedily proved his worth in the baseball box. A true picture of school baseball. FRED FENTON IN THE LINE _or The Football Boys of Riverport School_ When Fall came in the thoughts of the boys turned to football. Fred went in the line, and again proved his worth, making a run that helped to win a great game. FRED FENTON ON THE CREW _or The Young Oarsmen of Riverport School_ In this volume the scene is shifted to the river, and Fred and his chums show how they can handle the oars. There are many other adventures, all dear to the hearts of boys. FRED FENTON ON THE TRACK _or The Athletes of Riverport School_ Track athletics form a subject of vast interest to many boys, and here is a tale telling of great running races, high jumping, and the like. Fred again proves himself a hero in the best sense of that term. FRED FENTON: MARATHON RUNNER or _The Great Race at Riverport School_ Fred is taking a post-graduate course at the school when the subject of Marathon running came up. A race is arranged, and Fred shows both his friends and his enemies what he can do. An athletic story of special merit. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK THE TOM FAIRFIELD SERIES By ALLEN CHAPMAN Author of the "Fred Fenton Athletic Series," "The Boys of Pluck Series," and "The Darewell Chums Series." 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. Tom Fairfield is a typical American lad, full of life and energy, a boy who believes in doing things. To know Tom is to love him. TOM FAIRFIELD'S SCHOOLDAYS _or The Chums of Elmwood Hall_ Tells of how Tom started for school, of the mystery surrounding one of the Hall seniors, and of how the hero went to the rescue. The first book in a line that is bound to become decidedly popular. TOM FAIRFIELD AT SEA _or The Wreck of the Silver Star_ Tom's parents had gone to Australia and then been cast away somewhere in the Pacific. Tom set out to find them and was himself cast away. A thrilling picture of the perils of the deep. TOM FAIRFIELD IN CAMP _or The Secret of the Old Mill_ The boys decided to go camping, and located near an old mill. A wild man resided there and he made it decidedly lively for Tom and his chums. The secret of the old mill adds to the interest of the volume. TOM FAIRFIELD'S PLUCK AND LUCK _or Working to Clear His Name_ While Tom was back at school some of his enemies tried to get him into trouble. Something unusual occurred and Tom was suspected of a crime. How he set to work to clear his name is told in a manner to interest all young readers. TOM FAIRFIELD'S HUNTING TRIP _or Lost in the Wilderness_ Tom was only a schoolboy, but he loved to use a shotgun or a rifle. In this volume we meet him on a hunting trip full of outdoor life and good times around the camp-fire. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK THE DAVE DASHAWAY SERIES By ROY ROCKWOOD Author of the "Speedwell Boys Series" and the "Great Marvel Series." 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. Never was there a more clever young aviator than Dave Dashaway. All up-to-date lads will surely wish to read about him. DAVE DASHAWAY THE YOUNG AVIATOR _or In the Clouds for Fame and Fortune_ This initial volume tells how the hero ran away from his miserly guardian, fell in with a successful airman, and became a young aviator of note. DAVE DASHAWAY AND HIS HYDROPLANE _or Daring Adventures Over the Great Lakes_ Showing how Dave continued his career as a birdman and had many adventures over the Great Lakes, and how he foiled the plans of some Canadian smugglers. DAVE DASHAWAY AND HIS GIANT AIRSHIP _or A Marvellous Trip Across the Atlantic_ How the giant airship was constructed and how the daring young aviator and his friends made the hazardous journey through the clouds from the new world to the old, is told in a way to hold the reader spellbound. DAVE DASHAWAY AROUND THE WORLD _or A Young Yankee Aviator Among Many Nations_ An absorbing tale of a great air flight around the world, of adventures in Alaska, Siberia and elsewhere. A true to life picture of what may be accomplished in the near future. DAVE DASHAWAY: AIR CHAMPION _or Wizard Work in the Clouds_ Dave makes several daring trips, and then enters a contest for a big prize. An aviation tale thrilling in the extreme. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK THE WEBSTER SERIES By FRANK V. WEBSTER Mr. WEBSTER'S style is very much like that of the boys' favorite author, the late lamented Horatio Alger, Jr., but his tales are thoroughly up-to-date. Cloth. 12mo. Over 200 pages each. Illustrated. Stamped in various colors. Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. Only A Farm Boy _or Dan Hardy's Rise in Life_ The Boy From The Ranch _or Roy Bradner's City Experiences_ The Young Treasure Hunter _or Fred Stanley's Trip to Alaska_ The Boy Pilot of the Lakes _or Nat Morton's Perils_ Tom The Telephone Boy _or The Mystery of a Message_ Bob The Castaway _or The Wreck of the Eagle_ The Newsboy Partners _or Who Was Dick Bost_ Two Boy Gold Miners _or Lost in the Mountains_ The Young Firemen of Lakeville _or Herbert Dare's Pluck_ The Boys of Bellwood School _or Frank Jordan's Triumph_ Jack the Runaway _or On the Road with a Circus_ Bob Chester's Grit _or From Ranch to Riches_ Airship Andy _or The Luck of a Brave Boy_ High School Rivals _or Fred Markham's Struggles_ Dairy The Life Saver _or The Heroes of the Coast_ Dick The Bank Boy _or A Missing Fortune_ Ben Hardy's Flying Machine _or Making a Record for Himself_ Harry Watson's High School Days _or The Rivals of Rivertown_ Comrades of the Saddle _or The Young Rough Riders of the Plains_ Tom Taylor at West Point _or The Old Army Officer's Secret_ The Boy Scouts of Lennox _or Hiking Over Big Bear Mountain_ The Boys of the Wireless _or a Stirring Rescue from the Deep_ Cowboy Dave _or The Round-up at Rolling River_ Jack of the Pony Express _or The Young Rider of the Mountain Trail_ The Boys of the Battleship _or For the Honor of Uncle Sam_ CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK 
30840	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 30840-h.htm or 30840-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30840/30840-h/30840-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30840/30840-h.zip) THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON LAKE LUNA Or The Crew That Won by GERTRUDE W. MORRISON Author of The Girls Of Central High, The Girls of Central High at Basketball, Etc. Illustrated New York Grosset & Dunlap Publishers [Illustration: CENTRAL HIGH HAD WON!] CONTENTS I THE LONE MAN ON THE ISLAND II MISSING: THE SHORT AND LONG OF IT III TONY ALLEGRETTO IV A SOLEMN MOMENT V AUNT DORA VI WHICH IS WHICH? VII HOW TO GET A NEW SHELL VIII HIDE AND SEEK IX ONE IS A HEROINE X BAKED IN A BISCUIT XI THE BOAT IS FOUND XII IN THE CAVE XIII THE STRANGE MAN AGAIN XIV THE NEW SHELL XV TOMMY LONG HAS A BAD DAY XVI THE CANOE RACE XVII MISS CARRINGTON IN JUDGMENT XVIII MOTHER WIT'S DISCOVERY XIX THE RESCUE XX BILLY'S STORY XXI IN PRACTICE AGAIN XXII THE STOLEN SHELL XXIII BILLY'S GREAT DIVE XXIV THE BIG DAY XXV THE RACE IS WON THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON LAKE LUNA CHAPTER I THE LONE MAN ON THE ISLAND "There! I see him again," whispered Dora Lockwood. A half-minute's silence, save for the patter of the drops from the paddles as the light cedar canoe shot around East Point of Cavern Island. "So do I!" cried Dorothy, but in a low tone. "My! what frightful whiskers." "He looks just like a pirate," declared her sister. "He _is_ a pirate--or a robber--I wager," returned Dorothy. "Maybe he's one of those horrid men who robbed Stresch & Potter Tuesday night." "Oh, Dora! Let's hurry by." Both girls redoubled their efforts at the paddles and the canoe shot past the little cove which lay at the foot of the eminence known as Boulder Head. The black hair and ferocious whiskers of the person upon whom they made these comments dipped down behind a big rock on the shore and disappeared. "There! he's gone," sighed Dora, with relief. "I'm glad. _Do_ you suppose he had anything to do with the robbery at Stresch & Potter's department store? They say the thieves got more than ten thousand dollars." "I don't know whether the lone pirate is one of them or not," laughed Dora; "but _somebody_ must have committed the robbery--and why not he?" "That's heartless," sniffed Dorothy. "They say that a small boy helped the robbers, too. They had to push a boy through the wire screen they cut out, and he opened a cellar door to let the robbers in." "Don't I know that? And don't I know who is suspected, too?" returned Dora. "Oh, Dora! Don't say it!" protested Dorothy, in horror. "I don't say I believe it. But you know very well that Billy is up to all sorts of mischief." "But Billy Long is one of our own boys." "I know he goes to Central High. But all the boys who go to our school are not angelic." "Far from it," sighed her sister, pensively. "And 'Short and Long' is a regular little _snipe_, sometimes!" said Dora, with emphasis. "But to rob a store!" gasped her twin sister. "He was seen around there the afternoon before. Why, I know that a policeman has been to his house looking for him, and nobody has seen Short and Long since Thursday night." "But the robbery was committed some time Tuesday night." "He wasn't suspected at first. Perhaps he thought nobody had noticed him helping the men in the afternoon." "If they were the men--those surveyors." "Of course they were!" cried Dora. "The city engineer's office sent no men to run that street line. Those fellows were taking measurements right back of Stresch & Potter's building--and Short and Long was helping them. And, now, when the hue and cry is raised, he's gone." "Oh, Dora! It would be dreadful," sighed Dorothy. "One of our Central High boys." "And one that's always been just as full of mischief as an egg is full of meat," snapped Dora. Now, supposing there had been a blind person in the canoe with the Lockwood sisters, that unfortunate person could never in this world have told which girl spoke at each time. Their voices were exactly alike--the same inflection, the same turning of phrases, the exact tone. Nor could this supposititious blind person--had his eyes been suddenly opened--have been able to tell the girls apart, either! For Dora and Dorothy Lockwood were exactly the same height, of the same physical development, and with the same mannerisms and carriage. Both had a wealth of rather light brown hair, and that hair was tied with ribbons of exactly the same shade, and tied in exactly the same kind of bow. They possessed two pairs of very nice gray eyes, usually sparkling with fun. Each had a dimple at the left side of her pretty lips, and when they smiled that dimple came into prominence at once. The turn of their chins, the shape of their noses and ears, the breadth of their foreheads--every feature was the same. One's reflection in the looking-glass could be no more exactly like the original than was her sister. So, unless some person was near enough to watch the play of the twins' lips, it would have been impossible to tell which girl spoke. They had been paddling for some time--from the boat landing at the Girls' Branch Athletic Field of Central High, at Centerport, to the East Point of Cavern Island, and beyond. Lake Luna was a beautiful body of water some twenty miles in length and a half-mile broad. Cavern Island lay in its middle directly opposite the city of Centerport. At the upper, or west end of the lake, lay Lumberport, another lively town, at the mouth of Rocky River; and at the far eastern end of the lake its waters flowed out through Rolling River at the city of Keyport. Back of the city of Centerport, which was by far the largest and most important of the three, was a range of beautiful hills--hills which were now clothed in their mantle of full summer verdure. There was, about in the middle of the big town, a slight elevation occupied by the best residences. This "hill section" of Centerport was flanked on either hand by business portions of the city; but on the lake shore side of the Hill there were beautiful estates, boat clubs, bathing pavilions, and the new Athletic Field established for the use of the girls of Central High School, at which institution the Lockwood twins were pupils in their sophomore year. The twins were, too, dressed alike, in very pretty blue and white boating costumes, with broad-brimmed canvas hats; but despite these hats they were as brown as berries, and the red blood showed through the tan on their cheeks like the hue of blush-roses. Their arms, bared to the elbow, were very brown, too. A number of the girls of Central High were possessed of canoes; but none was a better paddler than the Lockwood twins. Either singly, or together, Dora and Dorothy, in competition with most of their mates, whether of sophomore, junior or senior class, could hold their own. Besides the twins rowed respectively Number 6 and Number 2 in the eight-oared shell. For some few months now the girls of Central High had been particularly enthusiastic about athletics of all kinds. They were rivals for all athletic honors with the two other high schools of Centerport--the East and West Highs--as well as with the high school girls of Lumberport and Keyport. Recently there had been a rowing race between these high school crews of eight, and the girls of Central High had been beaten. There were coming soon, however, the annual boat races and other aquatic sports on Lake Luna which were each year contested and supported by the athletic clubs of the three cities of the lake. It was an all-day tournament, and it always embraced swimming, rowing and paddling for prizes, as well as fun in the shape of "bunting," water-polo, marine hare and hounds, and other games. But if the truth were told, the main interest of the Lockwood twins and their girl friends was at present centered in the eight-oared shell race between the five high schools. As the twins swept on in their canoe, and turned Boulder Head, hiding the place where they had seen the bewhiskered poll of the individual whom Dora had called the lone pirate, she said: "Do you suppose, Dory, that anybody will be good enough to really present the crew with a new shell?" "Somebody's got to--if Central High is to win," declared Dorothy, vigorously. "That's so. We can never beat East High with our old tub--let alone the Lumberport or Keyport eight." "Leave it to Mother Wit," laughed Dorothy. "She has her thinking cap on." "But we can't leave everything to Laura Belding," declared Dora. "She shouldn't be called upon to do everything. She got Colonel Richard Swayne interested in our Girls' Branch Athletic League, and so we are to have a fine new field, they say. That's enough for Laura to do." "But Mother Wit is always turning up unexpectedly with something new," laughed Dorothy. "And she says we must have a new shell in time to use it in the race on the big day." "Who's launch is that, Dory?" asked her sister, suddenly. A motor-boat had just come into sight around a point of the island ahead. "Why--why----Isn't that Pretty Sweet's _Duchess_?" asked Dorothy. "Maybe. It's missing explosions dreadfully. Nasty thing! I don't like a motor boat." "Well, a canoe or a sailboat is more fun, I believe, unless you want to go fast," said the other twin. "Speed up, Dory. We can cross the bow of that boat. It _is_ Purt's boat." "And there are two other boys aboard." "Chet and Lance, I declare!" "Laura said she and Jess were coming over to the island to-day; funny the boys aren't with them." "Then somebody else would have to go with Purt, for he could never run that motor alone. Oh, look!" As Dorothy spoke there was a big puff of smoke from the middle of the launch and they heard the boys shouting excitedly. [Illustration: AS DOROTHY SPOKE THERE WAS A BIG PUFF OF SMOKE FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE LAUNCH.] "Now you've done it, Purt!" was an exclamation the twins heard. Then flames shot up where the smoke had been and the twins both cried out. "Their gasoline's afire! It's the tank!" exclaimed Dora. She had scarcely spoken when there came a muffled report, another great balloon of smoke, and the launch seemed to be afire from end to end. Out of the smoke and flames three figures, one after the other, leaped into the lake, while the burning launch darted on across the path of the girls' canoe. CHAPTER II MISSING: THE SHORT AND LONG OF IT "Oh! Oh!" cried Dora. "I hope they're not burned." "But they'll be drowned!" gasped her sister. "Chetwood Belding and Lance Darby won't drown, that's sure," returned Dora, but driving in her paddle vigorously. "No, they can swim." "And they won't let Prettyman Sweet drown, either." The girls swept on at a splendid pace, paying no attention to the runaway and burning launch. They were anxious to reach the struggling boys. "We can't take them aboard, Dora!" cried her sister. "Of course not; but they can cling to the gun-wales----" "And sink us." "No, they won't." "They'll tip us over. I don't want to get all wet," panted Dorothy. "Here's another canoe!" cried Dora. Out of a neighboring inlet shot a second cedar boat, also paddled by two girls. "It's Laura and Jess!" cried Dorothy. "Goody! now we can get the boys to shore all right," said Dora, with satisfaction. "Laura will know what to do. She always does." Laura Belding, who was Chetwood Belding's sister, and who rejoiced in the nickname at school of "Mother Wit," was a girl who possessed a very quick mind. Her mates expected a good deal of her, therefore, and it was not surprising that Dora and Dorothy Lockwood should consider that the rescue of the three boys in the lake was a simple matter now that Laura had appeared upon the scene. In the first volume of this series, entitled "The Girls of Central High; Or, Rivals for All Honors," Laura Belding's quick wit was displayed on several occasions--notably in her solving the problem of a fire that was discovered in the office of the principal of Central High School, Franklin Sharp. But in that initial volume was told, too, of the beginning of after-hour athletics in Central High and of the interest the girls began to take in all manner of sports and games approved by the Girls' Branch Athletic League. The girls of Central High had ever been loyal supporters of the boys' games--had "rooted" at all baseball, football, and rowing matches, and the like, for their particular colors; but now they were to take part themselves in various lines of athletics and sports, and their real interest in such things was, naturally, much increased. But to properly develop the idea of the Girls' Branch Athletic League, which was formed at Central High, the need of a modern girls' athletic field was plain to both the girls themselves and their instructors. Centerport, although a moderately wealthy town, could not supply fifty thousand dollars, off-hand, for such a purpose; and that was the least sum needed for the establishment of an up-to-date building and field for winter bathing, basketball grounds, tennis courts, a cinder track, and a dancing lawn. Perhaps Laura Belding was no more interested in the establishment of such a fine field than many other of the girls of the sophomore, junior, and senior classes. Laura was a soph herself; but she saw ways and means to an end more quickly than the others. By chance she interested a very wealthy man--one Colonel Richard Swayne. The Colonel thought that little Miss Belding was quite the quickest-witted girl he had ever met. And, later, when Laura's bright thought chanced to aid the Colonel's invalid daughter, the old gentleman began to take a deeper interest in the things that interested Laura. So that, finally, through Colonel Swayne's generosity, the idea of a fine field for girls' athletics became a possibility. This coming summer, during the long vacation, it would be built, and the girls of Laura's class were very proud indeed of "Mother Wit." Now the two canoes, propelled by the twins in one and Laura and her chum, Jess Morse, in the other, dashed toward the three boys in the water. The power launch, flaming merrily, was allowed to take its own sweet will across the lake. "Now, don't you tip either of those canoes over, Purt!" Chet Belding was angrily shouting as the girls reached the trio of water-soaked voyagers. "Easy! You're not drowned yet." "But, mercy, Chet!" squalled Prettyman Sweet, splashing madly. "I--I've swallowed--ugh!--so mu-mu-much water! Help!" He went under again, for he could not swim. But Chet brought him up with a jerk, having still a hand upon the boy's collar. "Stay up here!" growled Laura's brother. "Keep your face out of the water." "But I want to, deah boy--dontcher know!" gasped Purt. "Yes; you want to; but you want to talk, too. Keep your mouth shut, then you won't get water-logged," snapped Lance Darby, coming up on the other side. "Oh! don't be harsh with him, boys," begged Dorothy Lockwood. "He's lost his boat." "And that's his own fault. He _would_ smoke a cigarette," said Chet, "and I told him the gasoline leaked." "I wouldn't go in the old boat with him again for a farm down East with a pig on it!" declared Lance. "Now, easy! don't you dare swamp this canoe." They made the almost helpless Purt seize the sharp stern of Laura's canoe with both hands. Then Chet swam beside him to keep him from dragging the girls' craft down, as Laura and Josephine Morse paddled for the shore of the island. Lance followed on with the Lockwood canoe, and both reached the shore at about the same time. The Sweet boy struggled out upon the shore and lay down, almost overcome. But the other boys aided the girls in getting the cedar boats onto the shore, and out of harm's way. "Nice mess we're in," gasped Lance, flinging himself down upon the sod, too. "Look at us! Not fit to appear on board the _Lady of the Lake_." That was the little steamer that transported passengers from Centerport to the amusement park at the west end of Cavern Island. Down at this end of the island the land was hilly and wild; but around the boat landing a park was laid out, with carrousels, a small menagerie, swings, and the like. "Lo--lo--look at Purt!" burst out Jess, unable to hold in her laughter any longer. "What-what will his mo-mo-mother say when he gets home?" Prettyman Sweet was, as Chet often declared, "the very niftiest dresser" in Central High. And even when he went motor-boating he was the very "glass of fashion." His fancy waistcoat would never be seen in its pristine lustre again, and as for the gaudy striped shirt and cuffs he had worn, the stripes were surely "fast" colors, in that they had immediately run into the white ground-work of the garment! "I--I do-do-don't care," chattered Purt. "What are clothes, anyway? I'm dying of cold!" "And in June," snorted Lance, with disgust. "Let's build a campfire and warm him," suggested Laura. "Haven't a dry match," declared her brother. "I have. Don't catch me canoeing without a tightly corked bottle of matches. I've been upset too many times," laughed Laura. Chet and Lance gathered the wood; but Purt only lay and moaned and shivered. The adventure was a serious matter for the exquisite. "And I bet this settles Purt's motor-boating for all time," scoffed Jess Morse. "Got enough, haven't you, Pretty?" "Weally, Miss Morse, I am too exhausted to speak about it--weally!" gasped Purt. "And it was the only sport Purt would go into," grunted Chet. "He could get somebody to run his boat for him, you see. All he had to do was to sit tight and hold his ears on." Purt felt affectionately for his ears--they stuck out like sails from the side of his head, "trimmed flat across the masts"--and said nothing. He could not retort in his present condition of mind and body. But his schoolmates talked on, quite ignoring him. "What were you two boys doing out in the _Duchess_ this afternoon, anyway?" demanded Laura. "I thought you were going to see the game between Lumberport and the East High team?" "Why," said Chet, hesitating, looking at Lance, "if we tell you, you'll keep still about it--all you girls?" "Of course," said Jess. "All of you, I mean," said Chet, earnestly. "No passing it around with the usual platter of gossip on the athletic field this evening." "How horrid of you, Chet!" cried Josephine Morse. But Laura only laughed. "We can keep a secret as well as any crowd of boys--and he knows it," she said. "Well," said her brother, squatting before the campfire, that was now burning briskly, and spreading out his jacket to the blaze, while the legs of his trousers began to steam. "Well, it's about Short and Long." "Billy Long!" gasped Dorothy, looking at her sister. "Poor Billy!" added Laura. "What about him?" "He's missing," said Chet, gravely. "Missing: The Short and Long of It, eh?" chuckled Jess. "This is no laughing matter, Jess," declared Launcelot Darby, sharply. "Haven't you heard of the robbery?" "At Stresch & Potter's department store?" cried Jess. "Of course. What's that got to do with Short and Long?" "Nothing!" declared Chet, vigorously. "Anybody who says that Billy Long helped in that robbery deserves to be kicked. He's not that kind of a fellow." "But he's accused," said Laura, gravely. "Somebody said they saw him hanging about the rear of the store with some men Tuesday afternoon. The men appeared to be surveyors. They are supposed to be the robbers, for nobody seems to know anything about them at the city engineer's office," Chet continued. "A small boy had to be put through the little basement window where a screen was cut out. No man could have slipped through it and then opened that door for the men. Short and Long is accused--at least, he is suspected. A policeman went to his house Friday morning; but Billy had gone away over night." "That looks suspicious," declared Jess. "No, it doesn't. It looks as if Billy was scared--as of course he was," exclaimed Chet. "Who wouldn't be?" "That is so," murmured one of the twins. "Well," sighed Chet, "we heard that he had been seen to take a boat at Norman's Landing, and thought maybe he'd come over this way. So, as Purt wanted a sail----" "And a bath, it seems," chuckled Jess. "We came over this way, looking into the coves and inlets for the boat Billy is said to have borrowed. But we didn't see any sign of it, nor any sign of poor Billy. Of course he is innocent; but he's scared, and his folks are poor, and Billy was afraid to remain at home, I suppose, thinking he would get his father into trouble, too." "It's a mean shame," said Lance. "What if Stresch & Potter were robbed of ten thousand dollars? They oughtn't to have accused a perfectly innocent boy of helping in the robbery." "But that's it!" exclaimed Laura. "How is Billy to disprove the accusation if he runs away and makes it appear that he is guilty?" "Don't we see that?" demanded her brother. "That's what we want to get at Billy for. We want to catch and bring him back and make him face the music. Then we'll all prove him innocent and make these Smart Alecks take back what they've been saying about him. It's a shame!" cried Chet, again. "It _is_ a shame," agreed Laura. But just then both the Lockwood twins burst out with: "Maybe he _did_ come over to the island." "Huh! What for? To hide?" demanded Lance. "Perhaps," said Dorothy. "Maybe to find the robbers himself. Perhaps they are hiding here," said Dora. "Likely," grunted Chet. "We saw somebody hiding back yonder at the foot of Boulder Head," declared Dorothy. "So we did! The lone pirate!" cried her sister. "'The lone pirate'?" repeated Laura and Jess, in unison. "Who's that?" The twins told them what they had seen----the bewhiskered man who had hidden behind the boulder. But the boys scoffed at the idea of the stranger having anything to do with the men who robbed the department store safe, or anything to do with Billy Long. "No," said Chet, wearily, "He's gone somewhere. But we don't know where. And if the police catch him it will go hard with poor Short and Long." CHAPTER III TONY ALLEGRETTO Now, "Short and Long," as the boys called him (christened William Henry Harrison Long) was a jolly little fellow and extremely popular at Centerport's Central High School----not so much with the teachers and adults of his acquaintance, perhaps, as with his fellow pupils. He was full of fun and mischief; but to the boys who knew him to be perfectly fair and honest, the accusation now aimed against him seemed preposterous. It was true that his father was a poor man, and Billy Long seldom had any spending money. Naturally he was always on the outlook for "odd jobs" which would earn him a little something for his own pocket. He had been seen carrying the chain for the mysterious surveyors who had been in the vacant lot behind the department store that was robbed the Tuesday night previous to the opening of our story; but _that_ should not have made trouble for Short and Long. He did not let many such chances escape him when he was out of school. Billy was the short-stop on the Central High nine and as Chetwood Belding and Lance Darby were important members of that team, too, they were naturally particularly interested in the missing youth. The three boys who had so unceremoniously left the motor boat _Duchess_ still stood around the hot fire on the shore, drying their garments. Purt Sweet was really a pitiful sight, his fancy clothing looking so much worse than that of his two companions. The girls were in gales of laughter over his plight. Laura repeated in a sing-song voice: "Double, double, toil and trouble, Garments steam and Purt does bubble!" "Now, Miss Laura," complained the victim, "This is altogether too serious a matter, I assure you, for laughter. What ever shall we do to get home?" "Well, we can't walk," chuckled Lance. "Guess we'll have to appear on the _Lady of the Lake_" said Chet. "My goodness! In _this_ state?" mourned Purt. "Only fawncy!" "You can't fly home," said Jess. "Somebody is bound to see you." "Let's take off our shoes, wring out our socks, and put 'em on again, and then walk over to the amusement park," said Chet. "And if you girls will paddle over we'll treat you to ice cream," added Lance. "You are trying to bribe us----I see," declared Laura, laughing again. "Just so," said Lance. "We'll stand treat if you don't tell everybody how we had to jump out of Purt's old boat." There was a good deal of laughter at this; but finally the four girls agreed and the boys helped them into the water again with their canoes. It was not far to the amusement park at the west end of Cavern Island, and the three partially dried boys arrived there about the time that the two canoes reached the landing. There was a good deal of fun while the seven young folks were eating the cream. Purt Sweet slunk into his seat in the corner, striving to hide his bedraggled apparel. He tucked a paper napkin into the front of his waistcoat, and so hid the hideous color scheme of the gaudy shirt, the stripes of which had spread with wondrous rapidity. Then he buttoned his coat tightly to hide the ruined waistcoat; but the coat was tight anyway, and the ducking had done it no good. "I believe, on my life, Purt," chuckled Chet, "that the coat is shrinking on you. That tailor cheated you this time----I know he did. If the coat gets much smaller, and you eat much more ice cream, you'll burst through the coat at all the seams like a full-blown cotton-blossom." "Better let _me_ eat the ice cream for you, old man," advised Lance, seriously. "Don't make an exhibition of yourself here." "That's what I am," said Purt, sadly. "Fawncy meeting any of the Stricklands, or the Tarbot-Rushes, or General Maline's people, here when I'm in this condition. Weally, it is dweadful to contemplate." "It's tough, I allow," said Chet callously. "What you need is a mask and a blanket to disguise yourself." "You're not likely to meet any of Centerport's Four Hundred over here at Cavern Island Park," laughed Laura. "So you need not fear." "I should think you would be just as ashamed presenting yourself before _us_ as before those Maline girls," said Jess, tossing her head. "I am insulted. No! you cannot pay for my ice cream, Mr. Sweet. Chet will pay for it." "Gee, Jess," chuckled Lance Darby. "If you eat more'n two dishes Chet will go broke. I know the state of his finances to-day. And Purt always has plenty of money." "Weally, Miss Morse," urged Pretty, who was not usually prone to spend his money. "Weally, you must let me pay the check--for all. It is my treat, you know. And I assure you, I had no intention of saying anything to offend you." "But you consider those Maline girls--and they are the homeliest girls in Centerport--of more importance than Laura and Dora and Dorothy and me. You're not ashamed to appear before us with your outfit all smudged up!" "But, my dear Miss Morse!" gasped Pretty. "Don't you 'dear' me, Mister!" ejaculated Jess, with every appearance of anger. "If I'm not as good as Sissy Maline----" "Oh, you are! You are!" declared Purt, in haste. "You misunderstand. I am in this horrid state. But--you see--you saw it happen and realize that it was an unavoidable accident----" "Nothing of the kind!" snapped Jess, still apparently unyielding. "If you hadn't tried to smoke a nasty cigarette----" "Oh, I assure you it was a very mild one. I have them made extremely mild--and with my monogram on the paper. Weally, you know----" "Horrid thing! You're the only boy who smokes them that we know. What do you say, girls? Sha'n't we cut Purt right off of our calling lists if he doesn't give up monogrammed cigarettes?" "They're the worst kind," murmured Chet. "The monogram makes 'em so much more deadly." "I tried one of Purt's coffin nails once--ugh!" admitted Lance. "He calls 'em mild. But he's so saturated with nicotine that he doesn't know what 'mild' means. I believe they make his cigarettes out of rope-yarn and distilled opium. One puff made me ill all day." "Impossible, dear boy!" gasped Purt. "I believe it's as Lance says," said Laura, gravely. "And Purt sets a very bad example for the other boys." "Sure!" grinned her brother. "We're all likely to run off and send for a thousand monogrammed cigarettes." "What! what!" cried Jess. "Did Purt buy a _thousand_?" "I--I had to, Miss Josephine, to get the monogram printed on the wrapper, you know." "Come," said Laura, still with a serious air. "We must decide what is to be done with this culprit, girls." "I think he should not be allowed to associate with any of the girls of Central High," said one of the twins. "Or with the boys, either," suggested Lance. "His example _is_ dreadfully bad," said Jess. "Weally! I assure you----" panted Purt, wrigging all over, and not quite sure whether the girls meant it, or were "rigging" him. "Have you any more of those nasty cigarettes with you?" demanded Laura, sternly. Purt, looking greatly abashed, hauled out a saturated case of seal leather and displayed nine of the pulpy looking things. "So you only smoked one of them to-day?" was the next demand. "And he only just got that lit when the vapor from the gasoline caught fire. Like to have burned him to death," grunted Chet. "That single smoke was certainly a very expensive one for you, Master Purt," declared Laura. "For perhaps it has cost you your motor-boat At least, it has cost you more than the whole thousand cigarettes were worth. Kindly throw those disreputable looking things away!" Purt obeyed instantly by tossing case and all into the lake. "Ugh! now you'll poison the fish," complained Jess. "Never mind the fish," said Laura, still intent upon the victim. "Now, Purt, how many cigarettes have you left at home?" "Oh--I--ah----" "Do not prevaricate!" commanded the girl. "Answer at once." "Why--I--I have most of the thousand left," admitted Purt. "Say! you always carry around a full case to flash on the fellows--I see you," cried Lance. "Ye--es," admitted Purt. "Tell the truth, sir! How many of the horrid things have you left at home?" Purt looked up at her, blinked a couple of times, swallowed like a toad that has snapped up a live coal, and then blurted out: "Nine hundred and ninety!" At that a howl of laughter went up from the crowd. "And--and you--you've nev--never smoked even _one_?" gasped Laura, at last. "Not until to-day," replied the sadly abashed Purt. "Oh, hold me, somebody!" cried Lance. "And he's had those cigarettes for three months, I know!" "Purt, you'll be the death of us yet," declared Chet Belding, wiping his eyes. "I--I couldn't get used to the taste of them in my mouth," confessed the dude. "You're more fun than a box of monkeys!" declared Lance. "That reminds me, girls," said Chet, suddenly, and picking up the checks to pay the bill before Purt Sweet could get around to it. "There's an enormously funny monkey over here. Trained to a hair. I saw him over in Centerport when his owner brought him through----" "I saw that monkey--with a piano organ. And such a nice looking Italian with it," declared Laura. "Look out, Lance," whispered Chet, grinning, "she likes the romantic and dark complexioned style in heroes. Get some walnut stain and a black wig." "Why, he was playing in the streets, over in town," said Jess. "That was just to advertise his act before the season opened," declared Chet. "So he told me." "All right," Laura said. "The boat isn't due yet, so we might as well remain with you boys until it comes and so keep you out of mischief." "But I really look so badly----" began Purt. "Never mind. You won't meet the Maline girls here," snapped Jess, as though she were still very angry with him. "Come on, Purt--be a sport," whispered Lance, with a wicked grin. "It won't cost you anything except what you give to the monkey--and that's a private affair between you and the monk you know." It was true that Sweet was a "tight-wad," as the boys expressed it. He would spend any amount of money on himself, or to make a show; but liberality was not one of his virtues. The young folks were not long in finding the booth, across which was painted a straggling sign reading: TONY ALLEGRETTO AND HIS PERFORMING MONKEY "Which is the 'monk'?" demanded Lance, in a whisper, when they saw two very gaily dressed figures on the tiny platform before the booth. The Italian himself was a short, agile young man, but not ill-looking. He had splendid teeth, and they showed white and even behind his smile, for his face was dusky and his mustache as black as jet, as was his hair. He was dressed in a gay, if soiled, Neapolitan costume, and the monkey was dressed in an imitation of his master's get-up. It was a large monkey, with a long tail and a solemn face, not at all the ordinary kind of monkey that appears with organ grinders. The Italian began to grind his organ when he saw the accession of the young folk from Central High to his crowd of spectators. They made a goodly audience and Tony Allegretto--if that was his name--began his open-air performance. "Aria from 'Cavalleria Rusticana' to inaugurate the performance of a monkey," chuckled Jess. "How are the mighty fallen!" Suddenly Tony changed the tune and spoke a sharp word in Italian to the monkey. Instantly the creature went to the front of the platform, took off his cap, bowed to the audience with hand and cap upon his heart, and then began to dance. It was a rather melancholy dance, but he turned and twisted, while Tony scolded and threatened in a low voice. "Gee!" exclaimed Lance. "That's the monkey that put the 'tang' in 'tango'--eh, what?" "Poor little thing!" said the Lockwood twins together. "I don't believe he likes to do that," said Laura. "He ought to be taken away from that man and sent to school," declared Chet, with gravity in his face but a twinkle in his eye. "He'd do quite as well in his classes as some of you boys, I have no doubt," said Jess, quickly. "At least, Professor Dimp says you act like a lot of monkeys sometimes." "Old Dimple is prejudiced," declared Lance. "He ought to see _this_ monkey act. Phew! see him whirl. There! that's over. Now what next?" CHAPTER IV A SOLEMN MOMENT The dance of the performing monkey had ceased and its owner changed the tune on the piano-organ again. He handed the monkey a little toy gun with one hand while he still turned the crank with the other. The monkey threw the gun down petulantly at first, but Tony threatened him and finally the animal held it when it was thrust into his hands. "That monk certainly does understand Italian," admitted Lance. "I bet they are related." "Lance is 'sore' on the Italian because he thinks Laura admires Tony," chuckled Chet. "Be still!" commanded Laura. "You had better be nice to us girls or we won't keep the secret of how you boys took an involuntary bath to-day." "'Nuff said," growled Chet. "I'm dumb." The monkey was changing the gun from hand to shoulder, and holding it in different positions supposedly in imitation of a soldier's drill. But some of the audience laughed at its awkwardness. "The Italian army must drill differently from ours," said Dora Lockwood. "Did you ever see anything so funny?" laughed her twin. Tony overheard them and his eyes flashed. He boxed the poor monkey on the side of the head, and it ran chattering to the end of its line. "Aw, say!" exclaimed the good natured Lance. "Isn't that mean?" "It's not a very smart monkey at that," said a man in the crowd. "Hi!" exclaimed Tony, suddenly, "you think-a da monk can't do anything? He don't lik-a da silly treek--eh? Look now! I lock de door--so," and suiting his action to his words the Italian turned the big brass key in the lock of the booth door. He shook the door to show that it was fastened. Then he turned to the monkey again. "Bébé!" he commanded, harshly, pointing to the door, and rattled off some command in his own language which the audience did not understand. But the monkey seemed to understand it. He looked at his master, ran to the end of his line, looked back at Tony, chattered, and then seized the big key. He turned it carefully, still looking over his shoulder at Tony, who appeared not to notice him, and ground the organ furiously. The lock must have been well oiled, for the monkey turned the key very easily. Then he turned the knob of the door quite as carefully, all the time appearing to be afraid that he would be caught at it. For the first time the monkey actually betrayed some ability as an actor. He pushed open the door, still keeping a sharp watch upon his master. Slowly he wedged his way into the booth. In a moment he had snatched something from the table inside and was back again upon the platform, with his mouth full, and munching rapidly, with his face hidden from his master. The crowd laughed and applauded. Tony considered this a good time to take up the collection and he gave the monkey his cup. The little fellow made a polite bow to every person who dropped anything into the cup. At those who did not contribute Bébé chattered angrily. "He's just as cunning as he can be," said Dorothy, as they turned away. "But I don't believe that man treats the monkey kindly." "Here comes the boat!" exclaimed Chet. "We've got to leave you, girls. Don't get into any trouble, now, paddling home." "Don't you fear for us," returned Dora, confidently. "Let's race back to Centerport!" proposed Jess. "No," said Laura, as the girls tripped down to the landing where they had left their canoes. "It is too far and Mrs. Case warns us not to over-exert, paddling." "She's a fuss-budget," declared Jess, pouting. "She's the best physical instructor in Centerport, and we're lucky to have her at Central High," said Dorothy, loyally. "We're supposed to be in training for the boat races, too," said Dora. The girls got aboard nicely and started across the lake. It was a calm day and there were scarcely any ripples; therefore there was little likelihood of the girls getting into any trouble. Half way across they saw a second motor-boat towing the burned _Duchess_ toward the city. The fire was out, but the girls saw that poor Purt would have to spend some of his money in repairing the craft. The four girls reached the school boathouse and had their canoes drawn out and put carefully away. Then they separated, for the Lockwood twins did not live on the same street as Laura and her chum. The Lockwood cottage was set in a rather large plot of ground, which was mostly given up to Mr. Lockwood's nursery and hot-houses. The twins' father was wrapped up in his horticultural experiments, and as they had no mother the two girls were left much to their own devices. Mrs. Betsey Spink kept house for the Lockwoods, and had been the twins' nurse when they were little. She was a gentle, unassuming old lady, who "mothered" the girls as best she knew how, and shielded absent-minded Mr. Lockwood from all domestic troubles. The neighbors declared that the Lockwood household would have been a very shiftless establishment had it not been for Mrs. Betsey. Mr. Lockwood seldom knew how the bills were paid, what the girls wore, or how the house was run. His mind was given wholly to inventing new forms of plant life. He experimented with white blackberries, thornless roses, dwarf trees that bore several kinds of fruit on different limbs, and, of late, had tried to cultivate a seedless watermelon. He was always expecting to make a fortune out of some of his novel experiments; but as yet the fortune had not materialized. But he was a most lovable gentleman, and the twins were as proud of him as though he was the most successful man in Centerport. Mr. Lockwood had one cross to bear, however--a thorn in the flesh which troubled him on occasion very much. This was a certain very practical sister--the twins' Aunt Dora. Fortunately Aunt Dora lived in another city; but she was apt to make unexpected visits to her brother, and when she came to the Lockwood house there was no peace for any of the inmates while she stayed. As the twins on this occasion entered the premises by the back gate they saw certain windows on the second floor of the house wide open, and the curtains drawn back. They halted in something more than astonishment, and looked at each other solemnly. "That's Aunt Dora's room!" gasped Dora. "She's here!" returned Dorothy, in the same awe-struck voice. "Oh, dear!" sighed her twin. "_Now_ we're in for it," rejoined Dorothy. Then both together they exclaimed: "Poor papa!" It was a solemn moment for the whole household, and the twins felt it. CHAPTER V AUNT DORA "I feel just like running away," said Dora, "and staying until Auntie goes." "Don't do it," begged Dorothy, "for I shall have to go, too." "Poor papa!" they both exclaimed again. "No. We shall have to stay and brace papa up," admitted Dora. "We've just _got_ to," groaned her twin. "And if she begins to nag him again about giving one of us up----" "We won't leave him," declared Dorothy, very firmly. "_I_ wouldn't live at her house for a fortune!" repeated Dorothy. "Come on! let's see how the land lies," suggested Dora. "Perhaps the worst of it's over." "No such luck," groaned Dorothy. "There's Betsey." They ran up the winding path to the kitchen porch. The gentle, pink-faced old lady who met them at the door, had a worried brow. "Hush, girls! you're aunt is here," she whispered. "We know it. We saw the windows of the best room wide open. Is she making Mary clean the room all over again?" "Yes," sighed Mrs. Betsey. "Your aunt declared it smelled musty from being shut up. She has _such_ a nose," and the little old lady shook her head. "Interfering old thing!" snapped Dora. "Hush! you must not speak so," admonished Mrs. Betsey. "Well, she _is_," declared Dorothy, of course agreeing with her twin. "Where is she?" queried Dora. "With your father in the hot-house." "Come on, then," said Dora to her sister. "Let's get it over right away." They heard voices in the conservatory, for the sashes were open on this warm day. There was the stern, uncompromising tone of Aunt Dora, and the gentle, worried voice of Mr. Lockwood. The twins never liked to hear their father's voice when he was worried, and they saw to it--with Mrs. Betsey--that it did not occur frequently. But there was no help for it when Aunt Dora was about! First of all, the twins heard their aunt say: "You're no more fit to bring up girls, Lemuel, than I am to steer one of these dratted airships the papers are full of!" "No. You are right," said Mr. Lockwood. "The comparison is just. You would _not_ do well in an airship, Dora." "Huh! I should think not! And you're as little fit to bring up two girls--and twins, at that!" "But--but I don't really bring them up," said Mr. Lockwood, apologetically. "Mrs. Betsey does that." "Mrs. Betsey!" with a sniff. "And really, they get along very well, Sister." "They get along well because they are no trouble to you." "Well, isn't that as it should be? They are good girls--and loving girls." "I declare to man! Lemuel Lockwood, you haven't any more idea of what those girls need than a babe unborn." "What _do_ they need, Dora?" asked worried Mr. Lockwood. "They need a strong hand--a stern and uncompromising spirit to govern them--that's what they need!" declared the militant aunt. "But Dora, they are good girls and make me no trouble at all." "Of course they make you no trouble. You let them do exactly as they wish." "No, no!" urged Mr. Lockwood, hastily. "They don't always do as they wish. Sometimes we haven't the money to let them do _with_. I've heard Mrs. Betsey say so. And--and--why, there is one of them who likes three lumps of sugar in her coffee; but I always reprove her for it. That is extravagance." "Huh!" sniffed Aunt Dora. "Otherwise they are no trouble to me at all," said Mr. Lockwood, briskly. "They are not, I assure you. We live a very quiet and peaceful life here." "Yah!" exclaimed his sister. "That is all you want--peace." "I admit it--I admit it," returned her brother. "I am naturally retiring and of a peaceful disposition, Dora." "You're a natural born fool, Lemuel!" declared his sister, so sharply that the twins, who were inadvertently listening at the door, hesitating to go in, fairly jumped. "I want to tell you right now that you are a disgrace to manhood! You've never amounted to a row of beans since you were out of pinafores. If your little property wasn't tied up hard and fast so that you could only use the income of it, you would have frittered it all away long ago, and left these children penniless. You've never made a dollar in your life, Lemuel Lockwood!" "But--but there has never been any real necessity for me to make money," stammered the horticulturist. "And one of these days we are going to have a plenty. I've got a melon started here on the bench, Dora----" "You needn't show me any of your nasty plants. They're all ridiculous. And it isn't plants we're talking about. It's girls. Mercy knows how an inscrutable Providence ever came to allow two helpless girl babies to fall into your hands, Lemuel. But they're here and you've the burden of them. One would be more than you could manage properly; but two is ridiculous. I'd undertake, as I have told you before, to bring my namesake up as a girl _should_ be brought up--and that will leave more money for you to fritter away on your hot-beds and cold-frames, and the like," she added, slily. "Dora!" exclaimed Mr. Lockwood, with a quaver in his voice, "do you really think I am not doing my duty by Dora and Dorothy?" "Think it?" sniffed his sister. "I know it! And everybody else with sense knows it. How can a mere man bring up twin girls and give them a proper start in life?" "But Mrs. Betsey does her very best----" "And what does _she_ know?" demanded his sister. "Does she ever read papers upon the proper management of girls? Or magazine articles upon what a young girl should be taught by her parents? Or books upon the growth and development of the girlish mind?" "No--o," admitted Mr. Lockwood. "I am very sure Mrs. Betsey never has time for such reading." "Then what does she know about it?" demanded Aunt Dora, triumphantly. "But they are hardly ever sick--and how pretty they both are!" sighed the father of the twins. "Bah! never sick! pretty!" ejaculated Aunt Dora, staccato. "What about their souls, Lemuel Lockwood? What about the development of their minds? Have you done aught to make them stern and uncompromising when they meet the world on an equal footing--as all women shall in the time to come? Are you preparing them for their work in life? Are they prepared to take the helm of affairs and show Man how Woman can guide affairs of moment?" "I--I hope not!" murmured Mr. Lockwood, aghast. "They are just girls going to school, and studying, and having fun, and loving each other. No, Dora, the stern duties of life have not troubled them as yet, thank God!" "But they should be beginning to realize them, Lemuel," declared his sister. "Life is not fun. There is no time to dawdle around with plays, and athletics, and such foolishness. Where are they this minute, Lemuel Lockwood?" "Why--why, they went out on the lake." "In what?" "A canoe, I understand." "And what's a canoe?" gasped Aunt Dora. "Is _that_ a proper thing for young girls to ride in? Why! it's a savage boat--an Indian boat. A canoe, indeed!" "But I scarcely can think there is any harm in their paddling a canoe. Many of their schoolmates do so, and their physical instructor, Mrs. Case, approves." "It is no business for my namesake to be in," declared Aunt Dora. "You named her after me, Lemuel, and I feel that I have some right to her. She having no mother, and I being her godmother, she is more mine than anybody else's. And I am determined to take her home with me." "Take Dora?" gasped Mr. Lockwood. "Whatever should we do without her?" "Hah!" exclaimed his sister. "You have the other one." "But--but it doesn't seem as though one would be complete without the other," said Mr. Lockwood, thoughtfully. "They have always been together. Why, nobody knows them apart----" "And that's another foolish thing!" exclaimed Aunt Dora. "To allow two girls to reach their age and have nobody able to distinguish between them. Dressing them just alike, and all! It is ridiculous." "But they have always wished to be just alike, Sister," said the father of the twins. "_They_ wished!" exclaimed Aunt Dora. "Is it _their_ place to have their way in such affairs? That is exactly what I say, Lemuel--you're not fit to manage the girls. And I am determined to save one of them from the results of your mismanagement. I have always noticed," added Aunt Dora, a little less confidently, "that Dora is much more amenable in disposition than Dorothy. Naturally, being named after me, she may have taken on more reasonable and practical characteristics than her sister." Mr. Lockwood was a thin little man, with wisps of gray hair over his ears, a bald crown, on which he always wore a skullcap, and meek side whiskers. But now he stood and stared in perfect amazement at his sister, demanding: "Do you mean to tell me you have noticed such characteristics in Dora?" "Certainly," said his sister, complacently. "Then you know them apart?" "Well--er--when I have the opportunity of comparing their manner and speech----" "Here they are!" exclaimed the harassed father, suddenly spying the girls behind his sister. "If you can tell which is which, you are welcome to. I leave it to the girls themselves. If Dora wishes to go with you, she may. I--I wash my hands of the affair!" CHAPTER VI WHICH IS WHICH? Mr. Lockwood had a habit of getting out of difficulties in this way. He frequently "washed his hands" of affairs, finding that they adjusted themselves somehow without his aid, after all. But on this present occasion there was, perhaps, a special reason why he should tell his sister to go ahead, and leave the matter entirely with her and the twins themselves. Aunt Dora claimed to be able to tell the girls apart--something that nobody, not even Mrs. Betsey, had been able to do since they were little tots and Dora had worn a blue ribbon on her wrist, and Dorothy a pink. The twins, who had heard all the foregoing conversation, and understood the situation thoroughly, advanced when their Aunt Dora turned to meet them. "Kiss me, my dears," commanded the militant lady, opening her arms. "Dora, first!" But the twins ran in together and one kissed her on one cheek while the other placed her salute on the other--and at exactly the same moment. Aunt Dora adjusted her eyeglasses, stood off a yard or so, and stared at the girls. "Dora," she said, solemnly, "you are going home with me." Neither girls changed color, or showed in the least that the announcement was either a pleasant one, or vice versa. "Do you hear?" demanded their aunt. "Yes, ma'am," they replied, in chorus. "I spoke to Dora," said the lady, firmly. Not a word said the twins. "Which is which, Dora?" asked Mr. Lockwood, from the background, and perhaps enjoying his sister's discomfiture. "I declare nobody in _this_ house has been able to tell them apart since they were in their crib. Mrs. Betsey declares she believes they used to exchange ribbons when they were toddlers, for she used to find the bows tied in funny knots." The two girls looked at each other with dancing eyes, but said nothing. It had been their sport all their lives to mystify people about their several identities. And here was a situation in which they determined--both of them--to keep their aunt guessing. "This is no matter for flippancy," said Aunt Dora, sternly. "I intend to take my namesake home with me, and to bring her up, educate her, and finally share my fortune with her. Do you understand this fully?" "Yes, ma'am," replied the twins. "I am speaking to Dora," their aunt said tartly. The girls were silent. "I am separating Dora from her sister for her own good. As you girls grow older you will find that the income your father has remaining will barely support one girl in a proper manner. To divide his responsibility is a kindness to him----" "That is not so," interjected the mild Mr. Lockwood. "You are more than welcome, girls, to all I have. And--possibly--I might look about and get a little more money for you to use, as time goes on. If you need it----" "We know all about it, Papa," chimed the twins. "We are satisfied." "Does that mean you are satisfied to remain here, Dora?" demanded their aunt, insisting upon speaking as though but one girl heard her. "We are both satisfied," chorused the twins, quickly. "But I am _not_ satisfied with the affair," declared Aunt Dora. "It has long been both my intention and desire to take my namesake--my godchild--away from here. While you two girls were small it was all very well to declare it cruel to separate you. But you are old enough now----" "We shall never be old enough, Auntie, to wish to be separated," said one of the twins. "Nonsense, child!" exclaimed Aunt Dora, her eyes sparkling as she thought she had at last obtained an inkling to the identity of the two girls. "You will soon get over all that, Dora--of course you will." "I am sure I should not so soon get over separation from my sister," said the other girl. Her aunt wheeled on this one. "Do you mean to tell me that you scorn my offer?" "If I were Dora I should beg to be excused," returned the niece to whom she had spoken. Aunt Dora whirled again and transfixed the other with decided satisfaction and a sparkling eye. "But Dora, I feel sure, will go with her aunt gladly," cried the lady. "If I were Dora I should beg to be excused," repeated the girl at whom she looked, in exactly the same tone, and with an unmoved countenance, too. "I declare!" gasped Aunt Dora, in complete exasperation. "You've managed to get me puzzled, now. Which--which of you is t'other?" "That is for you to find out, Auntie," said both girls in unison. "You saucy minxes!" began the lady, but one of the girls said, quickly: "Oh, no. We don't mean to be saucy. But we have agreed not to tell on the other. Father leaves it to us and to you, Auntie. Neither of us wish to leave our dear, dear home. Therefore we shall not tell you which is Dora, and which is Dorothy." "That is quite true, Auntie," said the other twin. "Well, I declare to Nature!" exclaimed their Aunt "Here I come offering Dora everything that a girl of her age should count as worthy--a home of wealth, a better education than she can get here in Centerport--college to follow--the open sesame into society--real society----And do you two girls mean to tell me that neither will say which is Dora?" "That is exactly what we have agreed upon," said one of the twins, quietly. "Then, let me tell you, Miss, I shall find out for myself!" exclaimed the angry lady. "I consider you at fault for this, Lemuel. Shows your bringing up. It is sheer impudence!" "I--I have washed my hands of it, Dora," said her brother, weakly. "Well, you can wipe 'em, too!" snapped the lady. "But I mean to take Dora home with me when I go back--and that will be very soon," and she whisked away in her rustling skirts, leaving the father and his two daughters alone. They twined around the little man in a moment, the two winsome, loving girls--one upon one side, the other upon the other. "You don't want to lose Dora, do you, dear?" demanded Dorothy. "Nor Dorothy either?" demanded Dora. "I certainly do not, my dear girls," cried the much harassed Mr. Lockwood. "Then we shall not tell her. We shall tell nobody. Nobody shall know which is which--as long as Aunt Dora remains, that is sure," cried Dora. "Exactly," agreed her sister. "As long as papa doesn't wish us to go----?" "Never!" declared Mr. Lockwood. "Why, we're never even going to get married!" ejaculated the other twin. "Of course not," said her sister. "There couldn't possibly be two men just alike, and they'd have to be just alike to please us for husbands." Mr. Lockwood laughed. It was the first happy sound he had made in two hours. His sister had arrived exactly two hours before. "I know I can safely leave the whole affair to you girls," he said, gratefully. "Have it out with your auntie, if you must. But do, _do_ leave me in peace." CHAPTER VII HOW TO GET A NEW SHELL The Lockwood twins were members of the executive committee of the Girls' Branch of Central High and that Saturday an important meeting was to be held in one of the school offices. So Dora and Dorothy stole away after supper, with only a word to Mrs. Betsey as to their goal. They did not want any more words that night with their aunt, who had sat, like a graven image (providing a graven image has a very hearty appetite) all through the evening meal in an attitude of great offense. The committee, whose actions had to be passed upon by Mrs. Case, the physical instructor, and Franklin Sharp, principal of the school, numbered among its members Laura Belding and her chum, Josephine Morse; Nellie Agnew, Dr. Agnew's daughter; Hester Grimes and Lily Pendleton, all sophomores and in the classes at Central High with the Lockwood twins. Hester Grimes, who was the daughter of a wealthy wholesale butcher, was not so well liked by the twins as some of the other sophomores. Hester could be a very unpleasant person if she wished to be--and on occasions in the past (as related in the previous volume of this series) Hester had lived up to her unhappy reputation. Lily Pendleton, however, usually backed Miss Grimes up in everything the latter said or did. Although Laura Belding was only finishing her sophomore year at Central High, she had become so popular that she was chairman of this important committee, in which, in fact, the policy of the Girls' Branch Athletics was decided. The moment the old business had been disposed of and the way was open for new matters, Laura burst out with: "Oh, girls! I've got the most exciting thing to tell you!" "Don't tell us of any other big robbery," sighed Nellie Agnew. "We've heard nothing but robbery at our house ever since Stresch & Potter were broken into. And poor Billy Long!" "Humph!" muttered Hester Grimes. "I hope they catch him and that he gets all that is coming to him. He always was a mean little brat!" "Not at all!" cried one of the seniors. "Billy Long never did a mean thing in his life. But he is full of mischief." "He'll get it, I fancy if the police catch him," laughed Lily Pendleton, unpleasantly. "Order!" said Laura, gravely. "I did not introduce my subject in a very proper way, I know; but the trouble of Billy Long is far from our business to-night. As chairman of your committee I have received a communication which originally came from the Luna Boat Club. That is the wealthiest boat club on the lake, you know. They really have more to do with our Big Day than any other organization. And what do you think?" "Why don't you get to it?" demanded Hester. "You're as slow as cold molasses running up a hill in January." "Oh, give her a chance," admonished Jess, taking any criticism of her chum--but her own--in ill part. "Well," said Laura, unruffled, "the secretary of the Luna Boat Club writes that the club as a whole is much interested in the trial of speed between the eight-oared shells of the several Girls' Highs and as a trophy for that particular race will present to the winner a silver cup--and you can just bet, girls, if it is anything the Luna Club presents, it will be a handsome one. Isn't that fine?" "Oh, if we could only win it!" cried Jess, clasping her hands. "You've got about as much chance of winning over Keyport as I have of flying," said Hester Grimes. "If goodness is necessary to your wearing wings, Hester, I am afraid you really haven't much chance," said one of the seniors, sweetly, and there was a little giggle of approval from the younger girls. "It is a sure thing that we can't win with our old tub," agreed Laura, nodding a thoughtful head. "Pah!" snapped Hester. "You girls in that eight couldn't win anyway." "I don't know why you say that, Hester," complained Nellie Agnew, who pulled Number 15 in the eight-oared shell. "We do our very best." "That's what I say," laughed the Grimes girl. "And your 'very best' is about as slow as anything on the lake." "Let me tell you that doesn't sound very loyal to the school, Miss," spoke up another senior. "And who's to teach _me_ how to talk?" demanded Hester, tossing her head. "I am not asking you, Miss." "Order, please!" commanded Laura, firmly. "It is not a question of how badly or how well the eight rows. Not just now. We have received a notice of this prize. We must respond properly to the secretary of the Luna Club." This item was disposed of; but Laura had another thing connected with it on her mind. "It is quite true," she said, "that with the old shell we have been rowing in, it will be perfectly impossible for our eight to win the race. We are all agreed on that?" "And all the sane ones are agreed that you couldn't win in _any_ boat," declared Hester, in her very meanest way. "Now, I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Hessie," complained Nellie Agnew. "And it isn't so, either!" exclaimed Jess Morse. "Give us a good shell and we'll show you," said Dorothy Lockwood. "That is what we need," agreed her twin. "Of course we can win under any decent circumstances," said Laura, "now that we have Bobby Hargrew to be coxswain again." Hester was silenced for the time. "Bobby," or Clara Hargrew, had been in difficulties with the school authorities a few weeks before, and had been debarred from all the after-hour athletics--and Hester Grimes had been partly to blame for Bobby's trouble. "The point of the whole matter is," said Celia Prime, one of the older girls, who was on the point of graduating from Central High, "that the eight need and must have a new shell. Our present boat is a disgrace." "I object to our centering all our efforts upon that particular boat and crew," snapped Hester. "So do I," declared Lily, her chum. "The canoes and the single and double oars have better chances to win than the eight," pursued Hester. "We are centering on the eight because the bulk of the present crew are members of this committee." "That is not so, Hessie," declared Mary O'Rourke, another senior who rowed in the eight. "The whole school is interested," said a junior member of the executive board. "The girls talk more about the eight than about anything else." "And that talk is all very skilfully worked up by Laura, here, and her friends," declared Hester. "Oh! some of us have eyes and ears, I hope." "And a tongue that is hung in the middle and wags both ways!" whispered Jess. "We are wrangling without coming to any conclusion," said Laura, sighing. "What shall we do about the shell? Can we get a new one----" "Who'll buy it for us?" demanded Lily. "That's just it," agreed Laura. "Let's ask our folks to all chip in a quarter," said Jess. "If the parents of every girl at school did that we'd scarcely be able to buy a new shell," returned the chairman. "I know that my father will never give a penny toward a new shell--not while the crew remains as inefficient as it is at present," said Hester, tossing her head. "But if you were in Celia's place, at stroke," snapped Jess, who was rather peppery in temper, "I suppose he would go right down into his pocket and purchase a boat for us himself?" "Perhaps he would, Miss Smartie!" returned the butcher's daughter. "Any change in the crew is up to Mrs. Case and the girls of the association--you know that, Hessie," Laura said, gravely. "We all got our positions because the instructor thought we were the better rowers----" "Oh, bah!" ejaculated the angry Hester. "We all know how _you_ are favored in everything, Miss! As for the new shell--I sha'n't do a thing toward helping get one; make up your mind to that." "That certainly is a terrible stroke of bad news, Hester," drawled one of the older girls. "Now, you would better keep still and let some of the rest of us talk a while. For a sophomore, you have a lot to say that is inconsequential." Some of the younger girls chuckled at this. But the occasion and the dispute itself were too serious to engender much hilarity. The question of the new shell was exhaustively discussed, and it was finally decided that a subscription paper be drawn and presented to the parents and friends of Central High, and a sufficient sum be raised immediately, if possible, to pay for a new eight-oared shell. At the break-up of the meeting Laura Belding spoke to several of the girls, including the twins, of a little junket that had been planned for Monday afternoon after school. Dora and Dorothy, Jess Morse, Nellie Agnew, and several other sophomores were invited to come to school prepared to ride directly from the school gate in automobiles into the country beyond Robinson's Woods, to a farmer's, whose family some of the girls already knew. "Eve Sitz's father raises the most luscious berries, and they are right at their height, Eve telephoned me to-day," said Laura. "She wants to give us a real strawberry festival Monday evening--and there is a moon for us to come home by. Chet and Lance and a lot of the boys will go along, too. We're going to have Mr. Purcell's sight-seeing auto as well as our own, and they will hold all of us comfortably." "Goody!" cried Dora Lockwood. "You are always thinking up the most perfectly scrumptious things to do, Laura!" "'Most perfectly scrumptious,'" repeated Nellie, laughing. "If Gee Gee heard you say that, Miss----Ahem!--was it Dora or Dorothy?" The girls laughed, but the other twin shook her head seriously. "There is no Dora at present. We are both Dorothy Lockwood," and when their friends demanded an explanation, the story of Aunt Dora's determination to take her namesake home with her to live came out in a torrent. "I'm glad I'm not a twin," declared Jess Morse, laughing till her sides ached. "They're lots of fun, these twins; but it's no fun to _be_ one of them, after all!" The Lockwood girls really were in a serious mood when they made their way homeward. It was a tragedy, in their minds, to be separated; and Dora and Dorothy vowed to each other, whatever befell, that Aunt Dora should not discover which girl had been named in her honor. CHAPTER VIII HIDE AND SEEK The Lockwood twins were glad of an excuse--and a good one--for dodging Aunt Dora for one afternoon and evening, and they therefore welcomed the invitation to the strawberry festival at the Sitz farm with acclaim. But there intervened the long Sunday when Aunt Dora nagged them--and everybody else about the cottage--all day. Mary, the hired girl, who had been with them since she had landed at Ellis Island, and who loved the twins as though they were her own, and admired Mrs. Betsey more than anybody else living, came to the verge of "giving notice" whenever Aunt Dora came into view of the house. "Sure, I was a bogtrotter when Oi landed, and we _did_ kape the pig in the kitchen--I admit it," declaimed the faithful Mary. "But I've been bred to wor'rk under as clane a housekaper as ever wore shoes--God bless her! And to have that ould ormadoun come here and tell me me flures ar're not clane, and me bedrooms smell musty----Ah--h! bad 'cess to the loikes av her!" Mrs. Betsey, to save losing Mary altogether, gave her permission to take Sunday afternoon and evening off. That would free her from the "eagle eye" of Aunt Dora for a few hours, at least. "Aunt Dora is what old-fashioned people used to call 'nasty clean'," grumbled Mr. Lockwood, as he prepared to flee to his beloved plants, despite the sacredness of the day. "She's so clean that she makes everybody else unhappy about it. But have patience, children. It can't last forever." It was Mrs. Betsey who was put through the "third degree" early in the morning. Couldn't she really tell the twins apart? Wasn't there something in their voices dissimilar? Was there not some mark on their bodies by which Dora could be distinguished from Dorothy? Hadn't one child a scar that the other did not have? "My dear madam," declared the old housekeeper and nurse, in desperation. "I gave up the question as hopeless ten years and more ago. If those girls do not wish to own up, nobody can tell them apart, you may be sure of that. Yes, they _are_ stubborn--and they _are_ pert. They have never been governed by harshness or by fear. The only way that I know to make Dora tell you which she is, is to make her love you enough to tell you." "Nonsense!" snapped Aunt Dora. "They are children. They must obey." "In that particular, madam," said Mrs. Betsey, shaking her head, "I fail to see how you are to make them obey." "They both should be punished." "Even that would not make them obey you--no matter what the punishment. And you know," added the old lady, with eyes that began to brighten warningly, "Mr. Lockwood would not hear of the twins being punished." "If they were mine I'd spank them both!" declared Aunt Dora, spitefully. "And that is perhaps one reason why neither wishes to go home with you," returned Mrs. Betsey, pointedly. As Mary was gone for the day the twins agreed to get tea; and there being a certain famous recipe, which had been the Lockwood family property for generations, for tea-biscuit, the twins promised Mr. Lockwood he should have them. "Can't one of you make the biscuit, without the other?" demanded Aunt Dora, her gray eyes beginning to sparkle. "Dora really makes them the best, I believe," said Mrs. Betsey, placidly, stroking the front of her silk gown, as she sat in her low rocker by the front window. "Ha!" exclaimed the militant lady. "Then let Dora make them." "Oh, we'll both make 'em," exclaimed one of the twins, getting up with her sister to go to the kitchen. "One of us can sift the flour while the other is preparing the tins. We'll make you a double quantity, Papa," she added, over her shoulder, her own eyes dancing merrily. "Now! which was _that_?" demanded Aunt Dora. "Was it Dora--or Dorothy?" "I really couldn't say," murmured Mr. Lockwood. "Dorothy usually sifts the flour," offered Mrs. Betsey. "But Dora makes up the biscuit best," said Mr. Lockwood. Aunt Dora looked from one unruffled face to the other; then she got up quietly and stole from the room. She tiptoed through the hall to the pantry door. There she waited until she was sure the twins were busy at the dresser and stove. So she stepped into the pantry and pushed aside the white dimity curtain at the window in the door which opened into the kitchen. One twin was busily buttering the tins while the other was sifting the ingredients of the biscuits in the big yellow mixing bowl. "So Dorothy usually sifts the flour, does she?" muttered the determined old lady, staring hard at the back of the sifter's head. But one thing Aunt Dora did not know. Every time the girl sifting the flour glanced up from her work she looked straight into a mirror over the dresser, tipped at such an angle that it showed the pantry door. She saw the curtain drawn back and her aunt's nose appear at the window. At once she said to her sister: "Are you afraid of the wolf at the door?" "Eh?" jerked out the other twin, looking up quickly. "But if poor papa is so poor, you know, maybe one of us ought to go home with Aunt Dora." The girl buttering the tins saw her sister's wink and nod, and glanced slily in the mirror, too. "We will fight the wolf at the door and drive it away," she declared, with spirit. "We'll leave school and go to work rather than be separated. Isn't that the way you feel?" "I should feel that I'd rather work than go home with Auntie, if I were Dora," declared she who was sifting. "So should I if _I_ were Dora," agreed her sister. A minute later one of the girls, while testing the heat of the oven, screamed. "Oh, oh!" she cried. "Oh, oh! I'm burned! Look at that!" and she held up her wrist with a white mark across it. Her sister darted across the kitchen, crying: "I'll get the witch hazel--you poor dear!" She had forgotten Aunt Dora, hiding in the pantry, and she collided with her with considerable force. "What's the matter with you?" demanded the exasperated old lady. "Nothing with me," returned the hurrying girl. "It's _she_ who's burned." "Who's burned?" cried Aunt Dora. "Which of you is hurt?" The girl who had stopped recovered her self-possession. "Let me go, Auntie," she said, quietly. "_My sister_ has burned her wrist." And so the anxious and determined aunt did not catch the twins off their guard, neither in war nor peace. CHAPTER IX ONE IS A HEROINE When the girls invited to Evangeline Sitz's "party" hurried out of Central High on Monday afternoon, they found, as Laura Belding had promised, her father's automobile, as well as one of Mr. Purcell's big, three-seated "lumber barges," as the boys called Centerport's sight-seeing autos. There were three seats behind the driver's, each wide enough for four persons. Laura and Chet (the latter of whom drove the Belding machine) had their own close friends in the smaller auto, and it was well filled. Mr. Purcell stood by the chauffeur of the big car as the Lockwood twins whisked into the front seat, completely filling it. Dora and Dorothy always preferred to keep together, and nobody could get between them here. The girls heard the automobile owner ask the driver: "How do you feel now, Bennie? All right?" "Pretty good, Boss," said the man, who, the twins noticed, was pale. "Sure you can make it all right? If you feel bad, say so, and I'll take your place." "I'll be all right, Boss, once we get moving," said the chauffeur. "Oh, look who's here!" whispered Dorothy, suddenly, to her sister, pinching her arm to attract her attention. "It's Pretty!" gasped Dora. "Isn't he a vision of loveliness?" The dandy of the school came mincing along the sidewalk with the evident intention of joining the auto party. He had been excused from classes early to go home and "rig up" for the occasion; and he certainly was--as Lance Darby said from the head automobile--"a sight for gods and men!" Prettyman Sweet wore a white flannel coat and trousers, with a very fine line of blue running through the goods lengthwise. He wore a canvas hat and canvas shoes, cut low to show open-work crimson silk socks--oh, they were dreams of the hosier's art! He wore a flowing crimson tie, too, and around his waist, instead of an ordinary belt, he wore a new-fangled, knitted, crimson sash-belt, the like of which none of the boys of Central High had ever beheld before. "Oh, Purt! where did you get it?" cried Lance Darby. "You're fixed up to flag a freight, with all that red on you," said Chet. "And where _did_ you get that gorgeous sash, Mr. Sweet?" demanded "Bobby" Hargrew, who was a tease by nature, and had the sharpest tongue of any girl at Central High. "Oh, now, Miss Clara," said Purt Sweet, carefully climbing into the seat directly behind the twins. "This is the very latest thing--weally! I sent clear to New York for it. You see, it's not so stiff and hard looking as a leather belt. This--er--lends a softness to the whole costume that is--er--quite unobtainable with a belt." "Oh, gee!" gasped Bobby. "It's soft enough, all right, all right!" and the rest laughed as they piled into the machine. Purt sat with his back to the twins, and was explaining to the girl beside him that he did not mind riding backward at all. Bobby was still on the ground, and as Dora and Dorothy looked down at her they saw the mischievous one suddenly reach up her thumb and finger and pick at a little frayed place upon the edge of Purt's beautiful sash. The thing was knitted loosely of some kind of mercerized cotton, and when Bobby seized the end of a broken strand the sash began to unravel with marvelous rapidity. She grinned up at the twins delightedly, and continued to pull on the thread. "All aboard, young folks!" cried Mr. Purcell. "You ready forward, there, Mr. Chetwood?" "All right," returned Chet, tripping his self-starter. Mr. Purcell stooped to crank up his big machine. Bobby, her eyes dancing, also stooped beside the front wheel for a moment, and then whisked into her seat, facing Purt Sweet. But the twins saw what she had done. She had fastened the end of the crimson thread to the head of a bolt upon the wheelbox. "All right, Bennie!" said Mr. Purcell, stepping back and waving his hand. The big machine began to tremble and shake, and then they pulled out behind the Belding car. There was a lot of noise, and laughter, and fun; but nobody seemed so hilarious as Clara Hargrew and the Lockwood twins. "Can't you keep your eyes off Purt, Bobby?" demanded the girl sitting next to the Sweet boy. "What's the matter with him?" "No--nothing!" chortled Bobby, stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth. But she was watching that red thread shooting down to the wheel and winding around and around the box, faster and faster as the big machine got under way. By the time the auto turned into Market Street a great ball of the red worsted, or whatever it was, had formed on the inside of the wheel, and the perfectly unconscious Prettyman Sweet was fast losing his beautiful crimson sash. The knitted part of the sash overlaid a belt of canvas which really did the service of holding up the exquisite's trousers. But fast, fast indeed, the red thread was running out. Others saw the unraveling yarn, and joined Bobby and the twins in hilarious laughter. Then a man walking on the sidewalk espied the growing ball of thread on the wheel and followed the strand to its source. His happy chortles attracted the attention of other pedestrians, and soon the big automobile was being accompanied by a chorus of shouts from small boys in the streets, and laughter from an ever-increasing number of bystanders. "What do you suppose is the matter with all these people?" demanded the unconscious Purt. "I never did see the like. Weally! It's too widiculous." "That's what it is!" laughed Bobby. "Why!" exclaimed Purt, "they weally seem to see something about us to laugh at! What can it be?" "Must be you, Purt," said one of the boys. "Widiculous! There is nothing about me to laugh at, dear boy." "Huh!" grunted his schoolmate. "You're one big laugh all the time, Pretty, only you don't know it!" The way to the farm where the young people were bound was out Market Street to the east, and then through the winding road which bisected Robinson's Woods and up into the hills. Mr. Sitz was a Swiss, and had been used to hilly farms in his youth; therefore the "up hill and down dale" nature of his farming land near Centerport did not trouble him in the least. He and Otto, his son, and the hands he hired, made good crops upon the hilly farm, and the Sitzes were becoming well to do. In the front auto Laura was speaking about Eve Sitz. "She's such a big, muscular girl. If she comes to Central High next fall, as I want her to, she'll help us greatly in athletics. You see, she'll enter as a junior, and be in our classes. And she can pull an oar already--and what a fine guard she'd make at basketball! She's a lot lighter on her feet than Hester Grimes, or Mary O'Rourke, in spite of the fact that she's so big." "Bully!" exclaimed Jess. "She can cut out Hessie, then." Suddenly Lance, who looked back, raised a shout of surprise and terror. "Look at that! What's happened to the other car! Stop, Chet!" The young folks in the Belding car sprang up and looked back. They were just in time to see the man who drove the sight-seeing car fall sidewise from his seat, and slip down until half of his body lay upon the step. He had dropped the wheel and the heavy car was running wild. The two cars were out of the city now, and running upon a lonely bit of road. The Belding car was, indeed, half way down the long slope, which the heavier one had just begun to descend. The big auto began to wabble from side to side, and those ahead saw one of the Lockwood twins seize the man who had fallen and drag him back into the car. But, meanwhile, the car itself was running away. Faster and faster it rolled down the hill, and its course was so erratic that those in the first car almost held their breath. The expectation was that the big car would collide with a telegraph pole beside the road, or go into the ditch on the other side. "Stop, Chet!" yelled Lance again. But if Chet Belding stopped his car, he knew that the other might run them down. He dared not run that risk. "Grab the wheel! Shut off the power! Brake her!" yelled Lance, wildly waving his arms at the crowd behind. "Some of you fellows do something!" But the boy nearest to the steering gear of the big machine was Purt Sweet--and Purt scarcely knew enough about an automobile to keep from being run over by one! "Oh!" cried Laura, "they will be hurt! There! it's going to smash into that tree----" But suddenly they saw one of the twins dive into the chauffeur's seat. She seized the wheel and guided the big machine into the straight road again. Then she manipulated the levers and quickly brought the shuddering car to a stop. The driver still lay motionless. "Oh, oh!" cried Jess, hopping out of the Belding car when Chet stopped it, and running back. "She stopped it! You're a real heroine--Dorothy--Dora--whichever one you are." But the Lockwood twins looked at each other quickly and that understanding glance made the girl who had played the heroine say: "It doesn't matter which one of us did it, Jess. We'll divide the heroic act between us. But let's see what's the matter with this poor man; he's fainted, I believe." CHAPTER X BAKED IN A BISCUIT There wasn't a house in sight; but not far beyond was the inn at Robinson's Woods, the picnic grounds, and Lance took the management of the big car while the unconscious chauffeur was rushed ahead by Chet in the Belding car. The man was put to bed at the inn and a physician sent for; but Lance agreed to drive the big car himself on to the Sitz place. When the larger car reached the inn, however, another discovery was made. Even while the auto had followed its erratic course, untended, part way down the hill, Purt Sweet had sat tight and merely squealed. He had not offered to leave his seat. But now, by the merest chance, he happened to look down at his waist. The greater part of that beautiful crimson sash had disappeared! "Wha--wha--what's the matter with me?" gasped Purt. "I--I've lost it! Who's taken it?" He bobbed up suddenly and broke the strand that had been, all this time, winding around and around the wheelbox until there was now a big roll of it. "What's the matter with you, Purt?" demanded one of the boys, bursting with laughter. "Why--why--somebody's stolen my sash!" wailed the youth. "Did you see it? Isn't that a mean trick, now?" The shout that went up from the girls and boys who had been watching the unraveling process brought the crowd from the first automobile back, too. Poor Purt looked ruefully at his lost sash, wound around the wheel, and bemoaned his bad fortune most feelingly. But Lance cut off the ball of red worsted and threw it in the gutter. "I really wish you wouldn't be so careless, Purt," he said, as though the victim were at fault. "Mussing up the whole machine with your fancy fixin's. Don't you do that any more." "But, my dear boy, I had no idea of doing it--weally!" exclaimed the unfortunate Purt. "I don't for the life of me see how that could have become attached to that wheel." And as nobody explained the mystery to him, he was in low spirits all the rest of the way to the farmhouse. But the preparations at the Sitz farm were likely to raise the spirits of any boy or girl. In the first place the farmhouse was a very pleasant old house indeed, and its big grassy yard, with shade trees and vines, was a delightful spot for an open-air party. Under the grape arbors, now in full leaf, long tables had been spread, and as soon as the automobiles arrived Eve called the girls to the back porch to help hull berries already picked, while Otto, her rather slow-witted brother, took the boys down to the strawberry patch to help pick more of the fruit. Purt, who was greedy as could be, "picked into his mouth" until Chet and the other boys warned him that he'd be so full he would not be able to do justice to the berries and cream that would come later. The big kitchen of the farmhouse was a scene of great activity, too. Mother Sitz, who could scarcely speak a word of English, was happy in having the girls about, however; and she had made and frosted and decorated innumerable little cakes such as she had been used to in the old country. Eve put on a big apron and lent Laura one, and the two set about making the biscuit and the old-fashioned dough for the short-cakes. Laura Belding was fond of Eve for the country girl's own sake; but loyalty to Central High and Laura's deep interest in school athletics caused her to cultivate the girl, too. There was a very good district school which Eve had attended, in which the teacher had brought her older scholars along to a point that enabled them to take the examinations for the Junior grade of the city schools. These examinations were to be held in Centerport within a fortnight, and Laura wished Eve to come to Central High in the Fall, instead of to the Keyport High, which was somewhat nearer to the Sitz place. "You'll have to take train to Keyport, anyway, Eve," urged her friend, while they were busy making the biscuits. "There is a better train stops at your station, bound for Centerport; and you can get out at the Hill Station and then it is only a five-minute walk to our school." "I know, Laura," said the big girl. "But do you suppose I can pass?" "Why not?" "They say that Mr. Sharp is dreadfully _sharp_ on Latin, and that's my weak point." "Why, you can cram on Latin in a fortnight. I'll tell you a book to get that will help--and it costs but fifty cents. You can begin right away on it----" "But I haven't got the book yet." "You've got the fifty cents, haven't you?" returned her friend. "Yes." "Then--what time does your rural delivery man go by the end of the road?" Eve glanced at the big clock solemnly ticking on the wall. "In about three-quarters of an hour." "Run and write your letter to the Keyport bookseller. One of the boys will run out and give the letter to the mail carrier." "But a fifty cent piece won't be safe in a letter," said Eve, doubtfully. "We--ell----" "And I haven't time to run out there and stop Mr. Cheever, and make out a money order--for fifty cents, too!" exclaimed Eve. "Humph!" ejaculated Laura. "There's fifty ways of sending fifty cents----" "Sure," laughed Eve. "A penny at a time!" "No. I'm not joking. Write your letter. Give me the fifty cents. I'll find a safe way. Give me the half dollar now. I'll put the biscuits in the pans. Is the oven hot?" "Pretty near." "I'll try it--with one biscuit, anyway," chuckled Laura, seizing the half dollar her friend gave out of her purse. In ten minutes Eve came dancing back from her room with the letter written. "How you going to send the money, Laura?" she demanded. "Here's the letter--all ready." "And the money will be ready in a minute or two. That oven's good and hot," said Laura. "What do you mean?" gasped Eve. "You're not baking the half dollar?" "Yes, ma'am," laughed Laura. "That's what I'm doing." She dropped the range door and showed a small pan with one lonesome little biscuit in it. "It's baking fine, too. I want it to be a hard, crusty one----" "And you've baked the half dollar in the biscuit!" screamed Eve. "That's what I've done. You just add a line to your letter to that effect. Then we'll put the letter and biscuit in that little box, tie it up, address it, and Lance Darby will run out to the road and mail it for you. Be quick now," concluded Laura, whisking the pan out of the oven, "for the half-dollar biscuit is done!'" "What an original girl you are, Laura," said Eve, doing as she was bid. "Who'd have thought of _that_ way to send coin in the mail?" "Your Aunt Laura thought of it," laughed her friend. "For we want nothing to stand in your way of passing that examination, Eve. We need you at Central High." CHAPTER XI THE BOAT IS FOUND And that supper! It was something to be membered by the crowd from town. Such thick, luscious yellow cream that Mother Sitz lifted from the pans of milk in the cement block "milk-house" most of the town-bred folk had never seen before. The biscuits and "short-cake" came out of the oven with just the right brown to them. The big berries were heaped upon the wedges of buttered short-cake, and then cream poured over the berries, with plenty of sugar. "Yum! Yum!" mumbled Lance Darby, with a huge mouthful obstructing his parts of speech. "Isn't this the Jim-dandiest lay-out you ever saw, Chet?" "I never sat down to a better one," admitted his chum. "But please don't talk to me. Purt is getting more of the berries than I am--and he isn't talking at all. Just pass the sugar, Lance, and then shut up for a while." But there was enough serious talk during the supper to arrange a return treat for Eve and Otto Sitz. The farmer boy and his sister had seldom been on Lake Luna and Laura and her brother suggested a trip by boat and canoe to Cavern Island for the following Saturday. "And no picnic luncheon at the park. That's too common," declared Jess Morse, eagerly. "Let's do something different." "Trot out your 'different' suggestion, Josephine," said her chum. "Let's go to the caves. Let's picnic there." "Oh!" cried one of the Lockwood twins. "That's where we saw the 'lone pirate.'" "The lone _what_?" rejoined Nellie Agnew. "What do you mean by that?" The other twin explained how and when they had seen the bushy-headed, wild-looking man at the foot of Boulder Head. "There's where the caverns open onto the shore, exactly," remarked Chet Belding. "Are you afraid of meeting the pirate, girls?" "We'll capture him and make him walk the plank!" declared Bobby Hargrew. "Hurrah for the pirate!" So the trip to Cavern Island for the next Saturday was arranged, Eve and Otto promising to join the party at Centerport. And the run home by automobile in the moonlight was enlivened by plans for the coming good time on the Lake. Lance ran the sight-seeing automobile carefully and delivered it to Mr. Purcell, the owner, in good season. The man who should have driven it, but who was taken ill, had been removed to the hospital from the inn in the woods. "I understand one of those girls played the heroine and stopped the car," said the automobile owner. "Yes, sir," replied Lance. "That was one of the Lockwood twins." "Which one was it? I'd like to thank her, at least," said Mr. Purcell. "Couldn't tell you," laughed Lance. "Why couldn't you? Sworn to secrecy, young man?" demanded Mr. Purcell. "No, sir. But the twins themselves seem to be. Nobody knows them apart, and they won't tell on each other. One of them is the heroine, but which one nobody knows," and Lance Darby went off laughing. Meanwhile the twins themselves walked briskly home from the schoolhouse where the party of young folk had separated. On the way they met a girl a little older than themselves, hurrying in the opposite direction. "Here's Billy Long's sister, Alice," whispered Dora to Dorothy. "Oh, dear me!" replied Dorothy. "I suppose she has had to work late at the paper box factory. And how she must feel----" Her twin seized the factory girl's arm as she was hurrying past with just a little nod to the Lockwood twins. "Alice Long!" ejaculated Dora. "You're crying. What's the matter?" "Oh, girls! you know about Billy, don't you?" cried Short and Long's sister. "They haven't caught him?" cried Dorothy. "No, no! I almost wish they would," sobbed Alice Long. "We don't know where he is. I've just been down to Mr. Norman's to see if the boat has been found." "And it hasn't?" demanded one of the twins. "No. It was an old boat that Mr. Norman thought he was going fishing in, same as usual. Billy often brings home a mess of fish, or sells them. You know, he has always been a helpful boy." "We want to tell you, Alice dear," said Dorothy with a glance at her sister, "that we don't believe a word of what they say about Billy." "Thank you, Miss," said Alice, eagerly. "I was sure his schoolmates would stand by him. But he was very foolish to run away--if he has run away." "Otherwise, what has happened to him?" "That is what is worrying father and me. The boat was old. Something might have happened. He might be drowned," sobbed the sister. "Oh, no, Alice! Billy was a good swimmer." "I know that. But often good swimmers are taken with cramps. And if the boat overturned, or sank, out in the middle of Lake Luna----" "That's too dreadful a thing to think of!" cried Dora. "I believe he ran away because he was afraid of being arrested. Everybody was talking about his having a hand in that robbery." "Well, he never did it. I could testify that he wasn't out of his bed Tuesday night when the robbery took place. I told the policemen so. But, of course, Billy could have gone out of the window and down the shed roof--and got back again, too--without our knowing it. He has more than once, I suppose," admitted the troubled sister. "You see, on Wednesday Stresch & Potter sent their store detective to see Billy, and he bulldozed him and threatened him. I expect the boy was badly frightened, although the man was only a cheap bully. So we don't know what to think--whether Billy has deliberately run away, or that some accident happened to him on the lake." "Chet and Lance Darby were looking for him Saturday over at Cavern Island," said a twin. "But they met with an accident. We're all going over to the island again this coming Saturday, and we'll search the east end for him." "How would he live over there?" gasped his sister. "Oh, there are berries this time of year. And of course, he could fish," said Dora eagerly. "There's a man hiding there, anyway," added Dorothy, but then remembered that the information might add to Alice's fright, so said no more. "We'll do everything we can to find Short and Long," Dora assured the boy's sister. "And we are telling everybody that we don't believe Billy would do such a thing as they say. As though there wasn't any other boy in Centerport who could have crawled through that window at Stresch & Potter's." The twins parted from Alice Long, and ran home. They slipped to bed without encountering Aunt Dora and counted that day well spent because the old lady had not yet caught them so that she could identify Dora. But on Tuesday Aunt Dora appeared at Central High and met Miss Grace G. Carrington--otherwise "Gee Gee." "I wish to hear my nieces recite," she said, with sharply twinkling eyes behind her glasses. "It doesn't matter what class--any class will do." Miss Carrington politely asked the prim old lady to sit beside her on the platform, and Aunt Dora listened to the recitation then in progress. Both Dora and Dorothy took part; but for the life of her the near-sighted lady could not tell when Dora spoke, and when Dorothy answered! "I suppose you know them apart?" she ventured, to Miss Carrington. "Oh, no; but I believe they usually answer to their names. They stand about alike in their classes and we have put them on their honor not to answer for each other. They are good girls and give me little trouble," added Gee Gee, which was a concession from her. "So if you called one of them to the desk you could not be sure that the one you called really came?" asked Aunt Dora. "Not as far as physical appearances go," said Gee Gee, shaking her head. So Aunt Dora was thwarted again and went back to the cottage to invent some other method of tripping the twins. It had become a game, now, that both sides were determined to win; and Mr. Lockwood and Mrs. Betsey stood by and watched the play with amusement. A veritable fleet of canoes, pair-oared and four-oared boats gathered at Central High boat house, just before noon the next Saturday. It was a bright and calm day and the lake looked most inviting. The girls were in fine fettle, particularly. The subscription paper to raise the sum necessary for the purchase of a new eight-oared shell had gone about town briskly that week and Laura reported that already more than half of the sum necessary had been promised. She had written to the builders of such shells and they had replied that there was one in stock that they would be glad to send the girls of Central High, on approval, if the physical instructor agreed. "And Mrs. Case is writing to them to-day," concluded Laura. "They will send on the new boat and we can pay for it after the money is all in. And, oh, girls! We'll win that race from the Keyport and other crews, if such a thing is possible. After to-day the crew will be in training. We must try out the boat, and work in her just as soon as she arrives, and every other afternoon thereafter. So, you members of the crew make your preparations accordingly." "And for goodness sake, Bobby," urged Nellie Agnew, to the little "cox" of the crew, "don't you go to cutting capers in school so that Gee Gee can condition you. She's just waiting for a chance to fix it so you cannot steer for us." "Aw, pshaw!" said Clara Hargrew. "I don't do anything." "No; but Gee Gee does something to you," declared Jess Morse, laughing. "See that you don't give her a chance to stop your after-hour athletics again, Bobby," begged Laura. "All right; I'll be good," said Bobby, grinning. "But after school--well, when long vacation comes this time I think I'll have to set the old school house afire to celebrate!" "No. You had trouble over fires before," advised Dorothy Lockwood. "That's so," agreed Dora. "Don't mention fire again!" exclaimed Jess. "That's why we lost the race before--because you could not steer for us, Bobby." Laura and Lance Darby took Eve and Otto Sitz with them in Lance's nice boat. There were two pairs of sculls and Otto managed to row very well in the bow. Of course Chet took Jess in his boat, and the remainder paired off as fancy beckoned. But the twins paddled their cedar canoe. And few of the fleet of small craft were propelled to the island in better shape than Dora's and Dorothy's canoe. The others cheered the pretty girls as they forced their craft through the rippling water. The management of a canoe--especially a double canoe--is not so easy as it appears. But the Lockwood twins had taken to that form of aquatic sports very kindly, and there really were few canoe crews in Centerport who handled their craft as well. The fleet of boats crossed the lake in a short time and, headed by the twins' canoe, reached the eastern end of the island. They swept into the cove where the girls had seen, the previous Saturday, the rough-looking, bewhiskered man upon the shore. Right here under the Boulder Head was the mouth of the cavern from which the island obtained its name. As the twins swept their canoe on with easy strokes, Dora suddenly uttered a cry of excitement. "See there, Dory!" she said. "See where?" demanded her sister, craning her neck to see over Dora's shoulder. "There! Down in the water! The sunken boat!" The water in the cove was very clear, but it had considerable depth. The canoe was brought sharply up by the two girls and both peered down. Below them could plainly be seen a sunken rowboat. It did not appear to be damaged in any way, but had simply filled and sunk. "What have you found, girls?" demanded Lance Darby, whose boat was nearest to the twins' canoe at the moment. "Is there some deep sea monster down there?" "Come and look, Lance," cried Dora. The moment the young Darby saw the submerged craft he exclaimed: "Here it is, by gracious!" "Here is what?" demanded Laura. "The boat. Hey, Chet! we've found it!" he called to his chum, who quickly turned his own boat's prow in their direction. "What you found?" demanded Laura's brother, coming nearer. "Here's Mr. Norman's boat that he lent Short and Long," declared Lance, eagerly. "It was just as you said, Chet. Billy came over here to the island." "Oh, my!" cried Jess. "And if that is so, perhaps he is still here." "We must find him," said one of the twins, earnestly. "His sister Alice is just about worried to death about him; and the longer he remains in hiding, the worse it will be for him, anyway." CHAPTER XII IN THE CAVE The other boats of the flotilla began to make the cove and soon there was a loudly chattering crowd around the sunken boat. "Are you sure that's the old rowboat Billy got from Mr. Norman?" asked one of the other boys of Chet. "Yes, sir! I've been out in it more than once with Short and Long," declared Laura's brother. "But where can Billy be?" cried Josephine Morse. "Surely, the poor fellow isn't drowned?" queried Nellie Agnew. "Oh, don't suggest such a thing!" returned one of the twins. "If you'd seen how badly his sister felt about his absence----" "I expect the Longs are all broken up about it. And they have no mother," said Laura Belding, softly. "And Billy could swim like a fish," quoth Lance Darby. "No chance of his being drowned," declared Chet. "But, do you suppose he sank the boat here to hide it--sank it purposely?" cried another girl. "Maybe he's hiding here. Why don't they search the island for him?" "And the caves?" cried another. "_I'd_ like to get hold of him," Chetwood Belding said, gravely. "But Billy never in this world crawled through that basement window and opened the door for those burglars. I'll never believe it----" "Not even if Billy said so himself, dear boy?" interposed Prettyman Sweet. "I'd doubt it then," rejoined Chet, grimly. "And let me tell you fellows, this absence of Short and Long is a very bad thing for Central High. We lost the game with Lumberport just because Billy wasn't at short; you all know that. I'm mighty glad the game with West High was called off for to-day. Without Billy Long, Central High is very likely to win the booby prize on the diamond this season." "Right you are, Chet," declared Lance Darby. "I admit Billy is some little ball player," agreed another boy. "But it looks bad, his running away." "What would _you_ have done?" flashed out Dora Lockwood, for the twins had become strong partisans of the absent Billy since talking with Alice Long, "if that store detective had come and bullied _you_?" "Put him through the third degree, did he?" "Yes. And scared him by all sorts of threats. And then, everybody around the neighborhood got hold of it, and said that Billy was just the boy to do such a thing," Dorothy broke in. "He _was_ up to all sorts of mischief," Nellie Agnew observed. "Never did a mean thing in his life, Billy didn't," declared Chet. "Come on ashore," said Lance, he and Otto Sitz pulling their heavy boat in to a sloping landing. "No use gassing here about that old boat. We can't raise it. But I'll tell Mr. Norman where it is when I go back." "You're very right, Lance," said Purt Sweet. "It's time to have the luncheon--don't you think? I'm getting howwibly hungry, dontcher know?" "To see you eat strawberries up at Eve's house last Monday, I thought you would never be hungry again--if you recovered," laughed Jess. "Aw--now--Miss Josephine--weally, you know," gasped the dude. "You are too, too cwuel!" "Somebody throw that fellow overboard!" growled Chet. "He's getting softer and softer every day." "Never mind," whispered his sister, laughing, "he is dressed much less gaudily to-day. What Bobby did to that sash of his last Monday seems to have made Purt less vociferous in his sartorial taste." "Gee, Laura!" cried Bobby Hargrew, from the next boat, "if Mammy Jinny heard that, she sure would think that schools ought to teach only 'words of one syllabub.'" "Never mind Mammy Jinny," laughed Laura. "We've got some of Mammy's finest efforts in pie and cake in our hamper. And I admit, like Purt, I am hungry myself. Let's eat before we do another living thing!" That was indeed a hilarious picnic. The girls had brought paper napkins and tablecloths, as well as plenty of paper plates. No trouble about washing dishes, or packing them home again, afterward. Chet had bought a big tin pail and in this he made gallons of lemonade, and everybody ate and drank to repletion. "Now, if we were only at the park for just a little while, and could top off on ice cream," said Lance, lying back on the greensward with a contented sigh despite his spoken wish. "I'd rather see that monkey again," laughed Jess. "That's the cutest little beast." "It weally is surprising how much the cweature knows," said Purt Sweet. "It is weally almost human." "So are you!" scoffed Lance. "It's an ugly little animal. Never did like a monkey. And I think Tony Allegretto and his trained monkey are fakes. We didn't see him do anything wonderful." "Oh, they say that the monkey does lots of other tricks when Tony gets a big crowd into his booth," said Laura. "Now, who's for seeing the caves?" cried Chet, rising briskly. "You girls declared you wanted to go 'way through the hill." "Won't we get lost?" asked Nellie, timidly. "Not a bit of it. It's a straight passage--nearly," said Chet. "Lance and I have been through a couple of times. We come out into just the prettiest little valley in the middle of the island--and not far from the park, at that." "But people _have_ been lost in the caves," objected one girl. "Not of late years. There are side passages, I know, where a fellow could get turned around." "It's just like a maze, over at the east end," Lance observed. "But we won't go into that part." "And the way is marked along the walls of the straight cave in red paint. I've got a box of tapers," said Chet, and ran to the boat for them. "Gas lighters," said Dorothy. "Oh, Jolly!" ejaculated Bobby Hargrew. "You know what that new hired girl of ours said when mother showed her how to cook macaroni? She says: "'Sure, Mrs. Hargrew, do youse be atein' them things?' "And when mother told her yes, Bridget said: "'Well! well! Where I wor'rked last they used 'em to light the gas wid!'" The party of young folk had to follow a narrow path along the shore of the cove for some distance ere they came to the first opening into the caves. The sheer face of Boulder Head rose more than a hundred feet above their heads. There were shelves and crevices in the rock, out of which stunted trees and bushes grew in abundance; but there was no practicable path to the top of the cliff. "They say that, years ago, a man used to live on this island who could climb that cliff like a goat," Chet said. "Bet none of you boys could climb it," cried Bobby Hargrew. "And we're not going to try it, Miss! Not on a double-dare," laughed Chet. "We'll go through it, if you please. Now, here's the opening of the main passage. You see, there's an arrow in red painted on the rock just inside." "It looks awfully dark," said Nellie, quaveringly. "And suppose the 'lone pirate' should be hiding in there?" whispered Dora to her twin. "We--ell! I guess there are enough of us to frighten him away," said Dorothy. Chet took the lead with a lighted taper. Of course, when he was well inside the small flame gave a very pale glow; but those behind could see it. Then Lance followed with another light at about the middle of the Indian file, and Otto Sitz brought up the rear with a third. "You look out somebody doesn't creep up behind you and bite, Otto," laughed Bobby Hargrew, who was just ahead of the Swiss boy. "Dat don't worry me von bit," growled Otto. "It iss only ha'ants I am afraid of, and ha'nts don't live in caves." "No," said Bobby, shivering. "B--r--r--r! they'd freeze to death in here. Isn't it cold, after coming out of the warm sun?" But when they were once well into the passage through the rock, and the first 'shivery' feeling had worn off, the girls as well as the boys were hilarious. When they shouted in the high and vaulted chambers their voices were echoed thunderously in their ears. The flaming tapers were reflected in places from many points of quartz, or mica. The floor of the cavern was quite smooth, and rose only a little. In places the walls were worn as smooth as glass. In some dim, past age the center of this island must have been a great lake, and the water had found an outlet through these passages. At one point they found a little circular chamber at one side, in which was a bed of pine branches. It really looked as though the place had been used----and not so long before----as a camp. There were the ashes of a fire on the floor. "Here's where the pirate has been living," Dora declared to her sister. "It would scare the girls into fits if we should tell them so." "Hush!" said Dorothy. "Perhaps that man _is_ here somewhere," and she, at least, was glad to hurry on, although Chet searched the chamber with particular care. "What do you expect to find here, old man?" asked Lance, laughing. But his chum only shook his head and led the way toward the distant outlet of the passage. CHAPTER XIII THE STRANGE MAN AGAIN They came out of the cave into a hollow, grown to a wilderness of small trees, yet carpeted between with a brilliant sod of short grass. On the steep sides were larger trees; but evidently, at a time not then long past, the cup of the hollow had been cleared. And at one side was the ruin of a log hut. "The man who lived alone at this end of the island, and climbed up and down Boulder Head, used to occupy this hut," said Chet. "But those logs were cut a hundred years ago!" cried Dora Lockwood. "See how they have rotted at the ends." "I guess that's so. Nobody knows who built the cabin." "Indians!" cried Jess. "Indians didn't built log houses. The first settlers did that. Indians lived in wigwams," declared Laura. "Some old hunter lived here, maybe, when the woods were full of bears and wildcats," suggested her chum. "What's that!" suddenly shrieked Bobby. "There's a wildcat, now!" "Behave!" commanded Laura, shaking the smaller girl. "You can't scare us that way." "Nothing more ferocious inhabits these woods than a Teddy-bear," laughed Jess Morse. "Then it was a Teddy bear I saw in that tree," declared Bobby, pointing. "And it was a live one." The girls--some of them, at least--drew together. "What did you see, Clara?" demanded Nellie Agnew. "A little brown animal----" "A red squirrel!" cried Lance. "Hark!" cried Chet. "I hear him." There certainly did come to their ears a chattering sound. "That's no squirrel," announced Otto. "I haf been hunting enough for them alretty." "No squirrel was ever so noisy as that, Chet," said his sister. "There! I see it again," cried the quick-eyed Bobby. "My goodness, gracious me!" gasped Purt, who was craning his neck to see into the tree tops so that the back of his high collar sawed his neck. "I--I thought it looked like a blue-jay." "Say!" exclaimed Lance. "You're looking in the wrong direction." "It's a monkey!" cried Dora Lockwood, at that moment. "It's Tony Allegretto's monkey," added her twin. Some of the others caught sight of the animal then. It was truly the large monkey the friends had seen only the week before at the amusement park at the other end of the island. "He's run away!" cried Laura. "I hope he has," Dorothy Lockwood said. "That Italian didn't treat him kindly. What was his name?" "He called the monk 'Bébé'," said Lance. "Let's see if he will come down to us," suggested Laura, crossing the hollow. "Now, keep back, the rest of you," commanded Lance. "If anybody can get the little beast, Laura can do it." "Sure!" chuckled Bobby. "Mother Wit can charm either boys, or monkeys--and right out of the trees!" But they gave way to Mother Wit and she went alone to the foot of the tree in which Bébé was swinging. He chattered when she came near, and swung upright on the branch. But he did not appear to be much afraid. Laura found an apple in her pocket, and she offered it to the monkey, calling to him soothingly. Whether his monkeyship was fond of apples, or not, he was curious, and he began to descend the tree slowly. He was dressed in a part of his odd Neapolitan suit; but it was torn and bedraggled. A cord was fastened to his collar, but it had become frayed and so was broken. His queer, ugly face was wrinkled into an expression of doubt as he approached Laura, and his little eyes snapped greedily. The apple tempted him. "Come down, Bébé," coaxed Laura. "Talk Italian to him--he understands that better," giggled Jess. Bébé chattered angrily. "Hush!" commanded Lance. "She'll get him yet, if you'll let her alone." The monkey did seem, when all was quiet, to be about to leap into Laura's arms. "Come, Bébé," she coaxed, and finally the chattering creature timidly dropped from the branch of the tree and snuggled down into her arms, grabbing the apple on the instant and sinking his sharp teeth into it. At the very moment of her success there were crashing footsteps in the bushes and into the opening rushed Tony Allegretto, the monkey's master. "Ah-ah!" cried the Italian, his face glowing and his black eyes snapping. "You try-a to steal-a da monk! Come to me Bébé--or I break-a da neckl!" [Illustration: "AH-AH!" CRIED THE ITALIAN, "YOU TRY-A TO STEAL-A DA MONK!"] He rushed toward the girl holding the monkey. The animal chattered angrily and cowered in Laura's arms. "Hold on," said Chet, stepping forward. "Nobody's stealing your monkey, and don't you say we are. He was up the tree there and my sister got him down for you. I reckon if you treated him half decently he wouldn't run away from you." "You! Ha!" sputtered Tony. "You one o' dem fresh boys, eh? Give-a me da monk!" "Let him have the creature, Laura," said Chet. "He'll beat him. See how frightened poor Bébé is!" "Can't help it," said her brother. "He belongs to the dago----" "Calla me da dago, too!" stammered the angry Italian. "I fix-a you for dis!" and he shook his fist at Chet. "Come on and do your fixing right now," advised the big boy, easily. "You won't find me as easy as Bébé, I bet you!" "You 'Merican boys and girls want to steal my monk--want-a spoil-a da act!" cried Tony. He grabbed Bébé out of Laura's arms, although the monkey shrieked his protest at the exchange. But Tony did not beat the little beast, and it clung to him with one arm around Tony's neck while it finished the apple. "You ought to thank us for finding your monkey for you," said Lance Darby, in disgust. Tony growled something in Italian and started off up the side of the hollow. Before he got out of sight he was joined by a man who stepped out of hiding in a clump of brush. "Did you see that?" cried Lance, eagerly, in Chefs ear. "There's another of 'em here." "Another monkey?" laughed Chet. But Dora whispered to Dorothy: "That man has whiskers. Do you suppose he is our lone pirate?" "I'd like to see this piratical individual you girls are talking about," laughed Laura, who was nearest to the Lockwood twins. At that moment Lance and Chet were walking back toward the entrance to the cave. "Say, old man," Lance asked his chum, "what were you searching that chamber in the cavern for? What did you expect to find?" "I don't know that I expected to find anything," answered Chetwood Belding. "But I'll show you what I _did_ find," and he drew from his pocket an old knife and placed it in Lance's hand. The latter turned it over, and whistled under his breath. "I ought to know this old toad-stabber," he said. "Broken corkscrew--yes; small blade broken short off, too. Why, Chet, that's Short and Long's knife!" "That's right." "And you mean to say you picked it up in the cavern?" "Right in that place where somebody had been camping," declared his chum. "But don't say anything about it. We can't do anything toward finding him with all these girls about. But, later----" "You bet!" agreed Lance. So the boys rather hurried the departure of the crowd for the place where the boats had been left, and where they had lunched. The walk through the cove did not take long, and the party, happy and laughing, crowded out upon the shore of the cove in front of the subterranean passage. Instantly one of the twins drew the attention of all by uttering a startled little scream. "What's the matter with you--er--Sister?" demanded the other Lockwood girl, with a chuckle. "That wasn't the man we saw with Tony!" declared the girl who had cried out. "What man?" "The pirate," said the twin. "How do you know?" demanded Laura, laughing. "For I just saw him again. And he couldn't have gotten through the cave ahead of us." "There are prowlers about," declared Chet to Lance. "What sort of a looking man, Miss Lockwood?" demanded Lance. "Oh, he's all bushy black whiskers and hair. I only saw the upper part of his body again. He dodged down behind that boulder yonder." "Say! the other cave opening is over there," cried Bobby Hargrew. "And that's a fact," admitted Chet. "Let's see if the boats are all right," cried Lance, starting on a run for the landing. "And the rest of the lunch, dear boy!" cried Prettyman Sweet, following him. "Weally, if that has been stolen it is a calamity." CHAPTER XIV THE NEW SHELL The calamity had occurred! Soulful were the wails of Purt Sweet. Not a crumb of food left in the girls' hampers when the party set out through the cave for the middle of Cavern Island was now left to appease Mr. Sweet's appetite. "The lone pirate has done his fell work, sure enough," Laura Belding declared. "And how hungry he must have been, Nellie! He took that pie you made that none of us could eat." They all laughed at this hit, for the doctor's daughter was not much of a pastry cook and her lemon pie had been voted the booby prize at luncheon. "Ooh!" gasped Bobby. "Do you suppose it will kill him? Maybe it will give him such a terrible case of indigestion that he will steal a boat, raise the Jolly Roger again, and go to work making people walk the plank and all that sort of thing--and it will be your fault, Nellie Agnew!" "I'm only afraid he will eat it and die in terrible agony all alone here," wailed Nellie, who could take a joke as well as give one. "And then his ghost will haunt this end of the island----" "And Otto will never come here again," said Eve Sitz, poking fun at her brother, who had once been very much afraid of a supposed "haunt" in an old house in Robinson's Woods. "Never you mind," growled her brother. "There _iss_ ha'ants, undt you will findt oudt so some day--yes!" But Chet and Lance decided that there were altogether too many prowlers at this end of the island for the party to remain longer. Had they been alone, or with the other boys and no girls, they would surely have made an attempt to find the bewhiskered man whom the Lockwood twins had twice seen disappear into the far entrance of the caverns. "We ought to report him to the park police," said Nellie Agnew. "He may steal something more than food, next time." "Leave that to us," said Chet, hastily. "Lance and I will report it in proper time." But to his chum he whispered: "We don't want any police fooling around here. Suppose they found Short and Long?" "Right--oh!" agreed Lance. "Hope they'll all forget it and not mention the 'lone pirate' when they get home." But as events proved, some member of the party mentioned the robbery of the lunch--and in a quarter which brought a search of the eastern end of Cavern Island by the police, a happening that Chet would have given a good deal to avoid. Now, however, Laura's brother was busy inventing something to interest the party, and yet take them away from this end of the island. The twins were discussing with Eve Sitz the advantages of paddling over rowing, when Chet gave a shout which drew all attention to him instantly. "Come on!" said the big lad. "Let's get into the boats. We'll have a four-oared race. I'll choose a crew of boys and let Laura choose one of girls. I bet we boys, using my boat, can row around that channel buoy out yonder and back again, before Laura in Lance's boat can do it. And Lance has the lightest boat." "Done!" cried his sister. "And Lance's boat isn't so much lighter, either. What do you say, girls?" "Let's show 'em!" cried Bobby. "Let me steer, Laura." "All right," said Laura. "And Freddie Ackerman here will steer for us," said Chet. The crews were quickly chosen. Laura took Eve and the twins with her. Chet had Purt Sweet for Number 2 and pulled stroke himself. Lance arranged the start and was referee. "When I slap these two sticks together, you're to go," instructed Lance. "The line is right between where I stand here on this rock and the boulder at the far mouth of the cavern. I can see the whole course from here. Now, no bumping at the turn. The boat that has the inside at the buoy must be cleared by the other boat. Don't forget. Are you ready?" "Oh, wait a minute!" squealed Purt Sweet. "Yes, hold on!" grunted Chet. "Purt's back hair has come down." "I weally will have to remove my waistcoat--if you will allow me?" suggested the exquisite. "It might get splashed." "Go as far as you like," said Lance. "Chuck it ashore here. I'll stand on it so as to see better." But Purt entrusted the precious waistcoat to one of the girls in another boat, and then the two racing boats were brought into line. The referee asked if they were ready again, and, receiving no contrary answer, shouted: "Go!" Chet's crew certainly were a scrub lot, and he did not expect to get much speed out of them; but Otto was a strong oar and had Purt been able to keep the stroke the girls would have made a bad showing to the buoy. Up to that turn the boys kept ahead. Laura set an easy stroke, and found that Eve Sitz was not much inferior to either Dora or Dorothy. "They're going to beat!" gasped Bobby, swinging with the rowers. "Don't let them worry you," advised Laura, between her teeth. "The race isn't done until we cross the line." But in turning the buoy the boys came to grief. Or, rather, Purt Sweet came to grief. He managed to catch a most famous crab, and went over on his back, hitting his head a resounding crack upon the handle of Lance's oar, and waving his long legs in the air. "Now!" cried Laura, increasing her stroke, and the girls' boat went past their opponents' at a fast clip. The boys got together again after half a minute; but those thirty seconds told the story of the race. The best the boys could do brought them across the line several lengths behind. And the whole crowd were shouting with laughter over Purt's mishap. "I wish you'd kept your vest on, Purt," snarled Lance. "There'd been some satisfaction in your getting it wet. My goodness! what a lubber you are in a boat!" "Weally, I couldn't help it, dear boy," sighed Pretty. "Just the same, you crabbed the race," grunted Chet. "Now the girls have put it all over us." And the girls certainly did not spare the boys, and joked at their expense all the way home. But the day was voted a very merry one and Eve and Otto went home in the evening strongly of the opinion that the boys and girls of Central High were a jolly company indeed. Eve promised Laura before she went home that, if she could pass the exams, for junior classes under Principal Sharp, she would surely attend Central High in the fall. "We've got a splendid bit of athletic timber in Eve Sitz," Laura said, discussing the matter with Jess and the Lockwood twins. "I hope she'll take up rowing. We can put her into Celia's place on the eight for next year, and then there will be no danger of Hester Grimes getting it," said Jess, who was very outspoken. "She is better material for stroke than Hester," admitted Laura. "And enough sight better tempered," Dora observed. "You know what Hester is doing now?" demanded Jess, in anger. "What is it?" asked Dorothy. "She is trying to make the other girls think that the Executive Committee only cares about the eight-oared boat race, and that we'll put up no fight for Central High's entries in the other events." "She is going to make trouble if she can," declared Dora. "It isn't so," Laura said, firmly. "There is going to be a fine canoe race--we look to you twins to make good for Central High in that." "We'll do our best," said the twins together, nodding. Aunt Dora did not approve of the twins being on the lake so much; in her girlhood "young ladies" of the twins' age did not row, and paddle, and swim, and otherwise imitate boys. "And I remember that you never were any fun, as a girl, Dora," observed Mr. Lockwood, at the supper table that night, when his sister uttered her usual criticisms of the twins' conduct. "You squealed if you came across a caterpillar, and a garter snake sent you into spasms, and it tired you to walk half a mile, and----" "Thanks be! I was no tomboy," gasped Aunt Dora. "Far from it," said the flower lover. "And mother was always having the doctor for you, and you got cold the easiest of any person I ever saw--and do to this day----" "That is perfectly ridiculous, Lemuel." "I believe you're sitting in a draught now, Dora," said Mr. Lockwood, quickly. "Well--I----Achoo! I believe you! I never did see such a draughty place as this house, Lemuel. Ahem! Dora! get me my little knit shawl, will you, child?" "Oh, yes, Auntie," said one of the twins, as they both rose. "We're both through our suppers, Auntie," said the other. "We'll bring the shawl." "Now!" exclaimed the exasperated old lady, when the twins were out of the room. "Which of 'em went for it?" Her brother shook his head sadly, but his eyes were a-twinkle. "I could not undertake to say, Sister." It annoyed Aunt Dora very much to hear the girls talk continually of the coming Big Day on Lake Luna and the part the girls of Central High would take in the races. And that next week Dora and Dorothy certainly were full of the new eight-oared shell. It arrived at the boathouse early in the week, and proved to be the handsomest shell that had ever been launched in Luna waters. Even the wealthy Luna Boat Club did not own a shell like it. Every other afternoon Mrs. Case allowed the crew to go out for a spin, and Professor Dimp, who coached the boys' crews, looked after the girls' rowing, as well. Some of the girls' parents went down to the shore in the early evening to watch the practice work off Colonel Richard Swayne's estate; but would Aunt Dora go? Only once! By some inquiry she learned that each member of the crew of eight girls had her own particular seat in the big shell. Dorothy was supposed to row Number 2 and Dora Number 6. But the twins sometimes changed seats--and who was to know the difference? Not the coach, for Professor Dimp could tell them apart no better than other people. Had Aunt Dora been sure that her namesake rowed in her right place on the evening when she viewed the practice, she would have met the shell at the landing, seized Number 6 oar, and marched her home and locked her into her own room until tickets could be bought for Aunt Dora's home city. But in their natty-looking costumes the twins looked more alike than ever--were that possible! CHAPTER XV TOMMY LONG HAS A BAD DAY It was all in the papers one evening about detectives from Centerport's police headquarters, aided by the park police, beating the eastern end of Cavern Island, and the caves as well, for poor Short and Long. Reporters had accompanied the expedition; but they rather made fun of the crowd of police searching so diligently for one small boy. It was suggested in the news stories that the efforts of the officers might better be aimed at finding the burglars themselves instead of chasing a frightened youngster who was supposed to have helped the real criminals. The only thing the police succeeded in doing was to pick up two men who were fighting. These were Tony Allegretto, who had a concession at the amusement park, and another Italian. The fight might have been a serious matter had not the police came upon the men when they did. Tony had already drawn a knife. The papers reported that Tony and his monkey were shut up together in the park calaboose waiting for court to sit the next morning. The other Italian had been sent off the island and warned to keep away. But no trace of Short and Long was found during the police search. Mr. Norman, the boat builder, raised the sunken rowboat Billy had borrowed, however, and brought it back to his landing. The Lockwood twins chanced to be passing Mr. Norman's place when the old boat arrived, and they walked down the long dock to look at it. "No sign of anything wrong having happened to little Billy," said Mr. Norman. "He tied this old craft, and she filled after a time and sank, breaking the painter, which was a long one. That's all that happened. I don't care about the boat a mite; I only wish I knew what has become of the poor little chap." "They've just chased him away from home," said Dorothy. "Billy Long never helped those burglars." "Of course he didn't," said Mr. Norman. "That's what _I_ say. Only folks who don't know the boy will say they believe the police." "And don't you believe Billy is over there on the island?" asked Dora. "No. He's got away. He's a sharp boy, Billy is, and next thing you'll hear of him, he'll be off working somewhere and sending his folks home a part of his wages, believe me! I know Billy Long," said the boat-builder. The Longs lived not far from the Lockwood cottage, and the twins went around through their street. This was on one of those rare days when Alice Long, the oldest sister and the "mother" of the Long family, stayed at home from the box factory to "catch up" in her housework. Until Mrs. Long died, two years before, Alice had gone to Central High, too, and she was a smart and intelligent girl. But she was a faithful one, as well, and she kept the home together for Mr. Long and the younger children, despite the fact that she could spend only a day once in a while at home. A younger girl did many of the ordinary household tasks, as well as looking after Master Tommy Long, an active piece of mischief now four years old. As the twins came up the walk before the little cottage they heard Tommy bellowing at the top of his lungs--and they were perfectly sound lungs, too! "What have you got in here--a lion?" asked Dorothy, putting her head in at the open door. "Better say a monkey!" exclaimed Alice, much exasperated. She was just then hustling Tommy across the floor so rapidly that the toes of his shoes scarcely touched the carpet. Upstairs she went with struggling, roaring Master Tommy, and in another moment he was shut into a bedroom and the key turned in the lock. "There!" gasped Alice, coming back and sitting down, after placing chairs for her visitors. "You think I'm rather harsh with the little plague? You don't know what he's done to-day." "Has he been _very_ bad?" asked the tender-hearted Dorothy. "I should say he has!" "What's he done?" demanded Dora. "It has certainly been one of Tommy's 'bad days.' You'd think he was possessed. Poor mother! I can imagine the trouble she used to have with Billy." "But what did Tommy do?" asked Dorothy, bent on trying to plead for the culprit, who was now alternately roaring and kicking the panels of the door upstairs. "One thing he did was to pour sand into my tub of clothes that I had to leave this morning. He called the tub 'Lake Luna' and said he wanted to make an island in the middle of it, like Cavern Island where Billy is hidden." "Oh!" gasped Dorothy. "I had to clean out the tub and rinse the clothes half a dozen times to get the sand out." "But, Billy!" exclaimed Dora. "They say he isn't over at that island." "Well, I wish I knew where he was," sighed the worried sister. Just then Tommy stopped yelling and spoke in a shrill, but perfectly plain tone: "Sis! I'm a-goin' to bust a winder and fall out, I am!" "Oh!" ejaculated Dorothy, jumping up. "He'll be hurt." But Alice put forth a restraining hand to stop her before she could flee to the rescue. "Don't bother. He doesn't want to jump himself. Tommy is bluffing." "Bluffing!" gasped Dora. "Did you ever? I should be scared to death that the little scamp would do it." "I used to be," sighed Alice. "Now I know better. I came to realize that Tommy was taking advantage of my love for him--and he's got to learn better than that." "Isn't he a scamp?" whispered Dorothy. In a few moments, after silence from the "chamber of torture," the shrill voice cried again: "Sis! I've found the matches an' I'm a-goin' to set fire to the curtains--now you see!" The twins gazed upon the calm face of Alice with wide-open eyes. Alice went on talking without showing the first signs of fear that Master Tommy would keep his pledge. She was resting after a hard day's work, and she enjoyed having her old schoolmates drop in to see her. After further silence, the boy's shrill voice took up the cry again: "Sis! don't you smell sumfin burnin'?" "I _do_ believe I smell something burning--cloth, or something," whispered the nervous Dorothy, sniffing. "It's an old black rag I put in the kitchen fire, without opening the damper," said Alice, coolly. "Suppose he _has_ got the matches?" demanded Dora. "There are none in that room," returned Alice, placidly. "Goodness me!" gasped Dorothy. "I wouldn't have a boy around for a farm!" Again came the wail from above: "If you don't smell nothin', Sis, it's 'cause I pulled off all the match heads an' swallered 'em! I'm goin' ter die--I'se p'izened, Sis!" "Why! what a dreadful little scamp he is," gasped Dorothy. Alice jumped up, with her lips set tightly. She ran into the kitchen, from which she returned in a moment with a cup of warm water and mustard. "He's got to be taught a lesson," declared the much troubled sister, with decision, and she marched upstairs. "Now, Tommy, if you have swallowed matchheads, you must take this," declared Alice Long, and when Master Tommy, now rather disturbed by the prospect of the ill-smelling cup, tried to escape, she got his head "in chancery," held his nose until he opened his mouth, and made him swallow the entire mess. It was certainly a bad dose, and its effects were almost immediate and quite surprising to Master Tommy. The twins waited below stairs while the trouble continued; and finally down came Alice with Master Tommy--a much sadder, wiser, and humbled youngster--by the hand. "I--I'm going to be a good boy," announced Master Tommy, making a wry face. "I should think you would," Dora said, trying to be severe. "That's all right," grumbled Tommy, turning to Dorothy for comfort. "I didn't swaller any matchheads." "Why did you say you did?" asked Dorothy. "Just to plague Alice. But I won't do it again. Ugh! that was nasty stuff she gave me. That's what she'd give me if I _was_ p'izened. I don't want to be p'izened," declared the little fellow, frankly. "And you don't want to say what isn't so, either, eh?" queried Dora. "We-ell," said Master Tommy, slowly, "lots of things that _ain't_ so, is better than them that _are_ so. There's fairy stories." "Quite right," said Dora, quickly. "But there's nightmares, too--bad dreams, you know. They are not so, but they aren't pleasant to dream, are they?" "Oh, no!" cried Tommy. "And I had a turrible bad dream--onct! And I was scart--yes, sir! And Billy heard me crying and he took me out of my crib and took me into bed with him." Alice smiled. "I remember Tommy told about that. He said the cats got to fighting and were scratching and biting him." "And Billy woked me up and took me to bed with him," said Tommy, placidly. "I wish Billy would come home again." "When did this happen?" asked Dorothy, quickly, trying to turn the conversation from an unpleasant topic, as Alice's eyes filled with tears. "Just the other night," said Tommy. "But Billy's been away two weeks." "It was jes' afore he went-ed away." "It wasn't long before Billy went," agreed Alice, nodding. "I know when!" cried Tommy. "It was the night afore I felled and scraped my knee on the doorstep." "Why, Tommy!" cried his sister, springing out of her chair. "Are you sure of that?" "Yes'm. I be sure," declared Tommy. "I dreamed the cats were scratchin' me; an' then that very nex' mornin' the old doorstep scratched me!" cried the small boy. Alice turned to her visitors, her face pale in her earnestness. "Oh, girls!" she cried. "I remember that night of Tommy's dream very well. He hurt his knee on Wednesday--the morning following the burglary. Billy took Tommy into bed with him before midnight, and they slept together all night. Doesn't that prove that Billy was not out of the house on the night of the burglary? Doesn't it?" Dora and Dorothy looked at each other, and each slowly shook her head. "Do you suppose the police would accept Tommy's testimony?" Dora asked, sadly. CHAPTER XVI THE CANOE RACE The twins were very sorry for Alice and the other Longs and they did not believe the absent Billy guilty as charged; but who in authority would believe the testimony of such a little boy as Tommy? The fact that Billy had been at home, and in his bed, all the night of the burglary at Stresch & Potter's store was established in the minds of Billy's friends only. The twins saw Chet Belding on the way home and heard some news, after telling Billy's friend of what Tommy had said. "Of course Billy hadn't any hand in that robbery," Chet declared. "But I wish he hadn't run away. Father and Mr. Hargrew say they'd both go his bail. I wish I knew where he was." "Didn't you think he was hiding somewhere on Cavern Island?" asked Dora, shrewdly. "Yes, I did. I found his knife Saturday when we were in that cave," admitted Chet, frankly. "Don't you girls tell anybody. But Lance and I were through all the caverns with a man who knows them like a book--that was after the police searched. He couldn't be found. "Oh, and I say! did you hear about Tony and his monkey?" "We read that Tony had been fighting and was arrested," Dorothy said. "Yep. And it was a near thing he didn't get sent to jail. The judge only fined him. The other man the police drove out of Centerport altogether. They thought he was the worse of the two. And Tony had paid for his concession at the park, and promised to be good. "But the joke of it is," continued Chet, laughing, "the police don't want Tony to tell all he knows. You see, they shut him into the calaboose at the park and when they went to take him across on the boat to court, Tony wasn't there." "He had escaped?" interrupted Dorothy. "That's what," said Chet. "And how do you suppose he'd done it?" "We couldn't guess," cried the girls. "Why, the monkey unlocked the door of the cage and let his master out. The jailer had left the key in the lock while he went to breakfast, and the monkey did the rest. You know, that was one of the tricks we saw him do," continued Chet. "Tony didn't think he had to stay in jail if the door was unlocked, so he walked down to his booth and got his own breakfast. And the police found him there and took him along to court. But they were easy on Tony for fear he would make the park police the laughing stock of the city. Lance and I happened to be over there early--it was when we searched for Billy in the caves--and we saw Tony rearrested." "That Italian must be a bad one," Dora said. "How did he get off?" "Tony said the man he was fighting with cheated him out of his share of some money," replied Chet. "And that man is gone, so who is to know the truth?" The stretch of placid Lake Luna between the boat landing of Central High and the easterly end of Cavern Island was dotted with craft of various kinds and sizes, several afternoons later, when the twins slipped away from Aunt Dora and--with a word to their father in a whisper as to their goal--ran down to the dock and got their canoe into the lake. Aunt Dora was suffering from what she called a "grumbly head"--which meant that she had a mild attack of neuralgia. "But mercy, sirs!" Mrs. Betsey said, in a tone of exasperation rather strange for that dear old lady, "she has a 'grumbly' tongue all the time. I don't know what I shall do about keeping Mary if she stays much longer, girls." "For the good of the family I may have to admit my identity and go home with her," groaned Dora. "No, you sha'n't!" cried her twin. "You shall not be sacrificed. If Mary goes, we'll divide the work between us, and hire a laundress once a week to relieve Mrs. Betsey." "My! what a bright girl you are, Dory," laughed Dora. "You've got it all fixed, haven't you? But what about after-hour athletics? No canoeing, and other fun. We'd have all our time out of school taken up with the housework." "I don't care, Dora!" said Dorothy, firmly. "You could never live with Auntie. Why, she'd nag you to death." "Dear old thing!" sighed Dora. "I wish she could see herself as others see her. How do you suppose papa came to have such a sister?" "He has all the mildness of his generation of Lockwoods, and Aunt Dora has all the militancy." "Oh, see there!" exclaimed her sister. "Hester Grimes and Lily Pendleton out in Hessie's canoe." "That's a fine canoe," said Dorothy. "It's better than ours." "But I believe we can beat them just the same." "I shouldn't wonder if Hessie and Lily were intending to try for the honor of representing Central High in the girls' canoeing contest next month." "I bet you!" returned her sister. "But Mrs. Case and the girls will have something to say about that." "Mrs. Case has our records; but I heard that she will time us all again before the Big Day." "We must do our very best, then," Dora declared, earnestly. "True as you live!" her twin agreed. They launched their canoe, stepped in lightly, knelt on the cushions, and dipped their paddles in the water. The craft shot away from the landing amid the approving remarks of the bystanders. The twins certainly did manage their canoe in admirable style. The rhythm of their bodies, as they swayed to the paddling, was perfect. Their strokes were deep and in unison. The drops that flashed from their paddles as they came out of the water shone like jewels in the sun. The twins had a splendid reach and at every stroke the light canoe leaped ahead and trembled through all its frame. Other boating parties saw them coming and gave the twins a clear way--all but Hester and Lily. They seemed to be waiting, and Hester flung a backward look every now and then as the Lockwood girls drew farther out into the lake. "They're speeding up, too," said Dorothy to her sister. "Let's race them, if they want to," Dora returned. "Who's afraid?" "You know Mrs. Case would rather we did not race crews that intend to compete for the trophies." "We--ell! The lake's free. And we're going the same way Hester and Lily are. If they race us, what's the odds?" Dorothy was just as eager for a trial of speed as her sister. She nodded, and increased the power of her stroke, for she chanced to have the bow. Immediately Hester and Lily redoubled their efforts and the handsome canoe belonging to the butcher's daughter shot ahead at a swifter pace. But the twins were in fine fettle, and their craft gradually crept up on the one in the lead. It was evident to everybody who was near that Hester and Lily were putting forth all their strength to keep the Lockwoods from passing them, and some of the nearby boating parties cheered the race on. Dora and Dorothy kept steadily at work, speaking no word, but gradually increasing their stroke until their craft was fairly flying through the calm water. Hester and Lily were older girls, and heavier; but they hadn't the lithe strength and skill of the twins. Nearer and nearer the latter's canoe drew to Hester Grimes's boat. The twins were breathing easily, but to their full lung capacity, when they drew beside the other canoe; but they could hear Hester pant and Lily groan as they strained at the paddles. On and on crept the second canoe, its bow soon at the middle of Hester's boat. Only a couple of yards divided the contestants. Several four-oared boats and the boys' eight-oared shell kept pace with them, and cheered the race. The twins weaved back and forth like a perfect piece of mechanism. It was a pretty sight to watch them. The paddling of Hester and her chum was more ragged; but they were making a good fight. The twins' canoe, however, continued to forge ahead. There was little doubt that they would soon pass their rivals. And just then Hester uttered an angry cry, dipped her paddle more deeply, swerved her canoe, and its side came directly in the path of the twins' boat. "Look out!" shrieked Lily. "You'll run us down!" And that is what the twins did. Crash went their canoe into that of Hester: both boats tipped alarmingly, and in a moment all four girls were struggling in the lake. CHAPTER XVII MISS CARRINGTON IN JUDGMENT "Oh! Oh! I'm drowning!" shrieked Lily Pendleton. And then the water filled her mouth and she went down with a "blub, blub, blub" that sounded most convincing. Hester was sputtering threats and cries, too, and she paid no attention to her chum, who, although she could swim pretty well, lost her head very easily in moments of emergency. The twins said never a word. They had gone under at the first plunge, but they were up again, shook the water from their eyes, and each took hold of their boat to right it. When Lily screamed and went under, however, the Lockwoods chanced to be even nearer to her than was Hester. "We've got to get her!" gasped Dorothy. "Sure we have!" agreed Dora. And together, leaving their canoe, they dived after the sinking girl. Lily was not unconscious, and the moment one of the twins grabbed her, Lily tried to entwine her in her arms. But thanks to Mrs. Case's earnest efforts in the swimming pool, the twins knew well how to break the grasp of a drowning person, and the girl who had been seized by Lily did not lose her head, but immediately broke the frightened girl's hold and quickly brought her to the surface. Lily was between Dora and Dorothy, and when she had gotten rid of some of the water, and opened her eyes, she became amenable to advice. Together the twins towed her to a launch that came shooting up, and Lily was hauled inboard. Dora and Dorothy were intending to go back and right their canoe; but some of the boys had done that for them, and rescued their paddles and other boat furnishings. "Let us help you in here, young ladies; then we'll go after that other girl," offered those on the launch. "The boys will take the canoes back to the boathouse, and that's where you would better be. There's a cool wind blowing." So the twins hoisted themselves over the gunwale of the launch as handily as boys, and the next time Hester Grimes was dragged in. And a madder girl than Hester it would have been hard to find! "It's all your fault!" she concluded, shaking her sleek, black head at the Lockwood twins. "You bumped right into us." "And you turned your canoe so that we should bump you," said Dora, tartly. "You were afraid of being beaten. I wish we'd smashed your old canoe!" "You'll have to pay for it if it's damaged," declared Hester, nodding with determination. But the boys who brought in the two canoes pricked the bubble of Hester's rage: They told Mrs. Case and the professor just how the trouble had occurred. "You have no complaint, Hester," said Mrs. Case, later. "There are too many witnesses against you. I am afraid you are not over-truthful in this. However, I shall report the four of you for demerits. You had no business to race. I have forbidden it. And you can see yourselves how unfortunate interclass trials of speed may be. Now! no more of it, young ladies!" Hester went off with her nose in the air after somebody had brought her dry clothing from home; but Lily Pendleton was grateful to the twins for helping her. "Though I declare! I don't know which of you to thank," she said, giggling. "And one's just as wet as the other. Anyhow, I'm obliged." "You're welcome, Lily," said one of the twins. "We are sworn to solemn secrecy never to tell on each other; so you will have to embalm us both in your gratitude." Miss Pendleton was not quite all "gall and wormwood," as Bobby Hargrew said Hester was; but the girls of Central High as a whole did not care much for Lily because she aped the fashions of her elders, and tried to appear "grown up." And when she came in from her unexpected dip in the lake it was noticeable that her cheeks were much paler than they had been when she started with her chum in the canoe. Because she had a naturally pale complexion, Lily was forever "touching it up"--as though even the most experienced "complexion artist" could improve upon Nature, or could do her work so well that a careful observer could not tell the painted from the real. The twins went home in borrowed raincoats over their wet garments; nor did they escape Aunt Dora's sharp eyes--and of course, her sharp tongue was exercised, too. "Now!" complained Dora, in their own room, "if our athletic field and the building were constructed, we wouldn't have been caught. Every girl is to have a locker of her own, and there will be dressing rooms, and a place to dry wet clothing, of course--and everything scrumptious!" "Never mind," said her twin. "It's coming. Such fine basketball courts! And tennis courts! And a running track, too! I heard somebody say that they would begin the excavation for the building next week. I tell you, Central High will have the finest field and track and gym in the whole State." "And East and West Highs are just as jealous as they can be," Dora remarked: "They've got to wake up, just the same, to beat the girls of Central High." "Thanks to Mother Wit," added Dorothy. "Yes. We must thank Laura Belding for interesting Colonel Swayne and his daughter in our athletics," agreed Dora. The next morning the twins went to school in some trepidation. There was no knowing what Miss Grace G. Carrington, their teacher, would do about the four girls whom the physical instructor had reported. The Lockwood girls never curried favor with any teacher, save that they were usually prompt in all lessons, and their deportment was good. But even Gee Gee seldom had real fault to find with them. When they came into the classroom before Assembly, however, they found Hester Grimes at the teacher's desk, and Hester did not seem to be worried over any punishment. The twins looked at each other, and Dora whispered: "I bet you she's up to some trick. Trust Hessie for getting out of a scrape if there's any possible chance for it." "Well, I don't see how Miss Carrington can make an exception in her case. All four of us were in it." "All four of us were in the lake, all right," giggled Dora; "but I bet Hessie isn't punished for her part of it." "I declare it was her fault," said Dorothy, hotly. "She turned her boat right in our path." "Wait!" whispered her twin, warningly. Miss Carrington looked upon them coldly, and after they had returned from the morning exercises in the main hall she called Dora and Dorothy to her desk. "Mrs. Case reports your rough and unladylike conduct on the lake yesterday," said the teacher, rather grimly. "Of course, it was out of school hours, but as long as you accept the use of the school paraphernalia and buildings for after-hour athletics, you are bound by the school rules. You understand that?" "Yes, Miss Carrington," said Dora. "But if you will let us explain----" "I have the report," interposed Gee Gee, in her very grimmest manner. "In fact, I consider your running into and overturning the other canoe a very reprehensible act indeed. You might have all been drowned because of the recklessness of you two girls." "But Miss Carrington! it was not our fault," gasped Dorothy. "Your canoe ran the other one down, didn't it?" "But----" "Yes, or no, young ladies!" snapped Gee Gee. The twins nodded. Miss Carrington's mind was evidently made up on this point. "Very well, then. No after-hour athletics for you for a month. That is all," and the teacher turned to the papers on her desk. CHAPTER XVIII MOTHER WIT'S DISCOVERY "And that shuts us out of the races!" Dora broke another rule when she whispered this to her twin as they took their seats. Dorothy was almost in tears. But the twins could not tell the other girls of Gee Gee's proclamation until the first intermission. "She's just as mean as she can be!" proclaimed Bobby Hargrew who, as Jess said, always blew up at the slightest provocation. "Hester did it. She's always doing something mean," declared Jess herself. "Well, there was an infraction of Mrs. Case's rules," said Laura Belding. "But it does seem as though Miss Carrington delights in setting obstacles in the way of Central High winning an athletic event. She is, deep down in her heart, opposed to after-hour athletics." "She's just as much opposed to them," said Dorothy, "as our Aunt Dora." "It's a mean shame!" declared Nellie Agnew, who was not usually so vigorous of speech. "And you see, Hester Grimes and Lily Pendleton aren't penalized," said the furious Bobby. "They have crawled out of it. And I saw the whole race, and know it was Hester's fault that there was a spill." "Let's take it to Mr. Sharp," cried Jess. "That would do no good. You know he will not interfere with Miss Carrington's mandates. She has judged the case to the best of her knowledge and belief," said Laura. "Hester is her favorite," complained Bobby. "And we have no right to say that. She is punishing the twins for breaking a plain rule. If we tried to expose the whole affair, and bring the witnesses to prove our side, we would only be getting Hester and Lily into trouble, too, without making the twins' case any better," said the wise Laura. "They ought to be conditioned as well," declared Nellie, who had a strong sense of justice. "It looks so. But Miss Carrington probably thinks, believing that Dora and Dorothy are at fault for the spill, that the others were enough punished by being swamped. Of course, they should not have raced canoes without the race being arranged by either Mrs. Case or Professor Dimp." "Huh! Old Dimple could come forward and save Dora and Dorothy from the penalty. Why, whatever will we do?" cried Bobby. "It spoils our chance for the cup again." "And it's such a beauty!" sighed Jess Morse. For a week the handsome silver cup offered as a prize to the High School eight-oared crews on the Big Day had been on exhibition in the window of Mr. Belding's jewelry store. Later it would be exhibited both in Keyport and Lumberport for a week each. It was one of the handsomest trophies to be raced for in the coming aquatic sports. "But, see here!" cried Bobby. "Here's another thing. Hester has played her cards well, I must say." "What now, Clara?" asked Nellie Agnew. "Why, Hester and Lily are not conditioned. They can still practice canoeing under the rules. And they will be the best crew for Central High to put forward for the canoe race. Now, what do you think of that?" "And Dora and Dorothy would surely have won _that_ race!" wailed Jess. "Of course, Hessie always gets the best of it!" "I wish we'd smashed her old canoe all to flinders!" ejaculated Dora, desperately. But, "if wishes were horses beggars might ride," as Laura pointed out The milk was spilled. There was nothing to do but to abide by Miss Carrington's decision and help Mrs. Case pick two of the best rowers for the twins' places in the eight-oared shell. And that was not an easy matter, for to arrange a well-balanced crew of eight is not the easiest thing in the world. That very afternoon the physical instructor and Professor Dimp worked out the crew in the new shell with two other girls in the twins' places. Dora and Dorothy would not even go down to the boathouse; they were heartbroken. And Mrs. Case intimated to the other girls that she was very sorry she had been obliged to report the twins' infringement of the rules. Of course, she would not criticise Miss Carrington's harsh punishment; but she would not heed Hester Grimes's request for permission to be "tried out" in the shell. "You are too heavy, Miss Grimes, for either Number 2 or Number 6 oar," said the physical instructor, shortly, and Hester complained to some of the girls who would listen to her that the physical instructor "showed favoritism." "Never mind," scoffed Bobby Hargrew, "you've got Gee Gee on your side. You have spoiled the chance of Central High winning that cup. I wish you went to another school, Hessie. You're never loyal to this one!" Although the girls of Central High were giving so much thought to the coming boat races, other athletics were not neglected at this time, nor were their text books. Indeed, a very wise precaution of the Girls' Branch Athletic League was that which provided that no girl could take part in after-hour athletics, or compete for trophies and pins, who did not stand well in both classes and deportment. That rule was the one that hit the Lockwood twins so hard at this time. And Miss Carrington's harsh interpretation of it caused them much sorrow. The regular school gymnastics, and the like, were all the activities they might indulge in at present, under the league rules. Of course they owned their own canoe and spent much time improving their stroke in a borrowed rowboat. But they were debarred from even the walks conducted by Mrs. Case. There was one scheduled for the following Saturday afternoon, and it promised to be most interesting. Some of the girls were taking botany as a side study, and Mrs. Case was an enthusiastic botanist herself. Therefore a "botanic junket," as Bobby Hargrew called it, was promised for this present occasion. The teacher did not often lead her pupils through the city, if that could be helped; usually the girls rode to the end of some electric car line and there began their jaunt. But this time they gathered at the boat landing where the _Lady of the Lake_ transported visitors to Cavern Island. There were nearly thirty of the girls present, including Bobby Hargrew. Nellie Agnew was eating an apple, but she had only had a few to distribute to her friends who had arrived first, and Bobby missed her share. "Gimme the core!" exclaimed Bobby, grinning in her impish way. "Ain't going to be no core!" quoted Nellie, laughing, as she offered that succulent morsel to a truck horse standing by the curb. "Hah!" exclaimed Bobby, "you're just as generous as Tommy Long." "What has he done now?" demanded Nellie. "He certainly is a little scamp. Just as full of mischief as poor Billy." "Why, Tommy wasn't as generous with some fruit or other that he had, and Alice took him to task for it. She gave him a lecture on generosity. 'I'm goin' to be awful gen'rous with you, Kit,' he told his little sister, Katie, afterward. 'I is always goin' to give you the inside of the peaches and the outside of the owanges!' And that's about your idea of generosity, Nellie," laughed Bobby. Mrs. Case arrived just then and they took the steamer across to the amusement park. But they did not linger. There was a good path through the "woodsy" part of the island, and the party set out on this way almost immediately. There were some open fields on Cavern Island as well as woods, and the superintendent of the park cultivated a little farm. As the party skirted the ploughed fields some crows, doing all the damage they could among the tender corn sprouts, rose and swept lazily across the vista to the woods, with raucous cawings. "Oh, Mrs. Case!" cried Bobby. "What now, Clara?" was the teacher's response. "You know something about birds, don't you?" "A little," replied Mrs. Case, cautiously, although the girls knew that she was really much interested in bird-lore. "Then tell me something I've long wanted to know," cried Bobby, her eyes dancing. "And what is that?" "What really is the cause of the crow's caws?" "A bone in his throat, I expect, my dear," replied the teacher, amid the laughter of the other girls. "But this is a botanical expedition, not ornithological. What was your question about the anemone, Nellie?" They passed the farm and mounted the hillside toward the upper plateau above the caverns at Boulder Head. From this point they could see from end to end of Luna Lake, and the greater part of the island itself. But just below them, on the shore at the foot of the rugged cliff, it was not so easy to see; and, when Laura Belding and Jess, walking with arms around each other's waists, on the very verge of the cliff, heard a sound which startled them below, they could not at first see what caused it. "It was a human voice!" gasped Jess. "Somebody groaning," admitted Laura. "I--I bet it is a ghost, after all," giggled Jess. "Otto Sitz won't want to come here again if we tell him----" "Hush!" commanded Laura. "There is somebody below--in trouble. Wait! Cling to my belt, Jess--and to that sapling with your other hand. Now, don't let me fall." "Go ahead," said Jess, between her teeth, as Laura swung her body out over the brink of the hundred-foot drop. "I can hold you." "I can see him!" gasped Laura, after a moment. "It is somebody lying on a narrow shelf half way down the cliff. It's a boy--yes! I see his face---- "Billy! Billy Long! what is the matter with you, Billy?" she demanded the next moment. CHAPTER XIX THE RESCUE The other girls--and even Mrs. Case--came running to the spot. The teacher kept the other girls back and herself took Josephine Morse's place and gripped Laura firmly as the latter hung over the brink of the cliff. Laura continued to call; but although she thought she had seen the boy on the shelf below move, he did not reply. His face was very white. "He's unconscious! He's hurt!" Laura gasped. "How do you suppose he ever got there?" demanded Jess. "The question is: How shall we get him up?" demanded Mrs. Case, briskly. "I can get down to him--I know I can," cried Laura. "You'll break your neck climbing down there!" declared the doctor's daughter. "I wouldn't risk it." "But he's helpless. He may be badly hurt," reiterated Laura. "My dear! it would be very dangerous climbing down to the ledge," warned Mrs. Case. "And how would you get back?" "But somebody has got to go down to get Billy," declared Laura. "And perhaps moments may be precious. We don't know how long he has been there, or how badly he is hurt." "Laura can climb like a goat," said her chum, doubtfully. "And I'm going to try it If we only had a rope----" "I'll run back to that farmhouse and get a rope--and some men to help, perhaps," suggested Jess. "Good!" exclaimed Laura. "Go ahead, and I'll be getting down to Billy meanwhile." "That would be best, I suppose," admitted their teacher. "But be very careful, Laura." Jess had started on the instant, and her fleet steps quickly carried her out of sight. Laura swung herself down to the first rough ledge by clinging to the bushes that grew on the edge of the cliff. "Oh, perhaps I am doing wrong!" moaned Mrs. Case, at this juncture. "I may be sending her to her death!" "Don't worry!" called up Laura, from below. "It is not so hard as it looks." But there were difficulties that those above could not see. Within twenty feet the girl came to a sheer wall which extended all along the face of the cliff, and fifteen feet in height. It looked for a minute as though she were balked. But a rather large tree grew just above this drop, and its limbs extended widely and were "limber." Laura climbed into this tree as well as any boy, worked herself along the bending limb, which was tough, and finally let herself down and swung from it, bearing the lithe limb downward with her weight. Her feet did not then touch the shelf below, however, and she really overhung the abyss. It was a perilous situation and she was glad that Mrs. Case could not see from above what she was doing. To make matters worse, it was doubtful if she could climb back upon the limb. Muscular as she was, _that_ was a feat that took real practice to accomplish. She swung there, like a pendulum, neither able to get up, nor daring to drop. Suddenly something snapped above her. She cast up a fearful glance and saw that the limb was giving with her weight. Dragged down so heavily, the bark and fibres of the wood were parting. There was already a white gash across the tree-trunk where the limb was attached to the tree. She was falling. The splitting wood warned her that the entire branch was separating from the trunk! With a crash she fell. Fortunately the splitting flung her toward the face of the cliff. She landed upon her feet, and held her position, letting go of the branch, which whirled down the cliff side to the sea. Laura, trembling a good deal, gazed down upon the shelf where Billy Long was. He had not been disturbed, but lay as when she first saw him from the top of the cliff. "But we'll never be able to get up _this_ place," murmured Laura, looking up at the sheer wall down which she had come so perilously. But from this point where she stood to the spot where Billy lay was only a rough scramble. She was beside the youth in a very few moments. Billy lay senseless, the stain of berries on his lips, and one foot drawn under him. When Laura shook him, he moaned. Then she saw that the shoe had been removed from the hurt foot and the stocking, as well. Billy's ankle was painfully bruised and wrenched; it was colored blue, green and yellow, in streaks, and had evidently been bruised for some time. "Billy! Billy!" cried Laura, shaking him by the shoulder. "I--I fell. Oh! Water!" moaned Billy, without opening his eyes. He was very weak, and completely helpless; nor did he regain consciousness. Laura had to await Josephine's return before she could do anything to aid him. Then Jess produced nothing but a clothesline; there had been no men at the farm, and she had taken the only rope they had, and run all the way back. But it was a strong line, and there was more than a hundred feet of it. "You can never raise either of us to the top of the cliff, Mrs. Case," shouted Laura from below. "I am going to take the line, double it, and lower Billy to the shore myself. Somebody can go back to the park and hire that launch that is to let there, and bring it around to this cove. The man will come with it. The rest of you can go through the cave and meet us on the shore, or go back to the park landing." And so it was arranged. Laura, with the expenditure of considerable ingenuity and muscle, got Billy safely to the foot of the cliff, and then worked her own way down by the rope without cutting her hands. She made a sling of her dress skirt in which to lower Billy, and had she not been a very strong and determined girl she would have dropped him. The adventure broke up the walking party for that afternoon; but Short and Long, after being three weeks away from home, in hiding, was returned to his father and sister, and the doctor was called to attend him. He was too weak and confused, as yet, to tell his story. CHAPTER XX BILLY'S STORY The Lockwood twins were among the first of Short and Long's school friends who called at the cottage the following morning for news of the injured boy. The physician had kept even the department store detective at a distance. The latter was an officious individual who would have put Billy in jail at once had he had the power to do so. The regular police, however, seemed to have their doubts about Billy's complicity in the burglary of Stresch & Potter's store, and they kept away from the house, only the patrolman on beat inquiring how he was. As they had promised, either Mr. Belding, the jeweler, or Mr. Hargrew, the grocer, was ready to go bail for Billy Long, if he was arrested. Of course the boy denied the accusation made against him. As little Tommy had said, he was certainly at home all the night of the robbery. Whether any court would accept Tommy's testimony was another thing. Billy admitted helping the surveyors in the lot behind the department store. He understood they were surveying for a railroad siding, not for a new street. Information of such engineers might be had at the offices of one of the railroads entering Centerport--if the surveyors had not been the burglars who later broke into the store and burst the safe. "But those fellows were surveyors, all right, all right," declared Billy Long, weakly. "And they were not the fellows I saw afterward----" "After what, Billy?" demanded Dora Lockwood, eagerly. "Yes; do tell us all about it," urged Dorothy. "I don't know anything about their old robbery," said the boy, angrily. "That man from the store kept coming here and threatening to put me in jail. And I didn't want to go to jail. I guess I wouldn't have had any worse time than I _did_ have. For when Laura found me I hadn't eaten anything but a handful of berries that I could reach on that ledge, for 'most two days!" "Oh, oh! How dreadful!" cried the twins. "Guess I should have died," Billy said, more cheerfully, enjoying the sensation he was creating. "And you bet that stuff I swiped out of your boats last Saturday a week ago, just came in handy." "Oh, Billy! was that you?" demanded Dora. "The lone pirate!" gasped Dorothy. "And all those whiskers----" Short and Long laughed weakly. "That wig and whiskers I had last Hallow E'en; don't you remember? I saw you girls a couple of times, too." "And we saw you and thought you might be one of the robbers, after all." "That's all right; I didn't do any robbing, except of your boats," said Billy. "But there were two fellows over on the island who I believe _did_ rob that store." "No!" cried the girls. "Yes." "Oh, tell us all about it," urged the girls again, just as eager to hear the particulars as though it were a story out of a book. And it _did_ sound like a story; only Billy Long was much too much in earnest to make it up. Besides, he had learned a lesson during his weeks of "hiding out." "I was scart--of course I was," he said. "What fellow wouldn't be? That detective from the store said they'd put me in jail till I'd told--and I'd been tellin' him the truth right along. "So I got up early that morning to go fishing. I knew where the white perch were thick as sprats. I got Mr. Norman's boat; but I knew he wouldn't mind. And I went over to Boulder Head. As I was starting to fish I heard two men talking just in the mouth of the old cavern. They were quarreling. I guess they must have been foreigners; I couldn't understand all they said. But I got enough of their broken-English talk to understand that one of them had hidden some money in a tight-covered lard can, and part of the money the other fellow claimed." Dora pinched Dorothy, and looked at her knowingly. But it wasn't until afterward that Dorothy understood what her twin meant by _that_. "So I got interested in them, believing that they might be the real burglars, and I forgot the boat. When they went away and I went back to the boat, the old thing had filled and sunk. You never could row that boat to the island without bailing her out a couple of times; and I ought to have dragged her ashore. "So I couldn't get the boat up, and I thought I'd stop there. I had some fishing tackle, and matches, and some crackers. I camped in the cave for a couple of days, and had fires, and cooked fish. But, my goodness! fish gets awful tasteless when you don't have any salt and pepper. "There were berries," continued Billy, "and I managed to get along. Then, I washed out my old bait bucket and at night I went down to the pasture of that park superintendent and milked his old mooley cow. I got along. "One of those men was always hanging about in the woods, though, and that kept me scared. But I tried to watch him. Didn't know but he'd go to the place where he'd buried the money in the lard can. But he went off after a while and I didn't see him again. "Then I tried to climb that cliff to get some berries, and I slipped down and twisted my ankle. I guess I'd have starved to death there if Mother Wit han't found me and got me down." This was all Billy's story; but when the twins got out of the house, Dorothy demanded of her sister: "What did you pinch me for? What did you mean?" "You're so slow!" cried Dora, with some disgust. "Those two foreign men Billy heard talking about the money were Tony Allegretto and his friend that the police drove off the island. They weren't the burglars at all!" CHAPTER XXI IN PRACTICE AGAIN All the time the twins had been forbidden to row in the new shell the crew had been getting on very badly. Professor Dimp was hopeless, and Mrs. Case could not find two girls to take the twins' places who worked well with the other members of the crew. Dora and Dorothy could only walk on the bank of the lake and watch the crew struggle to make the time that was its former record. Hester Grimes and her particular friends scoffed at the practice. Hester and Lily paddled almost daily in their canoe, and they seemed pretty sure of being chosen to represent the girls of Central High in the canoe race instead of the Lockwood twins. Aunt Dora wished to know why Dora and Dorothy were not giving so much "precious time," as she expressed it, to athletics as formerly, and the twins had to tell her. "Humph!" was the old lady's comment; but perhaps she did not feel all the satisfaction that exclamation implied when she saw how down-hearted the girls seemed when she walked with them again along the gravel walk that skirted the waterfront of Colonel Swayne's estate. The girls' eight-oared shell was out and the crew were practicing. One of the new girls caught an awful crab and the shell came near being swamped. "Mercy me!" ejaculated Aunt Dora. "Is that the best they can do without you girls to help them?" This rather amused the twins, despite their sore-heartedness; but their aunt really began to "take up cudgels" for them. She objected to the punishment Gee Gee had meted out to her nieces. "I didn't like the looks of that four-eyed teacher, anyway," declared the old lady, with some asperity. "I'm going to see about it. Your father would just let you be driven from pillar to post--he's got no spunk. What you Lockwoods need in this town is a woman in the family!" Dora and Dorothy thought this was only a threat. But Aunt Dora actually appeared at Central High the next morning and obtained an audience with Mr. Sharp, the principal. Whatever she said to him bore fruit in a quiet investigation on the principal's part into the pros and cons of the canoe bumping that had brought the Lockwood twins to grief. He heard the testimony of eye witnesses of the collision--something that Miss Carrington had not done. All that he said to the severe teacher will never be known; but Bobby heard him say for one thing: "Loyalty--even in school athletics--is a very good thing, Miss Carrington. You will admit that, yourself. And these girls are loyal students. I think they have been punished enough, don't you? Besides, I fear the testimony you chanced to hear was prejudiced. This Hester Grimes has been in trouble before for giving untruthful testimony against a fellow-classmate. Am I not right?" "And very honorably she admitted her fault afterward," Miss Carrington declared. "True. But let us not punish these two girls any longer; for Miss Grimes may have a change of heart again--when it is too late." It was with rather ill grace that Gee Gee ever owned up that she was wrong, even on minor points. She therefore simply called the twins to her desk after school, and said: "It has been represented to me that you are needed in these rowing contests for the good of the school. Personally I believe that athletics is occupying the minds of all you girls too much. But as your conduct during the past fortnight has been very good, I will remove the obstacle to your rowing with your schoolmates again. That is all." There was what Bobby called "a regular love feast" at the boathouse that afternoon. It was not practice day; but when Professor Dimp heard of the return of the Lockwood twins to the crew he was delighted. Public interest in Billy Long and his possible connection with the robbery of the department store had rather died out by this time. The friends of Short and Long had rallied around him, and he was not arrested. When his ankle was better he hobbled to school on crutches; but the boys missed him greatly on the ball field. Billy told his chums that he was sure the two men he saw had hidden money somewhere about the caverns of the island; and not only were the boys of Central High interested in this "buried treasure," but their sisters as well. "I tell you what," said Bobby Hargrew, on the Beldings' porch one evening when Laura had been having one of her "parties"; "let's organize and incorporate 'The Central High Treasure Hunting Company, Limited,' and go over to Cavern Island and just dig it up by the roots till we find Billy's treasure in a lard kettle." "Sounds terribly romantic," said Jess Morse. "We had a scrumptious time over there at the other picnic," said Dorothy. "I vote for another Saturday at the caverns, anyway," said Chet. "Me, too," added Lance Darby. "Well, you folks can guy me all you want to," said Short and Long, who was getting about with a cane now instead of his crutches. "But those fellers talked of money, and of burying it in a lard can." "Say!" exclaimed Lance, "a lard can will hold a lot of money." "All right. You laugh. I'm going to have another look for it when I get over there," said Billy. "And I'm with you, Billy," said Josephine Morse, with a sigh. "Goodness me! I need to find a buried treasure, or something of the kind." Jess's mother was a widow and in straitened circumstances, and sometimes Jess was cramped for clothing as well as spending money. She lived at the "poverty-stricken" end of Whiffle Street, just as the Beldings lived at the "wealthy" end. So the party for the next Saturday was made up in this impromptu fashion, without one of the members realizing what an important occasion that outing would prove. It looked to Dora and Dorothy, when they reached home that evening, as though they might have to "cut" the "treasure hunt," however. Aunt Dora had gone to bed quite ill, and before morning Mr. Lockwood telephoned for the doctor. He came and the family was up most of that night. Aunt Dora had caught cold and it had settled into a severe muscular rheumatic attack. The poor lady suffered a great deal during the next few days, having considerable fever, and being quite out of her head at times. She called for "Dora" then, almost incessantly, and no matter which twin responded she declared it wasn't her namesake, but Dorothy, and that they "were trying to fool her!" "And, oh, dear, me," said Dorothy, "I wish we hadn't done it, Dora." "I wish so, too. When I tell her that _I'm_ Dora she doesn't believe me." "Poor Auntie!" sighed Dorothy. "I expect she has had her heart set on taking you home with her." "Yes, it's preyed on her mind." "I tell you what!" ejaculated Dorothy. "What now?" "Let me take your place. I'll go home with her--for a while, at least." "No you won't! I'm Dora. I'll go with her," said the other twin, decisively. "And just think how she went to Mr. Sharp and got us off from Gee Gee's decision." "But you mustn't go with her to stay all the time, Dora. That would kill me!" cried Dorothy. "No. But I'll go a little while this summer. We'll have to do something for her. I expect she's lonely in her big house with nobody but servants." Thus the twins tried to quiet their consciences--they really had _two_ of those unfortunate arrangements. And the consciences would not be quieted easily. The girls ran home from school the next afternoon before they went to the boathouse; and were prepared to cut practice had Aunt Dora needed them. But fortunately the patient was asleep, and the twins hurried down to take their places in the shell. The Big Day was now approaching. There were not many more afternoons on which the girls might practice for the races. "We mustn't disappoint the other girls, and the whole school, and give up the eight-oared shell practice," Dora said to Dorothy. "No; but if Aunt Dora is going to be ill long we will have to give up our canoe work. Let Hester Grimes and Lil Pendleton beat us in that, if they will. Aunt Dora needs us--and we owe her some gratitude, if nothing more," agreed her twin. CHAPTER XXII THE STOLEN SHELL The very next morning Bobby Hargrew came screeching into the rear gate of the Lockwood premises as though she was being chased by a bear. "For the land of pity's sake!" gasped Mrs. Betsey, appearing on the back porch, while Mary put her red head out of the kitchen window, and both of them waved admonitory hands at Bobby to still her shrieks. "What is the matter with that girl of Tom Hargrew's?" demanded the old housekeeper. The twins came flying. Fortunately Aunt Dora was asleep, but they all feared Bobby's calliope-like voice would awaken the patient. "Listen here! Listen here!" cried Bobby, smothering some of the upper register, but still quite "squally" enough, in all conscience, as Mrs. Betsey said. "We're listening, Bobby! Do tell us what it is," cried the twins in unison. "The shell is gone!" cried Bobby. "Gone where?" "What shell?" "Our new shell. And if I knew where it was gone I wouldn't be telling you about how it was stolen, for it would be an old story then," said Bobby, panting. "You don't mean to say that the new shell has been taken out of the boathouse--and a watchman there?" "That's what I mean. It's gone," said Bobby, solemnly. "Mike, the watchman, doesn't know when it was taken. One of the big doors was forced open and our beautiful shell has disappeared. There are two launches out searching the lake for it." "But who would have done such a thing?" cried Dorothy. "And what could be their object?" demanded her sister. "Ask me an easier one," said the grocery-man's daughter. "I only know it's gone, and the intention evidently is to make us Central High girls lose the race." "Oh, who would be so mean?" gasped one of the twins. "There are four other contestants in the eight-oared class," said Bobby, grimly. "You don't believe any of the other girls have stolen the shell?" cried Dora, in horror. "Why, Bobby! how could they do it? And in the night, too?" demanded Dorothy. "I don't say who did it. But it may have been somebody hired to do it by some other crew." "Keyport?" suggested Dora, doubtfully. "They're the very best crew on the lake--next to ours," added Dorothy. "And they probably think themselves the better of the two," said the shrewd Bobby. "I'd suspect either of the other three first." "But it's just awful to suspect any of the other Highs. What a mean, mean trick!" "If they'd only taken the old shell," wailed Dorothy. "That's it. They knew we had little chance to beat them in the old shell. But some spy must have watched us and timed us in the new boat," said Bobby with decision. "And so--it went!" "I can scarcely believe it," sighed Dorothy. "But it must be found before the Big Day!" cried Dora. "I guess that's what all the girls of Central High will say. But Lake Luna is a large body of water, and there are plenty of wild pieces of shore where the shell could be hidden, in the mouth of a creek, or some such place. Or, perhaps it has been removed from the lake altogether. Oh, it may have been already destroyed." "Dreadful!" groaned Dorothy. "And we haven't paid for it, yet," added Dora. The news of the shell's disappearance was well circulated over the Hill before schooltime. The girls of Central High could scarcely give proper attention to their textbooks that morning. Some of the members of the crew actually wept. It was the afternoon for practice, and there were only a few more such opportunities. There was no news of the lost boat when school was out. The police had been notified, and the police launch had taken up the search. The watchman at the boat houses was made to admit that it had been his custom to sleep most of the night. There had never been any robbery of the school boathouses before. But, as Principal Sharp of Central High said, another watchman would doubtless be able to keep awake better than Mike, and the old man received his notice. This stringent measure did not bring the lost shell back, however. Professor Dimp had the girls out in the old shell that afternoon, and although they did their very best, they fell back more than forty seconds in half a mile. And from what they knew about Keyport, the girls of Central High knew very well that they could not afford to drop those forty seconds if they were to win the Luna Boat Club's cup. There wasn't a girl in Central High--unless it was Hester Grimes--who did not consider the loss of the new shell a calamity. Theories of the wildest nature were put forward to explain the robbery. That the shell had been stolen for the sake of profit was hardly likely. Eight-oared shells cannot be pledged at a pawn shop; nor would any other rowing club purchase such a boat without knowing just where the craft came from. Really, Bobby Hargrew's belief that one of the competing crews had caused the shell to be spirited away gained ground among the school pupils as a body. Yet there was no trace of the course of the robbers, and the search of the borders of the lake was fruitless. The newspapers took it up and the theory that one of the competing crews had caused the shell's disappearance was printed. This forced some discussion of the matter before the Board of Education, and the minority which had always been against competitions between the schools gained some strength. Above all, it looked bad for the Central High crew. They all knew in their hearts that with the heavy and lubberly old shell which was left them, they could not win the race on the Big Day. This thought took the heart out of them and on Friday afternoon, when they practiced, their showing was even worse than it had been before. Saturday the "Treasure Hunters" had their outing at Cavern Island. They went in several small boats, and the twins, finding Aunt Dora much improved (or seemingly so) joined the party at the last moment and paddled their canoe with the rest. "Oh, my, my!" cackled Lance Darby as he slid into a seat in Chet's boat that Josephine Morse had been about to take. "Awful accident on the Lake! Terrible Catastrophe While Boating on Luna! Lady had Her Eye on a Seat and a Gent Sat on It! My, my!" "You needn't think you're so smart," returned Jess. "Now you're there, you can row--both you and Chet. Laura and I will sit here in the stern and watch you both work. Work is good for boys, anyway." "Yes," growled Chet. "It's like what they say about the fleas on dogs. A certain number of fleas are good for a dog; helps him keep his mind off the fact that he _is_ a dog!" Short and Long balanced the big boat by sitting in the bow, and the fleet got under way. "We're going right to Boulder Head, aren't we?" demanded Short and Long. "Is that where the treasure is buried?" asked Laura, laughing. "It's somewhere around there; or in the caves. You folks can laugh," said Billy, "but those foreigners talked enough English for me to understand that the money----" "In a lard kettle," put in Bobby, chuckling. "In a lard can," corrected Billy, "was hidden on the island, and was not far from the caves." "Maybe when the man you said was hanging around so long disappeared, he took the treasure with him," laughed Dorothy Lockwood. "And I bet I know who the two men were whom Billy heard quarreling over a lard can," cried Dora. "You know, do you?" demanded Billy. "Well, who were they?" "Tony Allegretto and the man the police found him fighting with," said Dora promptly. "Great Scott!" gasped Chetwood Belding. "Do you hear that, Lance?" "Never thought of 'em!" answered his chum. "Buried treasure, too!" said Chet, thoughtfully. "Tony said they were quarreling over money." "There is something that needs looking into about Tony Allegretto," declared Mother Wit, seriously. "Don't you think so, Chet?" "It might be well to find out what the money was, and where they got it to quarrel over," agreed Chet, slowly. "Pirate gold, of course!" laughed Bobby Hargrew, from another boat. "Don't spoil all the romance of this treasure hunt by suggesting that the buried loot is merely the proceeds of the sale of a banana stand that the two Italians owned in partnership." CHAPTER XXIII BILLY'S GREAT DIVE But both Chet and Laura Belding were thoughtful for the rest of the way to the island. The others seemed to see nothing significant in what Billy had said about the two Italians, or the suggestion the twins had made that the quarreling men were identical with Tony Allegretto, the trained monkey's master, and his fellow countryman, whom the police had driven away from Cavern Island. "We ought to find some clue to the buried treasure, something like Poe's 'Gold Bug,'" suggested Nellie Agnew. "Sure!" cried Lance. "So many fathoms from a certain tree with arms like a gibbet, on a line with a stone on which is scratched the outline of a skull. Then dig straight down--so far--till you strike----" "A lard kettle!" cried Jess. "Sounds just like Poe, doesn't it?" "Just like Poe's ravin'," chuckled Bobby, the only one who dared make such an atrocious pun. They piled out of the boats at the usual landing and Billy took them to the several "hide-outs," or camps, he had found while he was living like a castaway on the island. The twins were as eager to see Billy's camps as anyone; the big boulder before the mouth of the farther cavern, into which they did not dare to venture without a guide, had been the boy's lookout. That was where he was perched in his wig and whiskers when Dora and Dorothy had first seen him and nicknamed him "the lone pirate." "And how under the sun did you chance to have that Hallow E'en disguise with you, Billy boy?" demanded Dora. Short and Long grinned. "I didn't know but one of those fresh detectives was hanging around the house when I went off fishing that morning; so I put on the wig and whiskers before I slid down the woodshed roof." "By jolly!" laughed Lance. "You must have looked like a gnome when you went through the streets." "Nobody saw me. It was before sun-up," said Billy. Dorothy had scrambled to the top of the big rock. Suddenly she uttered a loud screech. "What's bit you now?" demanded Chet, starting up. "Oh! my trophy pin! It's dropped off my blouse directly into the water. Oh, dear me! I won that in the relay races this spring." "And the water's deep there," declared Bobby. "It's a regular diving hole." "Now, you've lost it!" cried Dora, sadly. "But you can wear mine sometimes." "Don't you fret, Miss--which is it, Dora, or Dorothy?" demanded Billy. "I'm Dorothy," admitted the twin in question, climbing sadly down to the shore again. "That's all right, Dorothy," said Short and Long. "Leave it to me. I put my bathing trunks in my pocket and while you girls are spreading the luncheon over yonder I'll dive and see if I can get the pin. It's some muddy down there, I guess; but I can stay under water nearly two minutes--can't I, Chet?" "So you have, Billy. You try it. And if you can't, maybe Lance or I can get it." Billy retired into the nearest cave to remove his clothing and the girls returned to the landing. In five minutes Billy made a famous dive into the deep hole under the boulder. He did not stay down two minutes, for Lance timed him. And he came up without the pin, but when he got his breath, he gave voice to a shout that started the echoes. "What's the matter with you, Billy?" demanded Chet. "I've found it!" cried the small boy. "Good! give it to me and I'll run with it to Dorothy," said Lance. "Oh! I haven't found her old pin," said Billy. "What's the matter with you, then?" demanded Chet. "You said you'd found it." "And so I have," proclaimed the diver. "Then hand it over," said Lance. "But it's down there--and it's hitched to a chain," gasped Billy. "What are you talking about?" cried both his boy friends together. "_I've found the lard can!_" shrieked Billy, dancing up and down on the rock. "Great Scott!" spoke Chet, staring at him. "You don't mean it?" cried Lance. "The lard can with the money?" demanded Chet, shaking the smaller boy by the arm. "How do I know whether there is money in it or not?" returned Billy. "Lemme find where the end of that chain is hitched, and we'll drag it out of the mud and see." "Say! Talk about treasure hunting!" gasped Lance. "This beats 'em all!" Splash! went Billy again into the water, like a huge frog. In a minute he was at the surface again, with the end of a trace chain in his hand. "Catch hold here, fellows, and pull!" he gasped. Chet and Lance obeyed. With a strong heave they brought the weight ashore. It certainly _was_ a lard can; but the cover was soldered on. "How we going to cut it open?" demanded Lance, eagerly, as Billy crawled out on shore again. "We're not going to open it," declared Chet, decisively. "This can is going directly to police headquarters. And all of us want to keep our mouths close shut about it until the police have examined the contents." And this he impressed rigidly upon the rest of the party when Billy had dressed and the three boys went back to the landing. Unfortunately Dorothy's pin was not recovered. But, as she said herself, she didn't mind that, seeing that her loss of the pin brought about the discovery of the buried treasure. "It beats Captain Kidd, and 'Treasure Island,' and Poe's 'Gold Bug,' all rolled into one!" declared Bobby, as a final comment upon the whole adventure. The party was eager to get across to the city again and deliver the sealed can to the authorities. So the picnic was considerably shortened. Nevertheless, the Central High Treasure Hunting Company, Limited, was pronounced an overpowering success! CHAPTER XXIV THE BIG DAY But the boys and girls of Central High learned nothing that day about the contents of the sealed lard can. Whatever was discovered inside it the police kept very close about. Chet had a private interview with the Chief of the Centerport Bureau of Detectives, and so did Billy Long. Short and Long wished that he could get through with police interference in his affairs, and grumbled some; but the detectives treated him pretty nicely this time, and the two boys went home wondering what would be the outcome of the "treasure hunting expedition." "Just the same, we found something!" ejaculated Chet. "And it is important, I feel sure." "Wish it was the money stolen from Stresch & Potter. The firm has offered five hundred dollars reward for the recovery of the money and the apprehension of the burglars," said Short and Long. "Say! that would be great for you," his friend said. "Wouldn't it?" "We'd take Alice out of that factory and let her finish High," said Billy, quickly. "That's what we'd do at the Long domicile." "I hope it _is_ the stolen money, then," said Chet. "Hot chance of that," scoffed Billy. "Those fellows that 'burgled' the store got away weeks ago and have probably spent the money by this time." The discovery of the sealed can on the island did not banish from the minds of the girls of Central High, however, the mystery of the stolen shell. This was a tragedy that loomed bigger and bigger as the day of the races approached. And it was very near now. The twins were delighted to be able to row with their mates on the eight-oared crew; but like the other members, they were quite hopeless of winning the race if they had to use the old boat. "Somebody who owed us a big grudge turned that trick of stealing the shell," Bobby Hargrew declared, again and again. "But we never did anything to the crews of the other schools to make them hate us so," cried the doctor's daughter. "Only threatening to beat them in the race," said Laura, doubtfully. "That shouldn't be a sufficient reason for them to hate us," one of the Lockwood twins declared. "It does just seem as though it was done out of spite." "And who's so spiteful toward the Central High eight?" demanded Bobby, keenly. "Now, Bobby!" cautioned Laura. "That's all right, Mother Wit. You see the point just as clearly as I do," declared Bobby. "You know who's been 'knocking' our crew all the time----" "Why--you don't mean----" began Jess, in wide-eyed wonder; but Laura said: "Hush! Don't say such a thing. We must not accuse people without some ground for suspicion." "How much ground do you want--the whole earth?" snapped Bobby, in deep gloom. So the name of the suspected culprit was not mentioned; but the little coterie of friends looked wisely at each other, and nodded. For, you see, when a girl is disloyal to her school and classmates, how can they help suspecting her if evil should arise? A girl who will not accept the decision of the majority in school affairs, who scoffs at the efficiency of the various athletic teams--who never will be contented unless she is in the lead of everything--can neither be popular nor trusted. Disloyalty is a crime that every right-minded person abhors; and although these girls did not mention the name of the person they suspected, all realized who was meant when Bobby said: "Well, the time is coming when she'll fly her kite too high! Everybody will see what she is, and then she'll never be able to fool anybody again--neither teachers, nor students of Central High. That's one satisfaction." "And yet, not very satisfactory at present," returned Laura Belding, thoughtfully. "Put on your thinking cap, then, Mother Wit, and catch her," said Bobby, in a whisper. "You did it before, you know." The parents of some of the girls were intensely interested in the outcome of the races on the Big Day, too; and somebody with influence had induced the Chief of Police to put detectives on the trail of the lost shell. This, however, beside a search of the lake shore by the police launch, as already reported, did nothing toward uncovering the hiding place of the shell, or the identity of the thieves. It seemed ridiculous to suppose that one girl--no matter how spiteful she might feel--could have accomplished the crime of stealing the eight-oared shell alone. Yet Bobby Hargrew's insistence had impressed Laura Belding. Perhaps, too, the fact that the other girls of Central High expected something brilliant in the way of detective work from Mother Wit spurred the jeweler's daughter to attempt to find the lost shell. Instead, she attempted to make the guilty person return the new boat in time for the boat race. And to do this she tried a scheme that might have been fruitless had the culprit not been an amateur in deceit and wrongdoing. No real thief would have fallen into Laura Belding's trap. She caused to be printed and posted upon the bulletin boards all over the Hill section of Centerport a quarter-sheet handbill which read in part that the person having caused the disappearance of the new eight-oared shell belonging to the Girls' Branch Athletic League of Central High was known, and that person would be publicly exposed if the shell was not returned, or the place of its hiding revealed, in season for the races. And she signed the bill with Professor Dimp's name, he having agreed to lend it for the occasion. This was not many hours before the dawning of the day of the races; but Laura saw to it that the way to and from school for the person suspected was fairly plastered with those notices! Printed in their black type, they could not fail to be seen by the right eyes. "What do you expect will come of _that_?" demanded Chet, rather inclined to scoff at his sister's plan. "I hope it will cause a change of heart on the part of the person guilty of the outrage," declared Laura, laughing. "Huh! If I knew who it was that stole the shell I'd go to 'em with a policeman." "And then it would be denied, and we'd never get our shell back in time. We don't know where it is," said Laura. "And you evidently don't know just who is guilty," responded Chet. "Moral certainty would not hold good in court," his sister returned, slily. "Bet you nothing comes of it!" growled Chet. But Laura would not wager anything with him. Perhaps she was not very certain in her own mind, at that, that she had gone about the matter in the right way. The night before the Big Day arrived, and nothing was heard of the shell. The girls were hopeless. Even Bobby lost her last atom of cheerfulness. They were confident that, if they had to row in the old boat, Keyport, at least, would beat them in the race. But when the new watchman opened the boat-House doors early on the morning of the race day he found pinned to the door a paper which bore in scraggly lettering this admonition: "_Look under the east float._" He proceeded to do this at once; and there was the shell, missing for so many anxious days, somewhat scraped by being washed by the current against the timbers underneath the float, but otherwise quite fit for use! All the girls of Central High did not hear this welcome news until noon, when the schools of Centerport let out for the day. The afternoon was to be given up to the aquatic contests, and troops of boys and girls, as well as grown folks, went to the shore, or crowded the boats that were stationed along the racing course. After all the Lockwood twins did not have to give up the canoe contest. Aunt Dora would not hear of their losing practise; and she was so much improved that Mr. Lockwood hired an easy carriage and took her to the races that she might see Dora and Dorothy do their best to win both the canoeing and eight-oared trophies. "They are real good girls, after all, Lemuel," said Aunt Dora, reflectively. "Now both of them have offered to go home with me." "No!" cried the flower lover. "I can't spare them, Dora." "I know you can't," admitted his sister, rather mildly for her. "And although they only said they would come to me for a little while, one at a time, I am not going to accept their sacrifice. I see plainly how much they are to each other--and to you. I guess they are yours, Lemuel, and if you have made mistakes in bringing them up, they are too sweet of disposition naturally to be spoiled by your foolishness. "No," said Aunt Dora, conclusively, "the place for Dora is with Dorothy, and the place for Dorothy is with Dora. Besides," she added, "it would certainly trouble me to have them about I never _could_ be sure whether my namesake was visiting me, or the other one!" CHAPTER XXV THE RACE IS WON Lake Luna was a blaze of glory between Centerport and Cavern Island--the June sunshine over all and every boat along the racing course bright with pennants and streamers. The two fussy little launches bearing the officers who managed the races puffed up and down the open water, and the big police launch kept the spectators' boats back of the line. Ashore the highlands were black with spectators, while the driveway was crowded with vehicles of every description. Keyport and Lumberport had been drawn upon to swell the crowds of lookers-on. The railroads and steam-boats had brought crowds to the race. It was indeed a gala day. Promptly at one o'clock the events began. The trial of speed between the boys' eight-oared shells was the first of the juvenile contests, and these latter trials gained almost as much interest from the crowds as did the first races. The boys of Central High, with Chet and Lance and six others at the sculls, and Short and Long to steer, pulled a splendid race, and came in second--the junior crew of the famous Luna Boat Club being the winner. At least the boys of Central High won over the crews of all the other high schools on the lake. The canoe race was a mixed event, for there was no sex limitation in canoeing. The Lockwood twins had been chosen, after all, to represent Central High, and Hester Grimes and Lily Pendleton were not even among the spectators at the races. They had accused Mrs. Case of "favoritism," although their record for speed was much below that of the twins. Dora and Dorothy did their very best; but they could scarcely expect to win over all comers in this race. Like the boys' eight, however, they came in ahead of all the other school crews, being Number 3 at the finish. The race was won by grown men belonging to the Luna Boat Club. After that the interest centered in the trial of speed between the girls' eights of the five high' schools. They had already been flashing about the lower course, "warming up," and as the five came into line at the signal of the starter, they presented a pretty sight. Blue and white and crimson and white were the prevailing colors of the girls' blouses and skirts; but the East High girls wore black and gold. Blue blouses and skirts, with narrow white trimming, was the costume of Central High, and the nine girls in the graceful, polished cedar shell were cheered again and again as they came opposite the grandstand and boathouses. There was Colonel Richard Swayne, who used to be so much opposed to girls' athletics, waving his cap, his bald head shining in the sun. And Principal Sharp was beside him, likewise cheering for his own crew. Back on the driveway Aunt Dora actually stood up and waved her umbrella in recognition of the twins as the shell belonging to Central High came easily to the line. There were Laura's and Chet's parents, too, in the automobile; with Mrs. Morse and the doctor's wife; and even Alice Long, with Tommy, the irrepressible, and Katie and May, were all there, shouting and waving handkerchiefs, all hoping that the girls in the eight-oared shell would notice them. Eve and Otto Sitz had ridden in to view the race; but they were in Prettyman Sweet's repaired launch, and Laura could hear the voice of the Swiss girl calling to her. The twins saw Aunt Dora and their father standing up in the carriage; but it was against the rules for the participants to notice the cheering crowd. "Eyes in the boat, girls! Make ready!" snapped Bobby, bending forward in her seat. "He's getting ready to fire that pistol." Celia Prime settled herself for the first stroke. "All ready?" she asked, and the girls behind her--Jess Morse, Dorothy Lockwood, Mary O'Rourke, Roberta Fish, Nellie Agnew, Dora Lockwood and Laura Belding--all murmured their acquiescence. The starter looked along the line of shells and got a nod from each coxswain. The pistol spoke, and "They're off!" shouted the crowd. Like five huge water-spiders, the eight-oared shells darted along the course. With a strain and a heave at the end of every stroke, the boats were propelled in a magnificent burst of speed. For some rods there was scarcely any difference in the standing of the five crews. Then, as in old times, Keyport drew ahead. "Hang to 'em! Like bulldogs!" shouted Bobby Hargrew through the megaphone she wore strapped to her mouth. Instantly Celia stretched out a little more and the clack of the oars in Central High boat sounded quicker. The new shell sped on and its bow was almost instantly at the stern of Keyport's boat. Behind, the other three crews were spread out badly. Only Lumberport was coming up at all. East and West Highs were no-where from the start. The Keyport crew were pulling with all their might and main then, and they were still a long way from the line. "Steady!" said Celia, through her teeth. "This will pass them." Bobby gave the order to increase the stroke. The crew of Central High responded nobly. The bow of their boat crept up, slowly but surely, along the side of the Keyport craft. They could have passed the rival boat more quickly; but Celia was holding back reserve force for a spurt if such a thing became necessary. The twins' toughened muscles did not feel the strain at first; but before the end of the course was sighted they were working blindly, like the other girls--mere pieces of mechanism engaged in a task that, as it continued, became a punishment! But that was what all the long weeks of practice and exercise had been for. Their bodies had learned to endure strains like this--and their wills, too. The crowds in the boats and along the banks had never ceased to cheer and shout encouragement to their favorite crews. The race ended in a whirlwind finish, for Keyport endeavored to rally at the last. But then Central High with their new shell were a boat's length ahead, and they had kept that lead until they crossed the line. Central High had won! The race had been a better one than that rowed a few weeks before between the same crews. The beautiful cup presented by the Luna Boat Club would have the place of honor in the Girls' Branch Athletic League house, when the latter structure was completed. "We sha'n't have a chance to row with you infants again," said Mary O'Rourke, one of the seniors, who would be graduated from Central High in a few days; "but see that you do as well next term." "And keep all friction out of the crew,'" advised Celia, as they pulled easily back to the boathouse. "That means keep out Hester Grimes," said Bobby, _sotto-voce_. "We want to keep her out of all athletics if we are to win over the other schools. She'll queer our basketball team next." Whether Bobby's prophecy was correct, or no, must be judged by the perusal of the next volume of this series, entitled "The Girls of Central High at Basketball; Or, The Great Gymnasium Mystery." When the crew of the eight-oared shell reached the boathouse they learned of a happening which interested them deeply. The minute the boys' eight-oared shell of Central High had come in, a policeman had beckoned Chetwood Belding and Billy Long away. The boys were highly excited by this incident, and naturally their girl friends were, too. But it was not until the last event of the day had been decided and the crowd of spectators had broken up and gone their ways that the young folk learned the mystery. Chet and Billy had been called to the Detective Bureau, where the chief met them with rather a severe countenance. "So you two boys had no idea what was in that lard can you brought in here the other day?" he demanded. "No, sir," said Chet, manfully. "Billy heard those two men talking about it. And he found it. He says he thinks there is money in it." "And I should say there was!" ejaculated the police detective, with disgust. "Those Italians had us all fooled. We got the big fellow, who was sneaking back to try and get on the island again, and of course Tony Allegretto and his monkey has always been right under our eyes. "By the way, Master Long!" "Yes, sir?" answered Billy, wondering what was coming. "You said you thought those men surveying back of Stresch & Potter's the day before the burglary, were working for the railroad?" "That's what I thought, sir. I gathered it from what they said." "And so they were. They were from the engineer's office of the C, P. & L. We found 'em. They had nothing to do with the robbery." "I didn't think they had. These two dagoes know about the robbery, though!" exclaimed Short and Long, his eyes twinkling. "I guess they do! I guess they do!" repeated the detective. "And the money stolen from Stresch & Potter was in that soldered can. We got it. We got the men. And the five hundred dollars will be divided between this office and you boys." "Not me!" cried Chet. "It belongs to Billy. He dived and found the can. And--and I rather think he's paid for his reward by what he went through over there on Cavern Island." "Perhaps that's so," said the official, chuckling. "But tell me, sir!" cried Billy, eagerly, "who got through that little window and opened the door for the Italians?" "Ha! that puzzled us a bit until one of our sharp young men watched Tony putting that monkey of his through its tricks. Then we all saw a great light." "Great Scott! And so do I see a light!" cried Chet. "Me, too," grumbled Billy. "But why didn't I guess it before and save myself all that trouble I had?" "The monkey is the guilty party," said the detective. "The bigger Italian is a famous safe-cracker. He hired Tony Allegretto and his monkey to help him get into the building, and to watch outside. Then the two men quarreled as to the division of the loot after it was hidden. But they are both in jail, now--and the monkey, too. But Mr. Monk will never have a chance to open his master's cell-door again. Now, you'll hear all about this later, boys, and you will both have to testify when the case comes to trial. That's all." "Huh!" exclaimed Short and Long, as he went away with Chet, "looks like as though! everybody had the laugh on me--eh?" "How's that?" queried Chet, in some surprise. "Why, I needn't have made such a Jack of myself as to run away and hide over there on the island. Father's said a-plenty to me about it. He says that any boy who runs away instead of, facing the music makes himself appear guilty right at the start." "Well--I--don't--know," said his friend, slowly. "Certain sure you worried your folks a whole lot--and worried your friends, too." "I never thought of that." "I s'pose not. That detective chasing you up so, was what scared you." "And you'd have been scared, too. He said he could put me in jail. Now, I'd just as soon be half starved over there on Cavern Island as to be in jail," declared Billy, with conviction. "Say! One thing you got out of it young fellow," said Chet, suddenly, with a laugh. "And you wouldn't have got that if you hadn't run away." "Oh! do you really think they'll give me part of the reward?" "Of course they will. They'll have to. Father will have his lawyer 'tend to that for you, Billy. The police sha'n't cheat you out of your rights." "Then," cried Billy, delight showing in his face. "I tell you what's going to happen if I get all that money." "What?" asked Chet, curiously. "Alice is going back to Central High to finish out her last year. You know, she would have graduated two years ago this June if it hadn't been for her having to stay home to 'tend to the kids. She shall come back. I know she wants to be a teacher, and without her High School certificate she cannot go to Normal." "Well, you're a good kind of a kid, after all, Billy," said Chet Belding. "Even if you are full of tickle," and he grinned at the small boy. "Thanks," sniffed Billy Long. "Did you think that nobody but _you_ appreciates a good sister? Lemme tell you, Mother Wit isn't the only girl around these corners that's as good as any boy alive!" Chet laughed aloud at this. "That's sure a backhand compliment," he said. "Most of the girls of Central High think they're a whole lot better than the boys." "And gee! Ain't they?" rejoined Billy, with feeling. They were back at the landing in time to escort the winning girls' crews up to the athletic field and listen to the speeches. Colonel Swayne made the best one of the day, and certainly the one that was most appreciated by the girls of Central High when he announced that the contracts for the building of the new gymnasium were closed and that the building was bound to surpass anything of the kind in the State. "And I declare you deserve it!" said Colonel Swayne, in conclusion. "You certainly are the finest class of girls I ever did see. You are not like what girls were when I was a boy--I must say that. But, I guess different times breeds different folks. It must be all right for girls now to be athletic and be able to row like boys, and play ball, and all that. "And I certainly was proud that I lived on the Hill to-day, and that my neighbors' daughters were such strong and healthy young ladies. It has been the greatest day we've seen on Lake Luna for many a year. I'm proud of you all!" There was a reception that evening at the chapter house of the M. O. R.'s, Central High's very popular secret society, and the girls who had taken part in the aquatic events were feasted and made much of by the members of the society and the teachers and friends invited for the occasion. It was a very Happy time for the girls of Central High. Even Miss Carrington was in an especially gracious mood; but Aunt Dora, who had come with the twins, refused to speak to "that four-eyed teacher." Bobby Hargrew was there, although she could never hope to be a member of the M. O. R.'s herself, unless she changed her mischievous ways. "But," as Laura quoted, "can the leopard change his spots?" "He most certainly can--unless he goes dead lame," cried Bobby, grinning. "You wait till I'm a junior! I'm going to make the M. O. R.'s and be Gee Gee's prize scholar next year." "Better practice a little now, Bobby," advised Nellie Agnew. "Then it won't come so hard to begin in September." Dora and Dorothy went home early from the "party" with Aunt Dora. The old lady was still afraid of the night air. "And I'll come to see you--for a while--right after graduation," Dora said to her aunt, cheerfully. "And then Dorothy will take my place----" "No. You can both come--come together. I couldn't stand you more than a week at a time, I'm sure," said Aunt Dora, with a sigh. "You girls of the new generation are too much for me; though I must admit that you are pretty nice girls, at that! But your father needs you most of the time--needs you to help him cultivate that seedless watermelon, I expect! "Girls aren't what they were when _I_ was a girl. You twins don't know how to knit, or to make tatting, or to embroider. It seems a shame--for you'll never have any tidies for your chairs in your house. "But I must admit that you are well and strong, you two girls. And your ma was that delicate! For those that like 'em I s'pose these athletics are good. I only hope we won't have women pugilists and seven-day bicycle riders! "When girls like you and your friends race in boats and--ahem!--I hope you won't let any club of girls from the other High Schools take that handsome silver cup away from you, girls," concluded Aunt Dora, with sudden asperity. "That _would_ be a pretty dido, I must say! Don't you let me hear of its passing out of the possession of the girls of Central High." "We'll do _our_ best, Auntie," replied Dora and Dorothy, their bright eyes dancing at the good old lady's emphasis. THE END BY GERTRUDE W. MORRISON THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH SERIES THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH Or, Rivals for All Honors THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON LAKE LUNA Or, The Crew That Won THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH AT BASKETBALL Or, The Great Gymnasium Mystery THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON THE STAGE Or, The Play That Took the Prize THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON TRACK AND FIELD Or, The Champions of the School League By LAURA LEE HOPE AUTHOR OF THE EVER POPULAR "BOBBSEY TWINS BOOKS" THE OUTDOOR GIRLS SERIES These tales take in the various adventures participated in by several bright, up-to-date girls who love outdoor life. They are clean and wholesome, free from sensationalism, absorbing from the first chapter to the last. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS OF DEEPDALE Or Camping and Tramping for Fun and Health. Telling how the girls organized their Camping and Tramping Club, how they went on a tour, and of various adventures which befell them. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT RAINBOW LAKE Or Stirring Cruise of the Motor Boat Gem. One of the girls becomes the proud possessor of a motor boat and at once invites her club members to take a trip with her down the river to Rainbow Lake, a beautiful sheet of water lying between the mountains. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A MOTOR CAR Or The Haunted Mansion of Shadow Valley. One of the girls has learned to run a big motor car, and she invites the club to go on a tour with her, to visit some distant relatives. On the way they stop at a deserted mansion, said to be haunted and make a most surprising discovery. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A WINTER CAMP Or Glorious Days on Skates and Ice Boats. In this story, the scene is shifted to a winter season. The girls have some jolly times skating and ice boating, and visit a hunters' camp in the big woods. THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN FLORIDA Or Wintering in the Sunny South. The parents of one of the girls have bought an orange grove in Florida, and her companions are invited to visit the place. They do so, and take a trip into the wilds of the interior, where several unusual things happen. * * * * * THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SERIES The adventures of Ruth and Alice DeVere. Their father, a widower, is an actor who has taken up work for the "movies." Both girls wish to aid him in his work. At first, they, do work in "parlor dramas" only, but later on, visit various localities to act in all sorts of pictures. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS Or First Appearance in Photo Dramas. Having lost his voice, the father of the girls goes into the movies and the girls follow. Tells how many "parlor dramas" are filmed. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT OAK FARM Or Queer Happenings While Taking Rural Plays. Full of fun in the country, the haps and mishaps of taking film plays, and giving an account of two unusual discoveries. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SNOWBOUND Or The Proof on the Film. A tale of winter adventures in the wilderness, showing how the photo-play actors sometimes suffer. The proof on the film was most convincing. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS UNDER THE PALMS Or Lost in the Wilds of Florida. How they went to the land of palms, played many parts in dramas before the clicking machine, and were lost and aided others who were also lost. THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT ROCKY RANCH Or Great Days Among the Cowboys. All who have ever seen moving pictures of the great West will want to know just how they are made. This volume gives every detail and is full of clean fun and excitement. By GERTRUDE W. MORRISON THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH SERIES Here is a series full of the spirit of high school life of to-day. The girls are real flesh-and-blood characters, and we follow them with interest in school and out. There are many contested matches on track and field, and on the water, as well as doings in the classroom and on the school stage. There is plenty of fun and excitement, all clean, pure and wholesome. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH Or Rivals for all Honors. A stirring tale of high school life, full of fun, with a touch of mystery and a strange initiation. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON LAKE LUNA Or The Crew That Won. Telling of water sports and fun galore, and of fine times in camp. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH AT BASKETBALL Or The Great Gymnasium Mystery. Here we have a number of thrilling contests at basketball and in addition, the solving of a mystery which had bothered the high school authorities for a long while. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON THE STAGE Or The Play That Took the Prize. How the girls went in for theatricals and how one of them wrote a play which afterward was made over for the professional stage and brought in some much-needed money. THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON TRACK AND FIELD Or The Girl Champions of the School League. This story takes in high school athletics in their most approved and up-to-date fashion. Full of fun and excitement. By VICTOR APPLETON THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES Moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the Wild West, among the cowboys and Indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. The volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS Or Perils of a Great City Depicted. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST Or Taking Scenes Among the Cowboys and Indians. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST Or Showing the Perils of the Deep. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE Or Stirring Times Among the Wild Animals. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND Or Working Amid Many Perils. THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AND THE FLOOD Or Perilous Days on the Mississippi. * * * * * THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS SERIES In these stories we follow the adventures of three boys, who, after purchasing at auction the contents of a moving picture house, open a theatre of their own. Their many trials and tribulations, leading up to the final success of their venture, make very entertaining stories. THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS' FIRST VENTURE Or Opening a Photo Playhouse in Fairlands. The adventures of Frank, Randy and Pep in running a Motion Picture show. They had trials and tribulations but finally succeed. THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS AT SEASIDE PARK Or The Rival Photo Theatres of the Boardwalk. Their success at Fairlands encourages the boys to open their show at Seaside Park, where they have exciting adventures--also a profitable season. THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS ON BROADWAY Or The Mystery of the Missing Cash Box. Backed by a rich western friend the chums established a photo playhouse in the great metropolis, where new adventures await them. THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS' OUTDOOR EXHIBITION Or The Film that Solved a Mystery. This time the playhouse was in a big summer park. How a film that was shown gave a clew to an important mystery is interestingly related. THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS' NEW IDEA Or The First Educational Photo Playhouse. In this book the scene is shifted to Boston, and there is intense rivalry in the establishment of photo playhouses of educational value. * * * * * THE TOM SWIFT SERIES These spirited tales convey in a realistic way the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed upon the youthful memory and their reading is productive only of good. TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE Or Fun and Adventure on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT Or The Rivals of Lake Carlopa TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP Or The Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT Or Under the Ocean, for Sunken Treasure TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT Or The Speediest Car on the Road TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE Or The Castaways of Earthquake Island TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS Or The Secret of Phantom Mountain TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE Or The Wreck of the Airship TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER Or The Quickest Flight on Record TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE Or Daring Adventures in Elephant Land TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD Or Marvellous Adventures Underground TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER Or Seeking the Platinum Treasure TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY Or A Daring Escape by Airship TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA Or The Perils of Moving Picture Taking TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT Or On the Border for Uncle Sam TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON Or The Longest Shots on Record TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE Or The Picture that Saved a Fortune By CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN The Outdoor Chums Series The outdoor chums are four wide-awake lads, sons of wealthy men of a small city located on a lake. The boys love outdoor life, and are greatly interested in hunting, fishing, and picture taking. They have motor cycles, motor boats, canoes, etc., and during their vacations go everywhere and have all sorts of thrilling adventures. The stories give full directions for camping out, how to fish, how to hunt wild animals and prepare the skins for stuffing, how to manage a canoe, how to swim, etc. Full of the very spirit of outdoor life. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS Or, The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE LAKE Or, Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST Or, Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE GULF Or, Rescuing the Lost Balloonists. THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AFTER BIG GAME Or, Perilous Adventures in the Wilderness. By GRAHAM B. FORBES THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH SERIES Never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than Frank Allen, the hero of this series of boys' tales, and never was there a better crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the School. All boys will read these stories with deep interest. The rivalry between the towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and counterplots to win the championships, at baseball, at football, at boat racing, at track athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number. Any lad reading one volume of this series will surely want the others. The Boys of Columbia High; Or The All Around Rivals of the School. The Boys of Columbia High on the Diamond; Or Winning Out by Pluck. The Boys of Columbia High on the River; Or The Boat Race Plot that Failed. The Boys of Columbia High on the Gridiron; Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup. The Boys of Columbia High on the Ice; Or Out for the Hockey Championship. By ARTHUR W. WINFIELD THE FAMOUS ROVER BOYS SERIES American Stories of American Boys and Girls THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL Or The Cadets of Putnam Hall THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN Or A Chase for a Fortune THE ROVER BOYS IN THE JUNGLE Or Stirring Adventures in Africa THE ROVER BOYS OUT WEST Or The Search for a Lost Mine THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES Or The Secret of the Island Cave THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS Or A Hunt for Fame and Fortune THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA Or The Crusoes of Seven Islands THE ROVER BOYS IN CAMP Or The Rivals of Pine Island THE ROVER BOYS ON THE RIVER Or The Search for the Missing Houseboat THE ROVER BOYS ON THE PLAINS Or The Mystery of Red Rock Ranch THE ROVER BOYS IN SOUTHERN WATERS Or The Deserted Steam Yacht THE ROVER BOYS ON THE FARM Or The Last Days at Putnam Hall THE ROVER BOYS ON TREASURE ISLE Or The Strange Cruise of the Steam Yacht THE ROVER BOYS AT COLLEGE Or The Right Road and the Wrong THE ROVER BOYS DOWN EAST Or The Struggle for the Stanhope Fortune THE ROVER BOYS IN THE AIR Or From College Campus to the Clouds THE ROVER BOYS IN NEW YORK Or Saving Their Father's Honor THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA Or Lost in the Fields of Ice * * * * * The Putnam Hall Series Companion Stories to the Famous Rover Boys Series Open-air pastimes have always been popular with boys, and should always be encouraged. These books mingle adventure and fact, and will appeal to every manly boy. THE PUTNAM HALL MYSTERY Or The School Chums' Strange Discovery The particulars of the mystery and the solution of it are very interesting reading. THE PUTNAM HALL ENCAMPMENT Or The Secret of the Old Mill A story full of vim and vigor, telling what the cadets did during the summer encampment, including a visit to a mysterious old mill, said to be haunted. The book has a wealth of fun in it. THE PUTNAM HALL REBELLION Or The Rival Runaways The boys had good reasons for running away during Captain Putnam's absence. They had plenty of fun, and several queer adventures. THE PUTNAM HALL CHAMPIONS Or Bound to Win Out In this volume the Putnam Hall Cadets show what they can do in various keen rivalries on the athletic field and elsewhere. There is one victory which leads to a most unlooked-for discovery. THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS Or Good Times in School and Out The cadets are lively, flesh-and-blood fellows, bound to make friends from the start. There are some keen rivalries, in school and out, and something is told of a remarkable midnight feast and a hazing that had an unlocked for ending. THE PUTNAM HALL RIVALS Or Fun and Sport Afloat and Ashore It is a lively, rattling, breezy story of school life in this country written by one who knows all about its pleasures and its perplexities, its glorious excitements, and its chilling disappointments. By HOWARD R. GARIS THE DICK HAMILTON SERIES A SERIES THAT HAS BECOME VERY POPULAR DICK HAMILTON'S FORTUNE Or The Stirring Doings of a Millionaire's Son. Dick, the son of a millionaire, has a fortune left to him by his mother. But before he can touch the bulk of this money it is stipulated in his mother's will that he must do certain things, in order to prove that he is worthy of possessing such a fortune. The doings of Dick and his chums make the liveliest kind of reading. DICK HAMILTON'S CADET DAYS Or The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son. The hero is sent to a military academy to make his way without the use of money. Life at an up-to-date military academy is described, with target shooting, broadsword exercise, trick riding, sham battles etc. Dick proves himself a hero in the best sense of the word. DICK HAMILTON'S STEAM YACHT Or A Young Millionaire and the Kidnappers. A series of adventures while yachting in which our hero's wealth plays a part. Dick is marooned on an island, recovers his yacht and foils the kidnappers. The wrong young man is spirited away, Dick gives chase and there is a surprising rescue at sea. DICK HAMILTON'S FOOTBALL TEAM Or A Young Millionaire on the Gridiron. A very interesting account of how Dick developed a champion team and of the lively contests with other teams. There is also related a number of thrilling incidents in which Dick is the central figure. DICK HAMILTON'S AIRSHIP Or A Young Millionaire in the Clouds. Tells how Dick built an airship to compete in a twenty thousand dollar prize contest, and of many adventures he experiences. BY ALLEN CHAPMAN. The Railroad Series Ralph Fairbanks was bound to become a railroad man, as his father had been before him. Step by step he worked his way upward, serving first in the Roundhouse, cleaning locomotives; then in the Switch Tower, clearing the tracks; then on the Engine, as a fireman; then as engineer of the Overland Express; and finally as Train Dispatcher. In this line of books there is revealed the whole workings of a great American railroad system. There are adventures in abundance--railroad wrecks, dashes through forest fires, the pursuit of a "wildcat" locomotive, the disappearance of a pay car with a large sum of money on board--but there is much more than this--the intense rivalry among railroads and railroad men, the working out of running schedules, the getting through "on time" in spite of all obstacles, and the manipulation of railroad securities by evil men who wish to rule or ruin. Books that every American boy ought to own. RALPH, THE TRAIN DISPATCHER Or The Mystery of the Pay Car. RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS Or The Trials and Triumph of a Young Engineer. RALPH ON THE ENGINE Or The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail. RALPH OF THE ROUND HOUSE Or Bound to Become a Railroad Man. RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER Or Clearing the Track. 
21050	----	The Master of the Shell By Talbot Baines Reed ________________________________________________________________________ I did find the start of this book to be rather annoying, for it can never have been realistic that a school would advertise for a form-master and house-master. Even in those days it would have been absolutely normal that a house-master would undergo a long period as a junior master before even being asked to take a house at some time in the future. This would be something like five years on the staff, and then a further ten years before actually taking charge of a house. As for being Master of the Shell, again, there would be a period of probation while a young man was learning the ropes about teaching, before he would become head of a Block, such as Shell. In my school there was a Shell, but it was rather a side alley, rather than the broad avenue leading to the Sixth Form. It was usual for the Head of a Block to be a man who had done his fifteen years as a house master, and who had therefore been on the staff for thirty years or more. One last point about appointing a young master to a school: he would be expected to play a full part in sport or other outdoor activities. Our hero had indeed been an Oxford Blue, and he could have got a job on the basis of this and his academic record. But he would never have been accepted if he mentioned that he was planning soon to marry, for the school needed him heart and soul as a bachelor for at least five years. On the other hand it was quite desirable that he should marry before becoming a house master, though on the whole the most excellent house masters are the unmarried ones. It takes quite a few chapters to get past the welter of nineteenth century school-boy slang before we get to any decisive fresh action. There was another house-master, who was an exceedingly nasty man. Some of the boys lay a trap for him, catch him, tie him up with a rope, and leave him for the night in the boot box, after which none of the boys will admit to this misdemeanour. By chance the hero, Mr Railsford, finds out who did it, but under circumstances which make it impossible for him to tell anyone. The nasty man tries to pin the deed on him, and it comes to the point where he has to resign rather than tell. Luckily he is saved at the very last moment, so late that his cab has arrived to take him to the station. When all is revealed, it is the nasty man that has to resign. We are left to presume that the school continued harmoniously for many a year, with Railsford still a house master, and Master of the Shell. N.H. ________________________________________________________________________ THE MASTER OF THE SHELL BY TALBOT BAINES REED CHAPTER ONE. TWICE ACCEPTED. The reader is requested kindly to glance through the following batch of letters, which, oddly enough, are all dated September 9th, 18---: Number 1.--William Grover, M.A., Grandcourt School, to Mark Railsford, M.A., Lucerne. "Grandcourt, _September_ 9th. "Dear Railsford,--I suppose this will catch you at Lucerne, on your way back to England. I was sorry to hear you had been seedy before you left London. Your trip is sure to have done you good, and if you only fell in with pleasant people I expect you will have enjoyed yourself considerably. What are you going to do when you get home--still follow the profession of a gentleman at large, or what? Term opened here again last week, and the Sixth came back to-day. I'm getting more reconciled to the place by this time; indeed, there is no work I like better than teaching, and if I was as certain it was as good for the boys as it is congenial to me I should be perfectly contented. My fellow-masters, with an exception or two, are good fellows, and let me alone. The exceptions are harder to get on with. "As for the boys, I have a really nice lot in my house. One or two rowdies, who give me some bother, and one or two cads, with whom I am at war; but the rest are a festive, jovial crew, who tolerate their master when he lets them have their own way, and growl when he doesn't; who work when they are so disposed, and drop idle with the least provocation; who lead me many a weary dance through the lobbies after the gas is out, and now and then come and make themselves agreeable in my rooms when I invite them. "I fancied when I came here I should get lots of time to myself--enough perhaps to write my book on Comparative Political Economy. Vain hope! I haven't time to turn round. If my days were twenty-six hours I should scarcely then do all I ought to do here. Ponsford is getting old, and leaves the executive to his lieutenants. He sits aloft like Zeus, hurls a thunderbolt now and then, and for the rest acts as a supreme court of appeal. Bickers, my opposite neighbour, is still a thorn in my side. I don't know how it is, I try all I know, but I can't get on with him, and have given him up. Moss, I believe, who is Master of the Shell and head of a house, has come to the end of his endurance, and there is some talk of his throwing up his place here. It would be a pity in many ways, and it might be hard to get a good man in his place. "By the way, if there is a vacancy, why should not you enter the lists? I see you smile at the idea of anyone exchanging the profession of gentleman at large for that of Master of the Shell. But it's worth a thought, any how. Let us know where and how you are; and if you can run down this way for a Sunday, do, and make glad the heart of your friend,-- "W. Grover." No. 2.--Arthur Herapath, Esquire, Lucerne, to Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, Grandcourt. "Dear Dig,--Here's a game! The gov's been and lost a lot of the luggage, and ma won't go home without it, so we're booked here for a week more. He's written to Ponsford to say I can't turn up till next week, and says I'm doing some of the mug, so as not to be all behind. Jolly good joke of the gov.'s, isn't it? Catch me mugging here! "Stunning place, this! We went a picnic to--I say, by the way, while I remember it, do you know it's all a howling cram about William Tell? There never was such a chap! This is the place he used to hang out in, and everyone says it's all my eye what the history says about him. You'd better let Moss know. Tell him, from inquiries made by me on the spot, I find it's all humbug, and he'd better get some chap to write a new history who knows something about it. I was asking Railsford--by the way, he's a stunning chap. We ran up against him on the Saint Gothard, and he's been with us ever since. No end of a cheese! Rowed in the Cambridge boat three years ago, Number 4, when Oxford won by two feet. He says when you're rowing in a race you see nothing but the fellow's back in front of you. He's 6 feet 2, and scales 12 stone 14 pounds. That's why they put him Number 4; but he rowed stroke in his college boat. He's having a lot of fag about our luggage, but I'm in no hurry for it to turn up. "How are all the fellows? I guess I'm missing a lot of fun this week. Get some of them to keep something; till I come back. How's Tilbury? By the way, who am I stuck with this term? I don't want to get chummed again with that young ass Simson. Tell Moss that. Any more rows with Bickers's lot? There will be when I come back! I've got half a dozen of them in my eye. Gov. says I'll have to wake up this term. What a go! If I don't scrape into the Shell at Christmas, he says he'll know the reason why! So look out for no-larks. "This fellow Railsford's put me up to a thing or two about mugging. He was a hot man at Cambridge, and says he knew Grover. He's gone with Daisy up a mountain to-day. Wanted to take me, too, but I told them I didn't see it. I tried it once, that was enough for me! Ta-ta, old man; keep your pecker up till I come, and then mind your eye! "Yours truly,-- "A. Herapath, Ll.D." Number 3.--From Miss Daisy Herapath to Miss Emily Sherriff. "Lucerne, _Tuesday_. "My Dearest Milly,--We are in _such_ trouble! Two of our boxes have been lost between Como and here. One of them contained my new black grenadine with the Spanish lace. I have positively nothing to wear; and had to appear at _table d'hote_ in my blue serge and one of mamma's shawls. Just imagine! It is such a sad end to our holiday. I am longing to get home. Travelling abroad is all very nice, but one gets tired of it. I feel I shall like to settle down in town once more. "Poor papa has had so much trouble with the boxes, and must, have spent pounds in telegrams. It was really Arthur's fault. He sent the porter who was booking the luggage for us to get him some chocolate from the buffet, and the consequence was the train went off before all the boxes were put in the van. Dear Milly, _never_ travel abroad with your young brother! "I have been quite lazy about sketching the last few days. I can't tell you how lovely some of the sunsets have been. It is the regular thing to sit out in the hotel grounds and watch them. I wish so often you could be here to share my pleasure, for papa and mamma are afraid to sit out, and Arthur is so unpoetical! There are a great many Americans here. The fashion of short steeves seems quite to be coming in again! I shall have to get mine altered as soon as I come home. Some of our party went up the Rigi to-day. The view from the top was beautiful; but the place is spoiled by the crowds of people who go up. I so much prefer the quieter excursions. "I must go to bed now, dearest Milly. It will be lovely to see you soon. When one is away from home, one feels more than ever how nice it would be to have one's friends always about one. (What a lot of `ones'!) "Ever your very loving friend,-- "Daisy. "P.S.--We met the Thompsons at Como. Did you know Edith was to be married this autumn, quite quietly, in the country? The Walkleys are here, and one or two other people we know. Arthur has struck up with a Cambridge fellow, named Railsford, whom we met on the Saint Gothard, and who took _so_ much trouble about the luggage. It is so nice for Arthur to have a companion. Dearest Milly, he (M.R.) was one of the party who went up the Rigi to-day; he speaks German so well, and is so attentive to mamma. Don't be too horribly curious, darling; I'll tell you _everything_ when I get home. (He is _so_ good and handsome!)" Number 4.--Francis Herapath, Esquire, Merchant, to James Blake, Esquire, Solicitor. "_Private and Confidential_. "Dear Blake,--Being detained here owing to a miscarriage of some of our luggage, I write this instead of waiting till I see you, as it may be another week before we are home. "During our travels my daughter has become engaged to a Mr Mark Railsford, apparently a very desirable and respectable young man. You will wonder why I trouble you about such a very domestic detail. The young gentleman was very frank and straightforward in making his proposal, and volunteered that if I desired to make any inquiries, he was quite sure that you, his late father's solicitor, would answer any questions. I have no doubt, from the readiness with which he invited the inquiry and his satisfaction in hearing that you and I were old friends, that you will have nothing to say which will alter my favourable impression. Still, as my child's happiness is at stake, I have no right to omit any opportunity of satisfying myself. Anything you may have to say I shall value and treat as confidential. "I understand Mr R., under his father's will, has a small property; but of course it will be necessary for him now to find some occupation, which with his abilities I have no doubt he will easily do. As usual, the young people are in a hurry to know their fate, so it will be a charity to them to reply as soon as convenient. Excuse the trouble I am giving you, and, with kind regards to Mrs B. and your sister,-- "Believe me, yours faithfully,-- "Fras. Herapath." Number 5.--Mark Railsford to William Grover, Grandcourt. "Lucerne, _September_ 9th, 18---. "Dear Grover,--You have often in your lighter moods laughed at the humble individual who addresses you. Laugh once again. The fact is, I am engaged. I can fancy I see you reeling under this blow! I have been reeling under it for thirty-six hours. "It's partly your fault. Coming over the Saint Gothard a week ago, I fell in with a family party, Herapath by name; father, mother, boy and girl. They had come part of the way by train, and were driving over the top. The boy and I walked, and I discovered he was at Grandcourt, and of course knew you, though he's not in your house, but Moss's. That's how _you_ come to be mixed up in it. During the last hour or so Miss H--- walked with us, and before we reached the Devil's Bridge my fate was sealed. "The ladies were in great distress about some lost luggage--lost by the kind offices of the boy--and I went back to Como to look for it. It lost me two days, and I never found it. However, I found the brightest pair of blue eyes when I got back. I will draw you no portraits, you old scoffer; but I challenge you to produce out of your own imagination anything to match it. I don't mind confessing to you that I feel half dazed by it all at present, and have to kick myself pretty often to make sure it is not a dream. The father, whom I bearded yesterday, nods his head and will say `Yes' as soon as he's looked into my credentials. Meanwhile I am tolerated, and dread nothing except the premature turning up of the lost luggage. "But, to be practical for once in my life. Amongst much that is delightfully vague and dreamy, one thing stands out very clear in my own mind at present. I must do something. My loafing days are over. The profession of a gentleman at large, with which you twit me, I hereby renounce. She will back me up in any honest work--she says so. I've confessed the way I wasted the last three years. She said she is glad she did not know me then. Oh my, William, it is all very well for you to scoff. I'm not ashamed to tell you what it is that has brought me to my senses. Don't scoff, but help a lame dog over a stile. My object in life is to have an object in life at present. Give me your counsel, and deserve the benediction of someone besides your friend, M.R." The patient reader must infer what he can from these five letters. They are copied word for word from the original documents, and speak for themselves. I am unable to say whether the luggage was found--whether Miss Daisy got her sleeves altered to her liking--whether Arthur found any "fun" left on his arrival, a fortnight late, at Grandcourt, or how soon Mr Blake's reply to the father's letter reached Lucerne. All these momentous questions the reader can settle for himself as well as I can for him. He will at any rate be able to understand that when one day in October a telegram reached Railsford from Grandcourt with the brief announcement--"Vacancy here; see advertisement _Athenaeum_! am writing"--it created no small stir in the manly breast of the worthy to whom it was directed. He went at once to Westbourne Park and held a cabinet council with his chief adviser, and again, on returning home, called his sisters into consultation. He wrote to his college tutor, drew up a most elegant letter to the governors, read a few chapters of _Tom Brown's Schooldays_, and then waited impatiently for Grover's promised letter. "You will have guessed," said that letter, when it arrived, "from my telegram that Moss has resigned, and that there will be a vacancy for a house-master and Master of the Shell here at Christmas. You know how I would like to see you appointed. But--" "But what?" inquired someone who read the letter over the reader's shoulder. "I should not be your friend if I represented this place as a bed of roses, especially Moss's house. You'll have hard work to hold your own with the boys, and harder still with some of the masters. You will get more criticism than backing-up from head-quarters. Still it is a splendid opening for a man of courage like you; and all the school would profit by your success. Talk to Podmore about it; he'll give you good advice. So will Weston. Of course I can do nothing at all but look on sympathetically, and, if you try for the place and succeed, promise you at least one hearty welcome." "It seems pretty clear it won't be child's play," said Railsford, folding up the letter. "It would not suit you if it was," replied his adviser. This brave speech went far to make up Railsford's mind. In the house at Westbourne Park, particularly, the career opening before our hero was hailed with eager enthusiasm. "Dear Arthur" was in Moss's house, and at Christmas he would get his remove to the Shell. In both capacities he would have the protecting interest of his prospective brother-in-law, spread like an aegis over his innocent head. "It really seems almost a providential arrangement," said Mrs Herapath. "I am sure it will be a great thing for Arthur," said Daisy. "It makes one believe there's some truth in the saying that every man has his niche waiting for him somewhere in life," moralised Mr Herapath. That evening a letter came from Arthur to Daisy. The boy, of course, knew nothing of Railsford's candidature. "Such a flare-up!" wrote the youth. "Moss has got kicked out! He's jacked it up, and is going at Christmas. Jolly good job! He shouldn't have stopped the roast potatoes in the dormitories. Bickers's fellows have them; they can do what they like! Dig and I did the two mile spin in 11.19, but there was too much slush to put it on. All I can say is, I hope we'll get a fellow who is not a cad after Moss, especially as he will be Master of the Shell, and I'll get a dose of him both ways after Christmas. We mean not to let him get his head up like Moss did; we're going to take it out of him at first, and then he'll cave in and let us do as we like afterwards. Dig and I will get a study after Christmas. I wish you'd see about a carpet, and get the gov. to give us a picture or two; and we've got to get a rig-out of saucepans and kettles and a barometer and a canary, and all that. The room's 15 feet by 9, so see the carpet's the right size. Gedge says Turkey carpets are the best, so we'll have a Turkey. How's Railsford? Are you and he spoons still? Dig and the fellows roared when I told them about catching you two that time at Lucerne in the garden. You know, when I thought the window was being smashed? Could you lend me a bob's worth of stamps till Christmas? I'll pay you back. Dig says he once had a cousin who went spoons on a chap. He says it was an awful game to catch them at it. So, you see, we've lots to sympathise about. Love to all. "I am, yours truly,-- "Arthur. "P.S.--Don't forget the stamps. Two bob's worth will do as well." Daisy laughed and cried over this outrageous epistle, and hesitated about showing it to Mark. However, that happy youth only laughed, and produced half a crown, which he begged Daisy to add to her own contribution. "That's the sort of Young England I like!" said he. "It will be like a canter on a breezy moor to come in contact with fresh life and spirit like this, after wasting my time here for three years." "I expect you will find it breezy," said Daisy, recovering her smiles. "Arthur is a dreadful boy; it _will_ be so good for him to have you." At the end of a fortnight came a summons to Railsford, as one of six selected candidates, to appear and show himself to the governors. He had expected thus much of success, but the thought of the other five rendered him uncomfortable as he leaned back in the railway carriage and hardened himself for the ordeal before him. Grover had deemed it prudent not to display any particular interest in his arrival, but he contrived to pay a flying visit to his hotel that evening. "There's only one fellow likely to run you close--an Oxford man, first- class in classics, and a good running-man in his day. I think when they see you they'll prefer you. They will have the six up in alphabetical order, so you'll come last. That's a mercy. Take a tip from me, and don't seem too anxious for the place, it doesn't pay; and keep in with Ponsford." "Will he be there? Oh, of course. What sort of men are the governors?" "Very harmless. They'll want to know your character and your creed, and that sort of thing, and will leave all the rest to Ponsford." Next morning at 11.30 Railsford sat with his five fellow-martyrs in the ante-room of the governors' hall at Grandcourt. They talked to one another, these six unfortunates, about the weather, about the Midland Railway, about the picture on the wall. They watched one another as, in obedience to the summons from within, they disappeared one by one through the green baize door, and emerged a quarter or half an hour later with tinged cheeks, and taking up their hats, vanished into the open-air. Railsford was the only one left to witness the exit of the fifth candidate. Then the voice from within called, "Come in, Mr Railsford," and he knew his turn was come. It was less terrible than he expected. Half a score of middle-aged gentlemen round a table, some looking at him, some reading his testimonials, and one or two putting questions. Most of them indulgent to his embarrassment and even sharing it. Dr Ponsford, however, massive, stern, with his shaggy eyebrows and pursed mouth, was above any such weakness. "What have you been doing since you left college?" demanded he, presently fixing the candidate with his eyes. It was a home question. Railsford answered it honestly, if hesitatingly. "I was unfortunately not under the necessity of working," he added, after going through the catalogue of his abortive studies, "that is, not for my livelihood." Some of the governors nodded their heads a little, as though they recognised the misfortune of such a position. "And what places you under that necessity now?" "I do not expect to remain a bachelor always, sir." Here a governor chuckled. "Ha, ha! Hymen comes to the rescue. Wonderful the revolutions he makes in young fellows' lives." The governor had left school fifty-five years ago, and was rather proud to have remembered who Hymen was. The doctor waited with chilling patience till the interruption was over. "You feel yourself competent to take charge of a house of forty to fifty boys, do you? as well as to conduct a class of seventy?" "I have thought over the matter, and tried to realise the duties, and think I can succeed." "Quite right; I like that. No brag," said another of the governors, in an aside. "Your temper is good, is it? you are not likely to fall out with your fellow-masters, are you?" "Yes, that's important," interjected a governor. "I believe I am good-tempered and patient." "Well, Mr Railsford, you may retire. If you are not busy elsewhere, you can remain a short time in the outer room." Railsford retired, and for an interminable half-hour kicked his heels in the ante-chamber. He got to hate the picture on the wall and the ruthless ticking of the clock in the hall outside. Presently the door opened and his name was called. This time the spokesman was the chairman of the governors. "We have been through your testimonials a second time, Mr Railsford, and are satisfied with them, both those which refer to your scholarship and those which relate to your character and other qualifications. We are also glad to know from you that you have fully considered the responsibilities of this very important post, and are prepared to enter upon them in a firm yet conciliatory spirit. The governors and head- master agree with me in considering that, taken as a whole, your qualifications are higher than those of the other candidates, and they, therefore, have agreed to appoint you to the vacant post. I trust it may result in our mutual satisfaction and the good of the school." CHAPTER TWO. "VENI, VIDI, --" If a light heart and faith in one's own good luck are omens of success, Mark Railsford undoubtedly entered on his new duties at Grandcourt under the most favourable of auspices. It would not have been to his discredit if his light heart had acknowledged even slightly the weight of the responsibility it was undertaking. But, as a matter of fact, it was all the lighter for that very responsibility. The greater the task, he argued, the greater the achievement; and the greater the achievement, the greater the triumph. A less sanguine hero might have been daunted by the pictures with which his nervous friends did their best to damp his ardour. Grover, delighted as he was at the success of his friend's application, took care to keep the rocks ahead well above the surface in all his letters and conversations. Railsford laughed him pleasantly to scorn. Grover's was not the only attempt made to intimidate our hero. A week or so before he entered upon his duties, a nervous-looking man called to see him. It was Mr Moss, the late master. "I hear you have been appointed to my house," he said, by way of explanation, "and I thought it would be only friendly to call and tell you the sort of thing you are to expect when you go there." "Thanks, very much," said Railsford, with a smile of the corner of his mouth. "You may be made of cast iron, or be possessed of the patience of a Job," began this cheery adviser. "If so, you're all right. I wasn't either." "Did you find the boys unmanageable?" "No--not more than other boys--all boys, of course, are the sworn foes of law and order, and nobody imagines anything else. No, your difficulties, if you have anything like my luck, will be more with your colleagues than your subjects." "And how do they make themselves objectionable?" asked the new master, rather contemptuously. Mr Moss did not miss the tone of this question, and fired up himself. "Of course, if _you_ don't mind being systematically snubbed at head- quarters--thwarted and slandered by your fellow-masters--baulked in every attempt to improve the condition either of your house or the school--and misrepresented and undermined in your influence among your boys, you may go up and enjoy it. I didn't. That's why I left." "At any rate, I have one friend among the masters--Grover." "Oh, poor Grover. He is the only master who can get on at all, and he does so by effacing himself on every possible occasion, and agreeing with everybody." "Not a very noble character to hear of one's friend," said Railsford, who was beginning to get tired of this jeremiad. "I don't blame him; he can stand more than you or I can." "That, I suppose, is meant for a compliment to me?" said Railsford, laughing. "You think, then, I would be wise to back out before it is too late?" "I don't say that, only--" "Only you pity me. Thanks, very much." That evening Railsford sent a line to Grover:-- "Tell me in two words why Moss left Grandcourt." A telegram came next morning, "Incompatibility of temper." Whereat the new master chuckled, and dismissed the lugubrious ex-master and his friendly warnings from his mind. But although the gloomy prognostications of his Job's comforters failed in the least to depress his spirits, one very small cloud hovered occasionally on the horizon. This was the attitude of his worthy and respected prospective pupil and brother-in-law, Arthur Herapath. That young gentleman, who had been prudently kept in the dark while term lasted, was, as may be imagined, considerably astounded on arriving home to be met with the news that the new master of the Shell at Grandcourt was to be Mark Railsford. "What a lark!" he exclaimed. Now, genial as the remark was, the tone in which it was uttered was not calculated to inspire confidence in the breasts of those to whom it was addressed. There was more of enjoyment in it than respect. Yet boys will be boys, and who can gauge the depths of a nature below the smiles that ripple on the surface? It was little incidents like these which occasionally suggested to Railsford, far more forcibly than the lugubrious warnings of his officious friends, that the task before him at Grandcourt would tax his powers considerably. But, on the whole, he rejoiced that all would not be plain-sailing at first, and that there was no chance of his relapsing immediately into the condition of a humdrum pedagogue. The Christmas holidays slipped away only too fast for Arthur and for Daisy. Mark, much as he felt the approaching separation from his betrothed, could not suppress a slight feeling of exultation as the day drew near when he was to "go, see, and conquer" at Grandcourt. His three idle years made the prospect of hard work now welcome; and the importance which everyone else attached to his new duties made him doubly keen for a fray on which so many eyes were turned. Dr Ponsford had suggested, in terms which amounted to a mandate, that the new master might find it convenient to arrive at Grandcourt a day before the school returned, in order to take possession of his quarters and acquaint himself with the details of his coming duties. This arrangement was not altogether satisfactory, for it deprived Mark of the pleasure of his future brother-in-law's escort, which was a great loss, and also of the prospect of finding Grover at his journey's end, on which he had reckoned with some confidence. However, it was only the difference of a day, and during that day he would at least do his utmost to make a favourable impression on his chief. So, with a heart full of confidence, and a cab full of luggage, he set out gaily on his new career. "Good-bye, Mark. You'll be good to my son, I know," said Mrs Herapath. "Good-bye, my boy; take care of your health," said Mr Herapath. "Good-bye, Mark," said Daisy. "Ta-ta, old man," called Arthur. "See you to-morrow." This last greeting, strange as it may seem, recurred to Railsford's memory more frequently than any of the others during the course of the long railway journey to Grandcourt. It took all sorts of forms as the day wore on. At first it seemed only a fraternal _au revoir_, then it became a rather serious promise, and finally sounded in his ears rather like a menace. Here was he, going down like a prince to his coronation, and his subjects would "see him to-morrow." It had never occurred to him before that these subjects might have something to say to the ordering of the new kingdom, and that he should have to reckon with them, as well as they with him. The idea was not altogether comfortable, and he tried to shelve it. Of course he would get on with them. They would look up to him, and they would discover that his interests and theirs were the same. He was prepared to go some way to meet them. It would be odd if they would not come the rest to meet him. He turned his mind to other subjects. Still he wished he could be quite sure that Arthur's innocent "see you again to-morrow" had no double meaning for him. The railway took him as far as Blankington Junction, about five miles from Grandcourt; and, as it would be some time before a Grandcourt train came up, he decided, after seeing his effects into a cab, to take advantage of the fine, frosty afternoon, and complete his journey on foot. He was, in fact, beginning to grow a little depressed, and the exercise would brace him up. He had, foolishly enough, looked forward to a somewhat different kind of advent, dropping, perhaps, with some little _eclat_ on a school where Arthur had already proclaimed his fame among the boys, and where Grover had prepared him a welcome among the masters. Compared with that, this solitary backstairs arrival seemed tame and dispiriting, and he half regretted that he had not postponed his coming till to-morrow, even in the face of Dr Ponsford's suggestion. A mile from Grandcourt he caught sight of the square red ivy-covered brick tower of the school among the trees. Even in winter it looked warm and picturesque. It was growing dark when he passed the lodge, and crossed the playing-field towards the school-house. The cabman was awaiting him in the square. "Never gave me your name," explained he, "and nobody knows nothink about you here. Five miles is seven-and-six, and luggage is two bob more, and waiting another 'alf-hour's a crown,--namely, twelve shillings, and thank you, mister." Railsford rang the bell at the porter's lodge. A small child of eight appeared. "Where's your father?" asked the new master. "Yout," replied the girl. "Well, your mother?" "Please, she's--she's in the churchyard along of my Aunt Sally." "Well, run and-- You mean she's dea--?" The child nodded before he had finished his sentence. "Is there anyone about?" inquired the perplexed new-comer. "There's Mrs 'Astings, doing the floors in Bickers's." Mrs Hastings was duly summoned, and arrived with her broom and kneeling-pad. "My good woman, can you tell me the fare from Blankington here?" The lady looked perplexed, then embarrassed, then angry. "And you fetched me over from Bickers's--me, with my lame foot, over the cobbles--to ask me that! You oughter be ashamed of yerself, young man. Ask the cabman; he knows." It was hopeless. Railsford assisted to unload the cab, and meekly gave the cabman the fare demanded. "I am Mr Railsford, the new master," said he presently, overtaking Mrs Hastings, as she hobbled back in dudgeon to her work; "which are my rooms?" "I'm sure I don't know. You're a day too early. All the rooms is up, and it will take us all our times to get them done against the school comes back to-morrow." "It is an extraordinary thing," said Railsford, who began to feel his dignity somewhat put upon, "that Dr Ponsford should tell me to come to- day, and that no preparations--" "'Tain't got to do with me. You'd best go to the doctor's house, out of that gate, across the little square, the house on the far side of the chapel." Railsford, leaving his luggage stacked on the pavement outside the porter's lodge, started off with flushed cheeks to the lion's den. The doctor, said the maid, was in, but was at dinner. The gentleman had better call again in half an hour. So Railsford, in the closing twilight, took a savage walk round the school precincts, in no mood to admire the natural beauties of the place, or to indulge in any rhapsodies at this near view of the scene of his coming triumphs. In half an hour he returned, and was shown into the doctor's study. "How do you do, Mr ---;" here the doctor took up his visitor's card to refresh his memory--"Mr Railsford?" "I was afraid, sir," said Mark, "I had mistaken your letter about coming to-day; there appears to be no one--no one who can--I have been unable to ascertain where I am to go." The doctor waited patiently for the end of this lucid explanation. "I rather wonder it did not suggest itself to you to call on me for information." Railsford wondered so too, and felt rather sheepish. "Your train must have been late. I expected you an hour ago." "I think we were up to time. I walked from Blankington here." "Really--I wish I had known of your intention." "I trust," said Railsford, struck by a horrible suspicion, "you were not waiting dinner for me." "Not in the least," said the doctor, with a grim smile; "but I had calculated on taking you round before nightfall. We must defer our visit till the morning. Talking of dinner," he added, "you will be ready for something after your journey, will you not?" As Railsford was nearly famishing, he could only colour up and reply-- "Thank you." The doctor rang the bell. "See that Mr Railsford gets dinner. I have to go out," he added, "but you will, no doubt, make yourself at home;" and the great man withdrew, leaving the new master in a very crestfallen and disturbed state of mind. If this was a sample of the sympathy he might expect at head-quarters, Moss's prognostications, after all, were not quite baseless. He made the best of his solitary dinner, and then sallied out in the dark to try to find the porter's lodge once more and rescue his luggage. That functionary was still absent, and Mark was compelled himself to haul his belongings in under cover, and leave word with the little girl that they were to be taken over to Mr Railsford's rooms as soon as her father came in. Then taking with him a bag which contained what he wanted for the night, he returned to the head-master's house and made a point of retiring to rest before his host reappeared on the scene. Once more luck was against him. "You vanished early last night," said the doctor, blandly, at breakfast next morning. "I brought Mr Roe in to supper, thinking you and he might like a chat about the work in the Shell, about which he could have given you some useful hints. However, early hours are very commendable." "I am extremely sorry," faltered Railsford. "I had no idea you would be home so early. I should have liked to meet Mr Roe so much." "Take some more coffee?" said the doctor. After breakfast Mark was conducted in state to his house. The floors were all damp and the carpets up; beds and washstands were piled up in the passages, and nowhere was a fire to be seen. "There are your rooms," said the doctor, pointing out a suite of three apartments opening one into the other, at the present time reeking of soft-soap and absolutely destitute of furniture. "You will find them comfortable and central. The inner room is the bedroom, the middle your private sitting-room, and this larger one the house-parlour. Now we will go to the dormitories and studies. You understand your head boys-- those in the Sixth and Fifth--have a study to themselves; the Shell have studies in pairs, and the junior school-work in the common room. But all these points you will make yourself familiar with very shortly. As a house-master, you will of course be responsible for everything that takes place in the house--the morals, work and play of the boys are under your supervision. You have four Sixth-form boys in the house, who are prefects under you, and in certain matters exercise an authority of their own without appeal to you. But you quite understand that you must watch that this is not abused. The house dame, Mrs Farthing, superintends everything connected with the boy's wardrobes, but is under your direction in other matters. I shall introduce you to her as we go down. "I refer you to the school time-table for particulars as to rising, chapel, preparation, and lights out, and so forth. Discipline on all these points is essential. Cases of difficulty may be referred to a session of the other masters, or in extreme cases to me; but please remember I do not invite consultation in matters of detail. A house- master may use the cane in special cases, which must be reported through the masters' session to me. So much for your house duties. "As Master of the Shell, you preside at morning school there every day, and, as you know, have to teach classics, English, and divinity. In the afternoon the boys are taken by the French, mathematical, and chemical masters. But you are nominally responsible for the whole, and any case of insubordination or idleness during afternoon school will be reported to you by the master in charge, and you must deal with it as though you had been in charge at the time. "Now come and make Mrs Farthing's acquaintance." Mrs Farthing, a lean, wrathful-looking personage, stood in the midst of a wilderness of sheets and blankets, and received her new superior with a very bad grace. She looked him up and looked him down, and then sniffed. "Very good, Mr Railsford; we shall become better acquainted, I've no doubt." Railsford shuddered at the prospect; and finding that his luggage was still knocking about at the porter's lodge, he made further expedition in search of it, and at last, with superhuman efforts, succeeded in getting it transferred to his quarters, greatly to the disgust of Mrs Hastings, who remarked in an audible aside to her fellow-scrubber, Mrs Willis, that people ought to keep their dirty traps to themselves till the place is ready for them. After which Railsford deemed it prudent to take open-air exercise, and await patiently the hour when his carpets should be laid and Grandcourt should wake up into life for the new term. CHAPTER THREE. OPENING DAY. The combined labours of Mesdames Farthing, Hastings, Wilson, and their myrmidons had barely reached a successful climax that afternoon, in the rescue of order out of the chaos which had reigned in Railsford's house, when the first contingent of the Grandcourtiers arrived in the great square. Railsford, who had at last been permitted to take possession of his rooms and to unstrap his boxes, looked down from his window with some little curiosity at the scene below. The solemn quadrangle, which an hour ago had looked so ghostly and dreary, was now alive with a crowd of boys, descending headlong from the inside and outside of four big omnibuses, hailing one another boisterously, scrambling for their luggage, scrimmaging for the possession of Mrs Farthing's or the porter's services, indulging in horseplay with the drivers, singing, hooting, challenging, rejoicing, stamping, running, jumping, kicking--anything, in fact, but standing still. In their own opinion, evidently, they were the lords and masters of Grandcourt. They strutted about with the airs of proprietors, and Railsford began to grow half uneasy lest any of them should detect him at the window and demand what right _he_ had there. The scene grew more and more lively. A new cavalcade discharged its contents on the heels of the first, and upon them came cabs top-heavy with luggage, and a stampede of pedestrians who had quitted the omnibuses a mile from home and run in, and one or two on tricycles, and one hero in great state on horseback. Cheers, sometimes yells, greeted each arrival; and when presently there lumbered up some staid old four- wheeler with a luckless new boy on board, the demonstration became most imposing. "_See you to-morrow_!" thought Railsford to himself, as he peered down. Suddenly an unwonted excitement manifested itself. This was occasioned by an impromptu race between two omnibuses and a hansom cab, which, having been all temporarily deserted by their rightful Jehus, had been boarded by three amateur charioteers and set in motion. The hero in charge of the hansom cab generously gave his more heavily-weighted competitors a start of fifty yards; and, standing up in his perch, shook his reins defiantly and smacked his whip, to the infinite delight of everyone but the licenced gentleman who was the nominal proprietor of the vehicle. Of the omnibuses, one got speedily into difficulties, owing to the charioteer getting the reins a trifle mixed and thereby spinning his vehicle round in a semicircle, and bringing it up finally in the middle of the lawn, where he abruptly vacated his post and retired into private life. The other omnibuses had a more glorious career. The horses were spirited, and entered into the fun of the thing almost as much as their driver. Railsford long remembered the picture which this youthful hero presented; with his face flushed, his head bare, his sandy hair waving in the breeze, his body laid back at an obtuse angle, as he tugged with both hands at the reins. The cab behind came on apace, its jaunty Jehu flourishing his whip and shouting loudly to his opponent to keep his right side. The crowd forgot everything else, and flocked across the grass with loud cheers for the champions. "Wire in, hansom," shouted some. "Stick to it, Dig," cried others. How the mad career might have ended no one could tell; but at each corner the cab closed in ominously with its clumsy competitor, whose horses were fast getting beyond the control of their driver, while the vehicle they were dragging rocked and yawed behind them like a tug in a gale. Railsford was meditating a descent on to the scene, with a view to prevent a catastrophe, if possible, when a shout of laughter greeted the appearance on the scene of the lawful master of the omnibus, in headlong pursuit of his property. By an adroit cut across the grass this outraged gentleman succeeded in overtaking the vehicle and boarding it by the step behind; and then, amid delighted shouts of "Whip behind, Dig!" the spectators watched the owner skip up the steps and along the top, just as "Dig," having received timely warning of his peril, dropped the reins and skipped the contrary way along the top and down the back stairs, depositing himself neatly on _terra firma_, where, with admirable _sang-froid_, he joined the spectators and triumphed in the final pulling up of the omnibus, and the consequent abandonment of the race by the indignant hero of the hansom cab, who protested in mock heroics that he was winning hand over hand, and would have licked the 'bus to fits if Dig hadn't funked it. In the altercation which ensued the company generally took no part, and returned, braced up and fortified by their few minutes' sport, to the serious business of identifying and extricating their luggage from the general _melee_, and conveying themselves and their belongings into winter quarters. The new master was impressed by what he had seen--not altogether unfavourably. True, it upset in a moment all his dreams of carrying Grandcourt by the quiet magic of his own influence to the high level he had arranged for it. Still, the race had been a pretty one while it lasted, and both competitors had handled the ribbons well. They would be the sort of boys to take to him--an old 'Varsity Blue; and he would meet them half-way. Railsford's house should get a name for pluck and _esprit de corps_; and Railsford and his boys should show the way to Grandcourt! How Dr Ponsford and the "session of masters" would follow their lead it did not at present enter into the head of the vain young man to settle. A knock came at his door as he stood lost in these pleasing reflections, and Grover entered. "Here you are, then, old man," said he--"an old stager already. It was a great disappointment I could not be here when you got down." "I wish you had. I have had not exactly a gay time of it." And he related his experiences. Grover laughed. "That's Ponsford all over," said he. "He's a fine fellow, but a bear. How do you like your quarters?" "I've only just got into them, and really haven't had time to look round. And, to tell the truth, for the last ten minutes or so I've been so interested in the scene below that I had forgotten what I was doing. There was a most amusing chariot race between a cab and an omnibus." Grover looked serious. "I know," said he. "I'm afraid there will be trouble about that. It's as well, perhaps, you are not expected to know the chief offenders. One or two of them belong to your house." Railsford looked uncomfortable. It had not occurred to him till now that the proceeding which had so moved his interest and amusement was a breach of discipline. "I hope I shall not be called upon to deal with it," said he. "No. I hear Ponsford has the matter in hand himself." And the friends went on to talk of other matters. After a while Grover hastened away to his own house, leaving Railsford somewhat uneasy in his mind. If Dr Ponsford were to question him on the subject of the chariot race, he felt that he would be seriously compromised at the outset of his career. He knew at least the nickname of one of the delinquents; and had actually, by standing and watching the contest without protest, been an accessory to the offence. He busied himself forthwith in his unpacking, and studiously avoided the window until daylight departed, and the court below became silent and deserted. Just about four o'clock another knock sounded at his door, and Arthur Herapath presented himself, leading by the arm the tawny-haired hero of the chariot race. "What cheer, Marky?" cried the brother-in-law to be. "Here we are. Had a spiffing spin up from the station, hadn't we, Dig? This it Dig, you know, Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, M.P., A.S.S., and nobody knows what else. He and I have bagged Sykes' old room, just over here." Railsford in his shirt-sleeves, and hemmed round by his luggage, looked up rather blankly at this friendly oration. However, his dignity came to his rescue. "How are you both? I hope we're to have a good steady term, my boys. Go to your study now--later on we must have a talk." Arthur looked at his friend and winked; Sir Digby was visibly agitated, and grinned vehemently at a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. "All serene," said the former. "By the way, Daisy was all right when I left her, and sent her love and a--" "Do you hear me, Arthur? Go to your study." "Oh, all right--but there was a message from the gov. I was to be sure and give you directly I saw you. He says I can have a bob a week pocket-money, and you're to give it to me, and he'll owe it to you at the end of the term. I'd like the first now, please." "Go immediately to your room," shouted Railsford, as near to losing his temper as his future brother-in-law had ever seen him. "How dare you disobey me?" "Well, but it was a message from the gov., and--I say, Dig," added he, turning to his friend with a nudge, "you cut when Mark tells you." Dig departed, and Railsford weakly fell in with the arrangement of the junior, and allowed him to remain and deliver the rest of his domestic messages. "Now, look here, Arthur," said the master, closing the door and facing his unabashed future kinsman, "we must come to an understanding at once. During term time I forbid you to mention Daisy's name, either to me or anybody else, unless I wish it--" The boy whistled. "What, have you had a row, then? Is it all broken off? My eye, what will--" "Rubbish!" said Mark, scarcely able to keep grave; "it's neither one nor the other. But I don't choose you should talk of her, and I insist on being obeyed." "Jolly rough not to be able to talk about one's own sister!" interposed the innocent. "Of course, I mean not in connection with me," said Railsford. "And another thing, you must not call me Mark, but Mr Railsford, while term lasts." "All serene, Mr Railsford, old man! Jolly stiff, though, between brothers, isn't it?" "You must treat me as if I were merely your master, and no other relative." "How queer! Mayn't I even be fond of you?" "Yes, as your master. I count on you, mind, to set a specially good example to the other boys, and back me up in every way you can. You will be able to do a great deal if you only try." "I'm game! Am I to be made a prefect, I say, Mark--Mr Railsford, I mean?" "And remember," said Mark, ignoring the question, "that we are here to work, and not to--to drive omnibuses." Arthur brightened up suddenly. "You saw the race, then? Stunning spurt round the last lap, only Dig hadn't any stay in him, and the cab had the inside berth. I say, don't let anybody know it was Dig, will you? He'd get in rather a mess, and he's going to put it on hard this term to make up." Could anything be more hopeless than the task of impressing this simple- minded youth with a sense of his duty and deportment towards the new Master of the Shell? Railsford gave the attempt up, and the school-bell happily intervened to make a diversion. "That's for dinner. It's generally at two, you know; but on opening day it's 4.30," said the boy. "We shall have to cut, or we shall be gated, I say." "Well, you must show me the way," said Mark. "I'm ready." "You'll have to wear your cap and gown, though," replied Arthur, "or you'll get in a row." Railsford hastened to rectify the omission, and next moment was standing in the great square beside his lively young pilot, amid a crowd of boys hastening towards the school hall. "We'd better do a trot," said the boy. "We shall do it all right, I think," said the master, whose dignity revolted against any motion more rapid than quick walking. Arthur, trotting at his side and encouraging him from time to time to "put it on," detracted a little from the solemnity of the procession. The bell was just ceasing to ring as they entered the hall, and for the first time Railsford found himself in the presence of the assembled school. Arthur had darted off to his own table, leaving his companion to find his way to the masters' table at the head of the hall, where all his colleagues were already in their places, standing for grace. Railsford, considerably flurried, slipped into the place which Grover had reserved for him just as the head boy present began to recite the Latin collect, and became painfully aware that his already damaged character for punctuality was by no means enhanced in the severe eyes of Dr Ponsford. The new master glanced round a little nervously at his colleagues. Grover introduced him to a few of the nearest, some of whom received him with a friendly greeting, others eyed him doubtfully, and one or two bristled up grimly. The _eclat_ of his first appearance at Grandcourt had paled somewhat, and he was thankful to have Grover to talk to and keep him in countenance. "Tell me who some of these men are," he whispered. "Which is Roe?" "On the other side of me. He has the house next to mine. You, I, Roe, and Bickers have the four sides of the Big Square." "Which is Bickers?" "The man with the black beard--last but one on the other side." Railsford gave a furtive look down the table, and encountered the eyes of Mr Bickers fixed discontentedly on him. A lightning flash at midnight will often reveal minute details of a scene or landscape which in the ordinary glare of day might pass unnoticed by the observer. So it was in this sudden chance encounter of glances. It lasted not a moment, but it was a declaration of war to the knife on one side, hurled back defiantly on the other. "Not a bad fellow if you don't stroke him the wrong way," said Grover. "Oh," said Railsford, in a tone which made his friend start. "Who is beyond him?" "Lablache, the French master; not very popular, I fancy." And so on, one master after another was pointed out, and Railsford formed his own opinions of each, and began to feel at home with several of them already. But whenever his eyes turned towards the end of the table they invariably encountered those of Bickers. There was not much general conversation at the masters' table. Dr Ponsford rarely encouraged it, and resented it when it arose without his initiative. The buzz and clatter at the boys' tables, however, growing occasionally to a hubbub, amply made up for any sombreness in the meal elsewhere; and Railsford, having exhausted his inquiries, and having failed to engage one of his neighbours in conversation, resigned himself to the enjoyment of the animated scene. He was not long in discovering the whereabouts of his youthful kinsman, whose beaming face shone out from the midst of a bevy of particular friends, while ever and again above the turmoil, like a banner in the breeze, waved the tawny mane of Sir Digby Oakshott. It amused Railsford to watch the group, and when now and then they looked his way, to speculate on what was the subject of their conversation. Perhaps Arthur had been telling them of the new master's athletic achievements at Cambridge, and how he had rowed his boat to the head of the river; or possibly he had been describing to them some of the big football-matches which he, Mark, had taken his young friend to see during the holidays; or maybe they were laying down some patriotic plan for the future good of Railsford's house. His heart warmed to the boys as he watched them. It was a pity, perhaps, he could not catch their actual words. "Seems jolly green," said Dig. "So he is. Blushes like a turkey-cock when you talk about spoons. Never mind, he's bound to be civil to us this term, eh, Dig? We've got the whip hand of him, I guess, over that summer-house business at Lucerne." Here Dig laughed. "Shut up! He'll hear!" "What's the joke?" demanded a bullet-headed, black-eyed boy who sat near. "What, didn't I tell you, Dimsdale? Keep it close, won't you? You see that chap with the eyeglass next to Grover. That's Railsford, our new master--Marky, I call him. He's engaged to Daisy, you know, my sister. Regular soup-ladles they are." Here Dig once more laughed beyond the bounds of discretion. "What an ass you are, Dig!" expostulated Arthur; "you'll get us in no end of a mess." "Awfully sorry--I can't help. Tell Dimsdale about--you know." "Don't go spreading it, though," said Arthur, shutting his eyes to the fact that he was confiding his secret to the greatest gossip in Grandcourt, and that one or two other heads were also craned forward to hear the joke. "I caught them going it like one o'clock in the hotel garden at Lucerne--it was the first time I twigged what was up; and what do you think he called my sister?" "What?" they all demanded. "Keep it close, I say. Ha, ha!--give you a guess all round; Dig knows." "Pussy cat," suggested one. "Jumbo," suggested another. "Cherubim," suggested a third. Arthur shook his head triumphantly. "Out of it, all of you. You can tell 'em, Dig." Dig composed his features once or twice to utter the word, but as many times broke down. At last in high falsetto he got it out,-- "Chuckey!" The laugh which greeted this revelation penetrated to the upper region, and caused Dr Ponsford to rise on his seat and look in the direction of the uproar. At the same moment the Sixth-Form boy at the head of the table left his place and bore down on the offenders. "_Cave_!" muttered Arthur, purple in the face; "here's Ainger." Instantly the party was thoroughly buried in its bread and cheese. "Was that you, Oakshott, making that row?" "I was only saying something to Herapath," replied the innocent; "I'm sure _I_ didn't make a row." "Don't tell falsehoods. Do fifty lines, and next time you'll be sent up." "That's a nice lark," muttered the baronet as the senior retired. "It was you chaps made the row, and I get potted for it. But I say," added he, as if such a mishap were the most common of incidents, "that isn't a bad joke, is it? Fancy calling Herapath's sister--" "_Cave_, shut up!" exclaimed Arthur, dealing his friend a ferocious kick under the table; "they've got their eyes on us. Don't play the fool, Dig." Railsford was aroused from the pleasant contemplation of this little comedy by a general rising, in the midst of which the doctor, followed by his staff, filed out of the hall into the governor's room adjoining, which was ordinarily used as a masters' withdrawing-room. Here Railsford underwent the ordeal of a series of introductions, some of which gave him pleasure, some disappointment, some misgivings, and one at least roused his anger. "Mr Bickers," said Dr Ponsford, "let me introduce Mr Railsford. You will be neighbours, and ought to be friends." "I am proud to know Mr Railsford," said Mr Bickers, holding out his hand; "Grandcourt, I am sure, is fortunate." Railsford flushed up at the tone in which this greeting was offered; and touching the proffered hand hurriedly, said, with more point than prudence-- "I heard of Mr Bickers from my predecessor, Mr Moss." It was some satisfaction to see Mr Bickers flush in his turn, as he replied, with a hardly concealed sneer-- "Ah, poor Moss! He was a great flatterer. You must not believe half he says about his absent friends." "Railsford," said Grover, taking his friend by the arm, and anxious to interrupt what promised to be an uncomfortable dialogue, "I must introduce you to Roe. He had charge of the Shell for some years, and can give you some hints which will be useful to you. You'll like him." Railsford did like him. Mr Roe was one of the best masters at Grandcourt, and his university career had been as brilliant in athletics, and more brilliant in scholarship, than his younger colleagues. He had a quiet voice and manly bearing, which bespoke a vast fund of power latent beneath the surface; and Railsford, for once in his life, experienced the novel sensation of standing in the presence of a superior. Mr Roe accepted Mark's apologies for his non-appearance the evening before with great good-humour, and invited him to his rooms to spend an evening and talk over school-work. "You are not likely to have much leisure at first. I wish you had a quieter house; but a little good government and sympathy will go a long way towards bringing it up to the mark. As to the Shell, you will find that pretty easy. It wants more management than teaching--at least, I found so. If once the boys can be put on the right track, they will go pretty much of their own accord. It's easier to guide them than drive them; don't you think so?" "I have no experience yet; but that is my idea, certainly." "Then you'll succeed. Have you been introduced to Monsieur Lablache? This is Mr Railsford, the new Master of the Shell, monsieur." Monsieur shrugged himself ceremoniously. He had a big moustache, which curled up in an enigmatical way when he smiled; and Railsford was at a loss whether to like him or dislike him. "We shall be friends, Meester Railsford, I hope," said the foreigner; "I have much to do wiz ze young gentlemen of the Sell. Helas! they try my patience; but I like them, Meester Railsford, I like them." "I only wish I knew whether I liked you," inwardly ejaculated the new master, as he smiled in response to the confession. A bell put an end to further conference, and Mark went off in a somewhat excited state of mind to his own house. Mr Roe's few words stuck in his mind--especially one of them. What did he mean by classing sympathy and good government together in the way he had? How can you reduce a disorderly house to order by sympathy? However, he had no leisure for guessing riddles that night. CHAPTER FOUR. A FRIENDLY CHAT. If Mark Railsford had been left with no better guide to his new duties and responsibilities than the few hurried utterances given by Dr Ponsford during their tour through the premises that morning, his progress would have been very slow and unsatisfactory. It was part of the doctor's method never to do for anyone, colleague or boy, what they could possibly do for themselves. He believed in piling up difficulties at the beginning of an enterprise, instead of making smooth the start and saving up the hard things for later on. If a master of his got through his first term well, he would be pretty sure to turn out well in future. But meanwhile he got as little help from head-quarters as possible, and had to make all his discoveries, arrange his own methods, reap his own experiences for himself. Grover had good reason to know the doctor's peculiarity in this respect, and took care to give his friend a few hints about starting work, which otherwise he might never have evolved out of his own consciousness. Amongst other things he advised that he should, as soon as possible, make the acquaintance of the head boys of his house, and try to come to a good understanding with them as to the work and conduct of the term. Accordingly four polite notes were that evening handed by the house- messenger to Messrs. Ainger, Barnworth, Stafford, and Felgate, requesting the pleasure of their company at 7.30 in the new master's rooms. The messenger had an easy task, for, oddly enough, he found the four gentlemen in question assembled in Ainger's study. They were, in fact, discussing their new house-master when his four little missives were placed in their hands. "What's the joke now, Mercury?" asked Barnworth. The messenger, who certainly was not nicknamed Mercury on account of the rapidity of his motions or the volatility of his spirits, replied, "I dunno; but I don't see why one letter shouldn't have done for the lot of yer. He's flush with his writing-paper if he isn't with his pounds, shillings and pence!" "Oh, he's not tipped you, then? Never mind, I'm sure it wasn't your fault!" Mercury, in private, turned this little sally over in his mind, and came to the conclusion that Mr Barnworth was not yet a finished pupil in manners. Meanwhile the four letters were being opened and perused critically. "`_Dear Ainger_'--one would think he'd known me all my life!" said Ainger. "`_I shall be so glad if you will look in at my rooms_,'" read Barnworth. "He evidently wants my opinion on his wall-paper." "`_At 7.30, for a few minutes' chat_'--nothing about tea and toast, though," said Stafford. "`_Believe me, yours very truly, M. Railsford_.' So I do believe you, my boy!" said Felgate. "Are you going, you fellows?" "Must," said Ainger; "it's a mandate, and there's no time to get a doctor's certificate." "What does he want to chat about, I wonder?" said Stafford. "The weather, of course!" growled Barnworth; "what else is there?" Stafford coloured up as usual when anyone laughed at him. "He wants to get us to take the oath of allegiance, you fellows," said Felgate. "`Will you walk into my parlour? said the spider to the fly,' that's what he means. I think we'd better not go." Ainger laughed rather spitefully. "It strikes me he'll find us four fairly tough flies. I mean to go. I want to see what he's like; I'm not at all sure that I like him." "Poor beggar!" murmured Barnworth. "Now my doubt is whether he likes me. He ought to, oughtn't he, Staff?" "Why, yes!" replied that amiable youth; "he doesn't look as if he was very particular." "Oh, thanks, awfully!" replied Barnworth. The amiable coloured up more than ever. "I really didn't mean that," he said, horrified at his unconscious joke. "I mean he doesn't seem strict, or as if he'd be hard to get on with." "I hope he's not," said Ainger, with a frown. "We had enough of that with Moss." "Well," said Felgate, "if you are going, I suppose I must come too; only take my advice, and don't promise him too much." Railsford meanwhile had transacted a good deal of business of a small kind on his own account. He had quelled a small riot in the junior preparation room, and intercepted one or two deserters in the act of quitting the house after hours. He had also gone up to inspect the dormitories, lavatories, and other domestic offices; and on his way down he had made glad the hearts of his coming kinsman and the baronet by a surprise visit in their study. He found them actively unpacking a few home treasures, including a small hamper full of ham, a pistol, some boxing-gloves, and a particularly fiendish-looking bull-dog. The last- named luxury was the baronet's contribution to the common store, and, having been forgotten for some hours in the bustle of arrival, was now removed from his bandbox in a semi-comatose state. "Hullo!" said Railsford, whose arrival coincided with the unpacking of this natural history curiosity, "what have you got there?" Oakshott's impulse, on hearing this challenge, had been to huddle his unhappy booty back into the bandbox; but, on second thoughts, he set it down on the mat, and gazing at it attentively, so as not to commit himself to a too hasty opinion, observed submissively that it was a dog. It is melancholy to have to record failure, in whatever sphere or form; but truth compels us to state that at this particular moment Mark Railsford blundered grievously. Instead of deciding definitely there and then on his own authority whether dogs were or were not _en regle_ in Railsford's house, he halted and hesitated. "That's against rules, isn't it?" said he. "Against rules!" said Arthur, crimson in the face--"against rules! Why, Dig and I had one a year ago, only he died, poor beast; he had a mill with a rat, and the rat got on to his nose, and punished him before--" "Yes," said the master; "but I shall have to see whether it's allowed to keep a dog. Meanwhile you must see he does not make a noise or become a nuisance." "All serene," replied Dig, who had already almost come to regard the new master as a sort of brother-in-law of his own; "he's a great protection against rats and thieves. My mother gave him to me--didn't she, Smiley?" Smiley was at that moment lying on his back all of a heap, with his limp legs lifted appealingly in the air, and too much occupied in gasping to vouchsafe any corroboration of his young master's depositions. Railsford departed, leaving the whole question in an unsettled condition, and not altogether satisfied with himself. He knew, the moment he was outside the door, what he ought to have said; but that was very little consolation to him. Nor was it till he was back in his own room that he remembered he had not taken exception to the pistol. Of course, having looked at it and said nothing, its owner would assume that he did not disapprove of it. And yet he really could not sit down and write, "Dear Grover,--Please say by bearer if pistols and bull-dogs are allowed? Yours truly, M.R." It looked too foolish. Of course, when he saw them written down on paper he knew they were not allowed; and yet it would be equally foolish now to go back to the study and say he had decided without inquiry that they were against rules. He was still debating this knotty point when a knock at the door apprised him that his expected guests had arrived. Alas! blunder number two trod hard on the heels of number one! He had no tea or coffee, not even a box of biscuits, to take off the edge of the interview and offer a retreat for his own inevitable embarrassment and the possible shyness of his visitors. The arrangements for that reception were as formal as the invitations had been. Was it much wonder if the conference turned out stiff and awkward? In the first place, as all four entered together, and none of them were labelled, he was quite at a loss to know their names. And it is a chilling beginning to a friendly chat to have to inquire the names of your guests. He shook hands rather nervously all round; and then, with an heroic effort at ease and freedom, said, singling out Felgate for the experiment-- "Let me see, you are Ainger, are you not?" It was a most unfortunate shot; for nothing could have been less complimentary to the jealous and quick-tempered captain of the house than to be mistaken for his self-conceited and unstable inferior, with whom, he was in the habit of congratulating himself, he had little or nothing in common. "No, sir," said Felgate, omitting, however, to confess his own name, or point out the lawful owner of the name of Ainger. The master tried to smile at his own dilemma, and had the presence of mind not to plunge further into the quicksands. "Which of you is Ainger?" he inquired. "I am, sir," replied the captain haughtily. "Thank you," said Mark, and could have eaten the word and his tongue into the bargain the moment he had spoken. This was blunder number three, and the worst yet! For so anxious was he to clear himself of the reproach of abasing himself before his head boys, that his next inquiries were made brusquely and snappishly. "And Barnworth?" "I am, sir." "And Stafford?" "I am, sir." "And Felgate?" "I am, sir." That was all over. The master smiled. The boys looked grave. "Won't you sit down?" said the former, drawing his own chair up to the hearth and poking the fire. Ainger and Felgate dropped into two seats, and Stafford, after a short excursion to a distant corner, deposited himself on another. Barnworth--there being no more chairs in the room--sat as gracefully as he could on the corner of the table. "I thought it would be well," began Railsford, still dallying with the poker--"won't you bring your chair in nearer, Stafford?" Stafford manoeuvred his chair in between Ainger and Felgate. "I thought it would not be a bad thing--haven't you a chair, Barnworth? dear me! I'll get one out of the bedroom!" And in his flurry he went off, poker in hand, to the cubicle. "What a day we're having!" murmured Barnworth. Stafford giggled just as Railsford re-entered. It was awkward, and gave the new master a very unfavourable impression of the most harmless boy in his house. "Now," said he, beginning on a new tack, "I am anxious to hear from you something about the state of the house. You're my police, you know," he added with a friendly smile. Stafford was the only one who smiled in response, and then ensued a dead silence. "What do you think, Ainger? Do things seem pretty right?" "Yes," said Ainger laconically. "Have you noticed anything, Barnworth?" "There's a draught in the big dormitory, sir," replied Barnworth seriously. "Indeed, we must have that seen to. Of course, what I mean is as to the conduct of the boys, and so on. Are the rules pretty generally obeyed?" It was Stafford's turn, and his report was disconcerting too. "No, sir, not very much." The new master put down the poker. "I am sorry to hear that; for discipline must be maintained. Can you suggest anything to improve the state of the house?" "No, sir," replied Felgate. This was getting intolerable. The new master's patience was oozing away, and his wits, strange to say, were coming in. "This is rather damping," he said. "Things seem pretty right, there's a draught in the big dormitory, the rules are not very much obeyed, and nothing can be suggested to improve matters." The four sat silent--the situation was quite as painful to them as to Mark. The latter grew desperate. "Now," said he, raising his voice in a way which put up Ainger's back. "You four boys are in the Sixth, and I understand that the discipline of the house is pretty much in your hands. I shall have to depend on you; and if things go wrong, of course I shall naturally hold you responsible." Ainger flushed up at this; while Stafford, on whom the master's eyes were fixed, vaguely nodded his head. "I am very anxious for the house to get a good name for order, and work--and," added he, "I hope we shall be able to do something at sports, too." Here, at least, the master expected he would meet with a response. But Ainger, the boy chiefly interested in sports, was sulking; and Barnworth, who also was an athlete, was too absorbed in speculating what remark was maturing itself in Felgate's mind to heed what was being said. "I suppose the house has an eleven--for instance?" "Yes, generally," said Stafford. Felgate now came in with his remark. "Something ought to be done to prevent our house being interfered with by Mr Bickers," said he; "there are sure to be rows while that lasts." "Oh," said Railsford, who had heard rumours of this feud already; "how are we interfered with?" "Oh, every way," replied Ainger; "but we needn't trouble you about that, sir. We can take care of ourselves." "But I should certainly wish to have any difficulty put right," said the new master, "especially if it interferes with the discipline of the house." "It will never be right as long as Mr Bickers stays at Grandcourt," blurted Stafford; "he has a spite against everyone of our fellows." "You forget you are talking of a colleague of mine, Stafford," said Railsford, whom a sense of duty compelled to stand up even for a master whom he felt to be an enemy. "I can't suppose one master would willingly do anything to injure the house of another." Ainger smiled in a manner which offended Railsford considerably. "I am sorry to find," he said, rather more severely, "that my head boys, who ought to aim at the good of their house, are parties to a feud which, I am sure, can do nobody any good. I must say I had hoped better things." Ainger looked up quickly. "I am quite willing to resign the captaincy, sir, if you wish it." "By no means," said Railsford, a little alarmed at the length to which his protest had carried him, and becoming more conciliatory. "All I request is that you will do your best to heal the feud, so that we may have no obstacle in the way of the order of our own house. You may depend on me to co-operate in whatever tends in that direction, and I look to you to take the lead in bringing the house up to the mark and keeping it there." At this particular juncture further conference was entirely suspended by a most alarming and fiendish disturbance in the room above. It was not an earthquake, for the ground beneath them neither shook nor trembled; it was not a dynamite explosion, for the sounds were dull and prolonged; it was not a chimney-stack fallen, for the room above was two storeys from the roof. Besides, above the uproar rose now and then the shrill yapping of a dog, and sometimes human voices mingled with the din. Railsford looked inquiringly at his prefects. "What is that?" he said. "Some one in the room above, sir," replied Barnworth. "It was Sykes' study last term," added he, consulting Ainger. "Who's got it this time?" "Nobody said anything to me about it," said the house-captain. "The room above this is occupied by Herapath and Oakshott," interposed Railsford. The captain made an exclamation. "Did they get your leave, sir?" "Not exactly; they told me they were going to have the study this term, and I concluded it was all right. Is it not so?" "They are Shell boys, and have no business on that floor. All the Shell boys keep on the second floor. Of course, they'll say they've got leave." "I'm afraid they will think so. Is there any other claimant to the study?" "No; not that I know of." "Perhaps they had better remain for the present," said the master. "But I cannot imagine what the noise is about. Will you see, Ainger, as you go up?" This was a broad hint that the merry party was at an end, and no one was particularly sorry. "Wait a second in my room, you fellows," said Ainger, on the stairs, "while I go and shut up this row." The mystery of this disorder was apparent as soon as he opened the door. The double study, measuring fifteen feet by nine, was temporarily converted into a football field. The tables and chairs were piled on one side "in touch"; one goal was formed by the towel-horse, the other drawn in chalk on the door. The ball was a disused pot-hat of the baronet's, and the combatants were the two owners of the study _versus_ their cronies and fellow "Shell-fish"--Tilbury, of the second eleven, and Dimsdale, the gossip. There had been some very fine play on both sides, and a maul in goal at the towel-horse end, in which the dog had participated, and been for a considerable period mistaken for the ball. _Hinc illae lacrymae_. At the moment when Ainger looked in, Herapath's side had scored 35 goals against their adversaries' 29. The rules were strict Rugby, and nothing was wanted to complete the sport but an umpire. The captain arrived in the nick of time. "Offside, Dim!--wasn't he, Ainger? That's a place-kick for us! Hang the dog! Get out, Smiley; go and keep goal. See fair play, won't you, Ainger?" To this impudent request Ainger replied by impounding the ball. "Stop this row!" he said peremptorily. "Tilbury and Dimsdale, you get out of here, and write fifty lines each for being off your floor after eight." "We only came to ask Herapath what Latin we've to do this term; and there's no preparation for to-morrow." "Well, if this is your way of finding out about your Latin, you know just as much up-stairs as down here. Be off; and mind I have the lines before dinner to-morrow." The two champions retired disconcerted, leaving the captain to deal with the arch offenders. "First of all," said he, "what business have you in this study?" "Oh, Railsford knows we're here; we told him, and he didn't object." "Don't you know you ought to come to the prefects about it?" Oddly enough, both the boys had completely forgotten. "Besides," explained Dig, "as Railsford and Herapath are sort of brother-in-laws, you know, we thought it was all right." The reason did not appear very obvious; but the information was interesting. "Oh, that's it, is it?" asked the captain. "What relation is he to you?" "He's spoons on my sister Daisy." The captain laughed. "I hope she's like her brother," said he. The two culprits laughed vociferously. It was worth anything to them to get the captain in a good-humour. "Well, if that's the case," said Ainger, "I shan't have anything to do with you. You've no right on this floor; you know that. If he chooses to let you be, he'll have to keep you in order. I don't pity him in the room underneath." "I say, do you think he could hear us easily--when we were playing?" "Oh, no, not at all," said the captain, laughing. "Really! I say, Ainger, perhaps we'd better have a study up-stairs, after all." "Thanks; not if I know it. You might pitch over my head instead of his. I suppose, too, he's allowed you to set up that dog?" "Yes; it's a present from Dig's mother. I say, he's not a bad-looking beast, is he?" "Who? Dig? Not so very," said the captain, quite relieved to be able to wash his hands of this precious couple. He departed, leaving the two worthies in a state of bewildered jubilation. "What a splendid lark!" exclaimed Arthur. "We shall be able to do just what we like all the term. There! we're in luck. Mark thinks Ainger's looking after us; and Ainger will think Mark's looking after us; and, Diggy, my boy, nobody will look after us except Smiley--eh, old dog?" Smiley, who had wonderfully recovered since an hour ago, here made a playful run at the speaker's heels under the belief that the football had recommenced; and the heart-rending yelps which Railsford heard in the room below a few moments later were occasioned by an endeavour to detach the playful pet's teeth from the trouser-ends of his owner's friend. The Master of the Shell retired to bed that night doubtful about his boys, and doubtful about himself. He was excellent at shutting stable doors after the abstraction of the horses, and could see a blunder clearly after it had been committed. Still, hope sprang eternal in the breast of Mark Railsford. He would return to the charge to-morrow, and the next day, and the next. Meanwhile he would go to sleep. The discussion in the captain's room had not been unanimous. "Well," said Felgate, when Ainger returned, "how do you like him?" "I don't fancy I shall get on with him." "Poor beggar!" drawled Barnworth. "I thought he might have been a good deal worse, myself." "So did I," said Stafford. "He was quite shy." "No wonder, considering who his visitors were. We were all shy, for the matter of that." "And I," said Felgate, "intend to remain shy. I don't like the animal. He's too fussy for me." "Just what he ought to be, but isn't. He'll let things go on, and make us responsible. Cool cheek!" said Ainger. "However, the row overhead will wake him up now and then. Fancy, young Herapath, unless he's making a joke, which isn't much in his line, says Railsford's engaged to his sister; and on that account the young beggar and his precious chum get leave to have Sykes' study and do what they like. They may, for all I shall interfere. If it's a family affair, you don't catch me poking my nose into it!" "Engaged, is he?" cried Felgate, laughing. "What a joke!" "It's nothing to do with us," said Barnworth, "whether he is or not." "Unless he goes in for favouritism; which it seems he is doing," said Ainger. "Well, even so, you've washed your hands of young Herapath, and he's a lucky chap. But having done so, I don't see what it matters to us how many wives or sweethearts he has." "It seems to me," said Ainger, who was still discontented, "we shall get no more backing from him than we did from Moss. I don't care twopence about that young ass Herapath; but if the house is to go on as it was last term, and we are to be interfered with by Bickers and nobody to stand up for us, we may as well shut up at once, and let him appoint new prefects." "Yes, but are you sure he won't back us up?" drawled Barnworth. "I'm not a betting man, like Stafford, but I have a notion he'll come out on our side." Ainger grunted sceptically, and announced that he had to unpack; whereat his comrades left him. Few persons at Grandcourt gave the captain of Railsford's house credit for being as honest as he was short-tempered, and as jealous for the honour of his house as he was short-sighted as to the best means of securing it. And yet Ainger was all this; and when he went to bed that night Railsford himself did not look forward more anxiously to the opening term than did his first lieutenant. CHAPTER FIVE. ARTHUR AND THE BARONET SETTLE DOWN FOR THE TERM. The reader is not to imagine that Railsford's house contained nobody but the four prefects of the Sixth-form and the sedate tenants of the study immediately over the master's head, who belonged to the Shell. On the contrary, the fifty boys who made up the little community were fully representative of all grades and classes of Grandcourt life. There was a considerable substratum of "Babies" belonging to the junior forms, who herded together noisily and buzzed like midges in every hole and corner of the house. Nor were Herapath and Oakshott, with their two cronies, by any means the sole representatives of that honourable fraternity known as the Shell, too mature for the junior school, and yet too juvenile for the upper forms. A score at least of Railsford's subjects belonged to this noble army, and were ready to wage war with anybody or anything--for a consideration. Still ascending in the scale, came a compact phalanx of Fifth-form heroes, counting some of the best athletes of the second eleven and fifteen, and yet not falling in with the spirited foreign policy so prevalent in the rest of the house. On an emergency they could and would turn out, and their broad backs and sturdy arms generally gave a good account of themselves. But as a general rule they grieved their friends by an eccentric habit of "mugging," which, as anybody knows, is a most uncomfortable and alarming symptom in a boy of a house such as Railsford's. True, there were among them a few noble spirits who never did a stroke of work unless under compulsion; but as a rule the Fifth- form fellows in Railsford's lay under the imputation of being studious, and took very little trouble to clear their characters. Only when the school sports came round, or the house matches, their detractors used to forgive them. The four prefects, to whom the reader has been already introduced, divided among them the merits and shortcomings of their juniors. Ainger and Felgate, though antagonistic by nature, were agreed as to an aggressive foreign policy; while Barnworth and of course the amiable Stafford considered there was quite enough work to do at home without going afield. Yet up to the present these four heroes had been popular in their house--Barnworth was the best high jumper Grandcourt had had for years, and Ainger was as steady as a rock at the wickets of the first eleven, and was reported to be about to run Smedley, the school captain, very close for the mile at the spring sports. Stafford, dear fellow that he was, was not a particularly "hot" man at anything, but he would hold the coat of anyone who asked him, and backed everybody up in turn, and always cheered the winner as heartily as he condoled with the loser. Felgate was one of those boys who could do better than they do, and whose unsteadiness is no one's fault but their own. His ways were sometimes crooked, and his professions often exceeded his practice. He meant well sometimes, and did ill very often; and, in short, was just the kind of fellow for the short-tempered, honest Ainger cordially to dislike. Such was the miscellaneous community which Mark Railsford found himself called upon to govern. It was not worse than a good many masters' houses, and had even its good points. And yet just now it was admitted to be in a bad way. The doctor had his eye on it, and there is nothing more adverse to reform than the consciousness that one has a bad name. The late master, Mr Moss, moreover, had notoriously found the place too hot for him, and had given it up. That again tells against the reputation of a house. And, lastly, although it had a few good scholars and athletes, who won laurels for the school, there seemed not enough of them to do anything for the house, which had steadily remained at the bottom of the list for general proficiency for several terms. If you inquired how all this came about, you would hear all sorts of explanations, but the one which found most favour in the delinquent house itself was summed up in the single word "Bickers." The origin of the deadly feud between the boys of Railsford's and the master of the adjoining house was a mystery passing the comprehension even of such as professed to understand the ins and outs of juvenile human nature. It had grown up like a mushroom, and no one exactly remembered how it began. Mr Bickers, some years ago, had been a candidate for the Mastership of the Shell, but had been passed over in favour of Mr Roe. And ever since, so report went, he had been actuated by a fiendish antipathy to the boys who "kept" in the house of his rival. He had worried Mr Moss out of the place, and the boys of the two houses, quick to take up the feuds of their chiefs, had been in a state of war for months. Not that Mr Bickers was a favourite in his own house. He was not, any more than Mr Moss had been in his. But any stick is good enough to beat a dog with, and when Mr Bickers's boys had a mind to "go for" Moss's boys, they espoused the cause of Bickers, and when Mr Moss's boys went out to battle against those of Bickers's house, their war-cry was "Moss." Much legend had grown up round the feud; but if anyone had had patience to examine it to the bottom he would probably have found the long and short to be that Mr Bickers, being unhappily endowed with a fussy disposition and a sour and vindictive temper, had incurred the displeasure of the boys of his rival's house, and not being the man to smooth away a bad impression, had aggravated it by resenting keenly what he considered to be an unjust prejudice against himself. This little digression may enable the reader, if he has had the patience to wade through it, to form an idea of the state of parties in that particular section of Grandcourt which chiefly came under Railsford's observation. With Roe's and Grover's houses on the other side of the big square, his boys had comparatively little to do as a house, while with the remote communities in the little square they had still less in common. But to return to our story. The first week of the next term was one of the busiest Mark Railsford ever spent. His duties in the Shell began on the second day, and the opening performance was not calculated to elate his spirit. The sixty or seventy prodigies of learning who assembled there came from all houses. A few were bent seriously on work and promotion, the majority were equally in different about the one and the other, and the remainder were professional idlers--most successful in their profession. Such were the hopeful materials which Railsford was expected to inspire with a noble zeal in the pursuit of classics, history, and divinity. It would have bets as easy--at least, so it seemed to the master--to instruct he monkey-house at the Zoological Gardens. The few workers (scarcely one of whom, by the way, was in his own house) formed a little _coterie_ apart, and grabbed up whatever morsels of wisdom and learning their master could afford to let drop in the midst of his hand-to-hand combat with the forces of anarchy and lethargy. But he had little to say to them. His appeals were addressed to the body of gaping, half- amused, half-bored loungers in the middle of the room, who listened pleasantly and forgot instantaneously; who never knew where to go on, and had an inveterate knack of misunderstanding the instructions for next day's work. They endured their few morning hours in the Shell patiently, resignedly, and were polite enough to yawn behind their books. They were rarely put out by their own mistakes, and when occasionally the master dropped upon them with some penalty or remonstrance, they deemed it a pity that anyone should put himself so much about on their account. Railsford was baffled. There seemed more hope in the turbulent skirmishers at the back of the room, who at least could now and then be worked upon by thunder, and always, in theory, acknowledged that lessons were things to be learned. On the first day the "muggers" knew their task well, and Railsford glowed with hope as he expressed his approbation. But when he came to the gapers his spirits sunk to zero. They had unfortunately mistaken the passage, or else the page was torn out of their book, or else they had been prevented by colds or sprained wrists or chilblains from learning it. When told to construe a passage read out not two minutes before by one of the upper boys, they knew nothing about it, and feared it was too hard for their overwrought capacities; and when pinned down where they sat to the acquirement of some short rule or passage, they explained sorrowfully that that had not been Mr Moss's method. In divinity they raised discussions on questions of dogma, and so subtly evaded challenge on questions of Greek Testament construction and various readings. In history they fell back on a few stock answers, which rarely possessed the merit of having any connection with the questions which they pretended to satisfy. But the gapers were men of peace, after all. They rarely insisted upon their own opinion, nor did it offend them to be told they were wrong. The noisier element were less complacent; it is true, they never did a lesson through, or construed a sentence from one end to the other. Still, when they took the trouble to "mug" a question up, they expected to be believed. It hurt them a good deal to be informed that they knew nothing; and to detain them or set them impositions because of a difference of opinion on an historical, classical, or theological question seemed grossly unjust. When, for instance, Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, on an early day of the term, publicly stated that the chief features of Cromwell's character was a large mouth and a wart on the nose, he was both hurt and annoyed to be ordered peremptorily to remain for an hour after class and write out pages 245 to 252, inclusive, of the School History. He had no objection, as he confided to his friend and comforter, Arthur Herapath, Esquire, to the Master of the Shell entertaining his own opinions as to the character of the personage in question. But he believed in the maxim "give and take," and just as he would cheerfully have received anything Mr Railsford might have to say on the subject, he at least expected that his own statement should be received in an equally candid spirit, particularly (as he was anxious to point out) since he had personally inspected a portrait of Cromwell not long ago, and verified the existence of the two features alleged. Sir Digby, indeed, deserved some little commiseration. He had come up to Grandcourt this term pledged to the hilt to work hard and live virtuously. He had produced and proudly hung in a conspicuous place in his study a time-table, beautifully ruled and written in red and black ink, showing how each hour of every day in the week was to be spent in honest toil and well-earned sport. He had explained to his friend the interesting fact that a duplicate of this table had been presented to his mother, who thereby would be able to tell at any moment how her dear son was occupied. "Let's see," said he, proudly, taking out his watch. "7.15. Now what am I doing at 7.15 on Thursdays? French preparation. There you are! So if she's thinking about me now she knows what I'm up to." "But you're not doing French preparation," suggested Arthur. "Of course I'm not, you ass. How could I when I lent Dimsdale my book? Besides, we've not started yet. I've got about a million lines to write. Do you know, I'm certain it was Bickers got me into that row about the omnibus; I saw him looking on. I say, that was a stunning lark, wasn't it? I'd have won too if Riggles had kept his right side. Look here, I say, I'd better do some lines now; lend us a hand, there's a good chap. Wouldn't it be a tip if old Smiley could write; we could keep him going all day long!" Master Oakshott had, in fact, become considerably embarrassed at the beginning of the term by one or two accidents, which conspired to put off the operation of the time-table for a short period. The doctor had received information through some channel of the famous chariot race on opening day, and had solaced the defeated champion with a caning (which he did not mind) and five hundred lines of Virgil (which he greatly disliked). In addition to that, Digby had received fifty lines from Ainger for pea-shooting, which, not being handed in by the required time, had doubled and trebled, and bade fair to become another five hundred before they were done. And now he had received from Railsford--from his beloved friend's future brother-in-law--seven pages of School History to write out, of which he had accomplished one during the detention hour, and had solemnly undertaken to complete the other six before to-morrow. It spoke a good deal for the forbearance and good spirits of the unfortunate baronet that he was not depressed by his misfortunes. Arthur, too, had come up with every idea of conducting himself as a model boy, and becoming a great moral support to his future brother-in- law. It had pained him somewhat to find that relative was not always as grateful for his countenance as he should have been. Still, he bore him no malice. The time would come when the elder would cry aloud to the younger for aid, and he should get it. Meanwhile, on this particular evening, Arthur found himself too busy, getting the new study into what he termed ship-shape order, to be able to adopt his friend's suggestion about the lines. His idea of ship- shape did not in every particular correspond with the ordinary acceptation of the term. He had brought down in his trunk several fine works of art, selected chiefly from the sporting papers, and representing stirring incidents in the lives of the chief prize- fighters. These, after endeavouring to take out a few of the creases contracted in the journey, he displayed over the fireplace and above the door, attaching them to the wall by means of garden nails, which had an awkward way of digging prodigious holes in the plaster and never properly reaching the laths behind. Most of the pictures consequently required frequent re-hanging, and by the end of the evening looked as if they, like the shady characters painted on them, had been in the wars. Then Arthur had produced with some pride a small set of bookshelves, which packed away into a wonderfully small space, but which, when fitted together, were large enough to accommodate as many books as he possessed. The fitting together, however, was not very successful. Some of the screws were lost, and had to be replaced by nails, and having used the side-pieces for the shelves, and the shelves for the sides, he and Dig had a good deal of trouble with a saw and a cunningly constructed arrangement of strings to reduce the fabric into the similitude of a bookcase. When at last it was done and nailed to the wall, it exhibited a tendency to tilt forward the moment anything touched it, and pitch its contents on to the floor. After much thought it occurred to Herapath that if they turned it upside down this defect would operate in the other direction, and hold the books securely against the wall. So, having wrenched the nails out, and been fortunate enough to find a space on the wall not gaping with wounds in the plaster, they re-erected it inversely. But, alas! although the top shelf now tilted back at the wall, the bottom shelf swung forward an inch or two and let its contents out behind with the same regularity and punctuality with which it had previously ejected them in front. Dig pronounced it a rotten concern, and voted for smashing it up; but Herapath, more dauntless, determined on one further effort. He began to drive a large nail vehemently into the floor immediately under the refractory bookcase, and then, tying a string round the bottom shelf, he hitched the other end round the nail and drew the fabric triumphantly into the wall. It was a complete success. Even Dig applauded, and cried out to his friend that another inch would make a job of it. Another inch did make a job of it, for just as the bottom shelf closed in the top gave a spring forward, pulling the nail along with it, and burying the two mechanics under a cascade of books, plaster, and shattered timber. Arthur and Dig sat on the floor and surveyed the ruin stolidly, while Smiley, evidently under the delusion that the whole entertainment had been got up for his amusement, barked vociferously, and, seizing a _Student's Gibbon_ in his teeth, worried it, in the lightness of his heart, like a rat. At this juncture the door opened, and Railsford, with alarm in his face, entered. "Whatever _is_ the matter?" he exclaimed. It was an excellent cue for the two boys, who forthwith began to rub their arms and shoulders, and make a demonstration of quiet suffering. "This horrid bookcase won't stick up!" said Arthur. "We were trying to put the things tidy, and it came down." "It's a pretty good weight on a fellow's arm!" said the baronet, rubbing his limb, which had really been grazed in the downfall. "It is a very great noise on the top of my head," said the master. "I dare say it was an accident, but you two will have to be a great deal quieter up here, or I shall have to interfere." "We really couldn't help it, Mark--I mean Rails--I mean Mr Railsford," said Arthur, in an injured tone. "There's Dig will get into no end of a row, as it is. He was writing out that imposition for you, and now he's hurt his arm through helping me--brick that he is! I suppose you won't mind if I finish the lines for him?" Arthur was staking high, and would have been sadly disconcerted had his kinsman taken him at his word. "Is your arm really hurt, Oakshott?" inquired the master. "Oh no; not much," said Digby, wincing dramatically, and putting on an air of determined defiance to an inward agony. "I dare say I can manage, after a rest. We had taken some of the books out, so I only had the bookcase and three shelf-loads of books on the top of me! That wasn't so much!" "How much have you written?" demanded the master. "Two pages, please, sir." "This time I will let that do." "Thanks, awfully!" broke in Arthur; "you're a brick! Dig'll never do it again, will you, Dig?" "I could do it, you know, if you really wanted," said Dig, feeling up and down his wounded limb. "That will do!" said Mark, who had already begun to have a suspicion that he had been "done." "Clear up this mess, and don't let me hear any more noise overhead." When he had gone, the friends embraced in a gust of jubilation. "No end of a notion of yours!" said Dig. "That leaves the lines for the doctor and the others for Ainger. He'll keep. We'll have him in to tea and dose him with marmalade, and square him up. But, there, I must do the doctor's lines, or I shall catch it!" And so, despite his wounded arm, he set to work, aided by his friend, and worked off about half the penalty, by which time his arm and elbow were very sore indeed. Dimsdale, who came in later, was bribed with an invitation to jam breakfast in the morning, to help with the remainder, and the same inducement prevailed upon Tilbury. So that by a fine co- operative effort Dig stood clear with the doctor before night was over, and considered himself entitled to a little rest, which he forthwith proceeded to take. The breakfast-party next morning was a great success on the whole. It was a little marred by the fact that whereas covers were laid for four, just fourteen guests turned up. This was partly Arthur's fault, for, having sallied forth with an invitation in his pocket to anyone who would help his friend out with a few lines, he had dropped them about in a good many other quarters. He had secured the attendance of Simson and Maple of the Shell, and of Bateson and Jukes of the Babies, and, with a view to ingratiate himself with some of his neighbours on the first floor, he had bidden to the banquet Wake, Ranger, Wignet, and Sherriff of the Fifth, and actually prevailed upon Stafford to lend the dignity of a Sixth-form patronage to the _reunion_. These heroes were naturally a little disgusted on turning up at the rendezvous to find the room crowded, with scarcely standing space to space, by a troop of hungry and noisy juniors. The good hosts perspired with the heat of the room, and, as guest after guest crowded in, began to look a little anxious at the modest fare on the table, and speculate mentally on how far one loaf, one pot of jam, four pats of butter, a pint coffee-pot, and three-and-a-half tea-cups would go round the lot. At length, when Stafford arrived, and could not get in at the door for the crush, despair seized them. "You kids had better hook it," said Arthur, to half a dozen of the juniors, who had squeezed themselves into a front rank near the table. "There's not room to-day. Come to-morrow." Loud were the complaints, not unmingled with threatenings and gibes, of these disappointed Babies. "What a horrible shame!" exclaimed Jukes, in a very audible voice. "We were here first." "Do you hear?--cut!" repeated the host. "Come, along," said Bateson; "what's the use of bothering about a crumb and a half a-piece? I never saw such a skinny spread in all my days." And in the ten years which comprehended Master Bateson's "days" he had had a little experience of that sort of thing. The company being now reduced to eight, to wit, Stafford, the four Fifth-form boys, the two hosts, and Dimsdale, assumed more manageable proportions. There was room at least to move an arm or a leg, and even to shut the door. But when it came to taking seats, it still became evident that the table could by no possibility hold more than six. Another crisis thereupon arose. Dimsdale was regretfully dismissed, and departed scarlet in the face, promising, as he slammed the door, to show "up" his hosts. These amiable worthies, much distressed, and not a whit cooler that the room was now comparatively empty, smiled feebly at this threat, and arranged to sit on one another's laps, so as to bring the company finally down to the capabilities of the table. But at this juncture Stafford, who had grown tired of waiting, and evidently saw little prospect of conviviality in the entertainment, remembered that he had some work to do before morning school, and rose to leave. "Why, we've not begun yet," gasped his hosts. "I really must go. Thanks for asking me. I've enjoyed it so much," said the amiable prefect, departing. "Look here, I say," expostulated Arthur, "you might stay. I'll get some eggs, or a herring, if you'll stop." But the guest of the morning was beyond reach of these blandishments, and with muttered reflections on human depravity generally, the hosts took a seat at each end of the festive board, and bade the four Fifth- form fellows fall to. They had already done so. One had cut the loaf, another had meted out the jam, another had poured out the coffee, and another had distributed the butter. "Have some coffee?" said Wake, pleasantly, to Dig; "very good stuff." "Thanks," said Dig, trying to look grateful. "I'll wait till there's a cup to spare." "If you're putting on the eggs," said Ranger, confidentially, to Arthur, "keep mine on an extra fifteen seconds, please. I like them a little hardish." "Awfully sorry," said Arthur, with a quaver in his voice; "jolly unlucky, but we're out of eggs. Got none in the place." "Oh, never mind," said Ranger, reassuringly. "The herrings will do quite as well. Stafford may not fancy them, but we do, don't we, you chaps?" "Rather," said Sheriff, thoughtfully scooping out the last remnants of the jam from the pot. Arthur looked at the baronet and the baronet looked at Arthur. Things were growing desperate, and at all risks a diversion must be made. What could they do? Dig had a vague idea of creating a scare that Smiley had gone mad; but as the animal in question was at that moment peacefully reposing on the hearth, there seemed little probability of this panic "taking." Then he calculated the possibilities of secretly cutting away one leg of the table, and so covering the defects of the meal by an unavoidable catastrophe. But he had not his penknife about him, and the two table-knives were in use. Arthur at this point came gallantly and desperately to the rescue. "I say, you fellows," began he, ignoring the hint about the herrings, "do you want to know a regular lark?" "Ha, ha!" laughed Oakshott, not having the least idea what his friend was going to say, but anxious to impress upon his guests that the joke was to be a good one. "What is it?" asked Wignet, who never believed in anyone else's capacities for story-telling. "Why," said Arthur, getting up a boisterous giggle, "you know Railsford, the new master?" "Of course. What about him?" "Well--keep it dark, you know. Shut up, Dig, and don't make me laugh, I say--there's such a grand joke about him." "Out with it," said the guests, who were beginning to think again about the herrings. "Well, this fellow--I call him Marky, you know--Mark's engaged to my sister, and--" "Ha ha ha!" chimed in Dig. "And--he calls her `_Chuckey_,' I heard him. Oh, my wig!" This last exclamation was caused by his looking up and catching sight of Railsford standing at the door. The Master of the Shell had in fact called up in a friendly way to ask how Sir Digby Oakshott's arm was after the accident of the previous night. CHAPTER SIX. WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY THE MICE WILL PLAY. If Railsford had entertained any lurking hope that his private affairs were sacred in the hands of his prospective kinsman, the little incident recorded at the close of the last chapter did away with the last remnant of any such delusion. He did not say anything about it. He was punctilious to a degree in anything which affected his honour; and as what he had overheard on the occasion in question had been part of a private conversation not intended for his ears, he felt himself unable to take any notice of it. Still, it was impossible for him to regard the faithless Arthur with quite as brotherly an eye as before; and the manner in which that young gentleman avoided him for the next few days, and hung out signals of distress in his presence, showed pretty plainly that these silent reproaches were not being thrown away. Of course Arthur did every imaginable thing to make matters worse in the house, by way of proving his contrition. He besought Wake not to let the story go about, greatly to the amusement of that young humourist, who had already heard it from half a dozen sources since the beginning of the term. He threatened Dimsdale with all sorts of penalties if he spread the secret any further. Dimsdale, who had long ago informed everyone of his acquaintance, cheerfully promised it should go no further. So anxious was Arthur to make up for his offence, that when one or two fellows spoke to him about it, and asked him if it was true that Railsford and his sister were going to be married, he prevaricated and hedged till he got hopelessly out of his depth. "Married!" he would reply, scornfully, "fiddlesticks! I tell you there's nothing in it--all jaw! Who told you they were going to be married?" From utterances like these an impression got abroad in some quarters that Railsford wanted to marry "Chuckey," but "Chuckey" wouldn't have him. So the last end of the story was worse than the first. Railsford, however, did not hear this latest version of his own romance; and, indeed, had plenty of other things just, at this time to occupy his attention. Much to his own satisfaction, he received a polite note from Smedley, the captain of the school, to inform him that he had been elected a vice-president of the Athletic Union, and expressing a hope that he would favour the treasurer with the annual subscription now due, and attend a committee on Saturday evening in Mr Roe's house to arrange about the spring sports. Both requests he gladly complied with. Previous to the meeting he had been present as umpire at a football-match in the meadows between the first twelve against the next twenty. It was a finely-contested battle, and his opinion of Grandcourt rose as he stood and looked on. It had not occurred to him till he was about to start that his two principal prefects would of course be members of the committee in whose deliberations he was to take part. But he considered he might safely leave the control of the house during his short absence to the keeping of Stafford and Felgate, who, though neither of them the kind of boy to inspire much confidence, had at least the title to be considered equal to the task. After all, it was only for an hour. Possibly no one would know of his absence, and on this the first occasion of his being present at a meeting in whose objects he had so much interest, he felt that his duty to the school had as much claim on him as his duty to his house. So he ran the risk, and went quietly out at the appointed time, in the comfortable assurance that his house was absorbed in preparation, and would never miss him. The meeting came up to his expectations. He was the only master present, and as such was voted to the chair. He made a little speech he had got ready in case of need, lauding up athletics to the skies, and confessing his own sympathy and enthusiasm for whatever tended towards the physical improvement of Grandcourt. The boys cheered him at every sentence, and when Smedley afterwards welcomed him in the name of the boys, and said they were all proud to have an old "Blue" among their masters, he received quite a small ovation. Then the meeting went heartily to work over the business of the sports. After an hour and a half's steady work the programme was arranged, the date was fixed, the expenses were estimated, and the vote of thanks was given to the chairman. "Would you mind umpiring again next Saturday, sir?" asked Smedley, as they parted. "With all the pleasure in the world--any time," said the master, only wishing he could play in the fifteen himself. Railsford's house, meanwhile, had celebrated the temporary absence of its ruler in strictly orthodox fashion. Scarcely had he departed, flattering himself that the deluded mice were still under the spell of the cat's presence in their neighbourhood, when the word went round like wildfire, "Coast's clear!" Arthur and the baronet heard it in their study, and flung their books to the four winds and rushed howling down to the common room. The Babies heard it, and kicked over their forms, and executed war-dances in the passages. The Fifth-form "muggers" heard it, and barricaded their doors and put cotton-wool in their ears. Stafford and Felgate heard it, and shrugged their shoulders and wondered when the other prefects would be back. "There's nobody about. Come on. We can kick up as much row as we like!" shouted the high-principled Arthur. "Who cares for my spooney old brother-in-law, Marky?" The shout of laughter which followed this noble appeal suddenly dropped into a deadly silence as the lank form of Mr Bickers appeared in the doorway. Arthur rapidly lost himself in the crowd. The two prefects, with flushed faces, elbowed their way into the room as though just arrived to quell the uproar. A few boys snatched up books and flopped down at their desks. But Mr Bickers had too keen an eye to let himself be imposed upon. He had witnessed the scene from a window in his own house, and surmising by the noise that no authority was present to deal with the disorder, had taken upon himself to look in in a friendly way and set things right. "Silence!" he cried, closing the door behind him, and walking two steps into the room. "Where is Mr Railsford?" "Out, sir," said Stafford. "And the prefects?" "Felgate and I are prefects, sir. The other two are out." "And you two have allowed this noise and disorder to go on for half an hour?" "We were going to stop it," said Felgate, faltering. "By looking on and applauding?" responded the master. "You forget that from one of my windows everything that goes on here is plainly visible, including those who stand at the door and look on when they ought to know better. Go to your rooms, you two." "We are in charge of the house, sir," mildly protested Felgate. "_I_ am in charge of the house," thundered Mr Bickers. "Obey me, and go." They withdrew, chafing, crestfallen, and very uncomfortable. "Now," said Mr Bickers, when the door was again closed, "Arthur Herapath, come here." Mr Bickers's knowledge of the names of the boys in other houses was quite phenomenal. Arthur, with hanging head and thumping heart, slunk forward. "So, sir," said Mr Bickers, fixing him with his eye, "you are the model boy whom I heard proclaiming as I came in that you could make as much noise as you liked, and called your absent master by an insulting name." "Please, sir," pleaded the unlucky Arthur, "I didn't mean it to be insulting. I only called him Marky, because he's my brother-in-law--I mean he's going to be." "That's right, Mr Bickers," said the baronet, nobly backing up his friend; "he's spoo-- I mean he's engaged to Daisy, Herapath's sister." "Silence, sir," said the master with a curl of his lips. "Herapath, come here, and hold out your hand." So saying, he took up a ruler from a desk close at hand. "Please, sir," expostulated Arthur--he didn't mind a cane, but had a rooted objection to rulers--"I really didn't--" "Hold out your hand, sir!" There was no denying Mr Bickers. Arthur held out his hand, and was there and then, before half his house, admonished six times consecutively, with an emphasis which brought the tears fairly into his hardened eyes. "Now go, all of you, to your studies, and continue your preparation. I shall remain in the house till Mr Railsford returns, and report what has occurred to him." When half an hour later the Master of the Shell, full of his athletic prospects, returned to his quarters, he was gratified as well as surprised by the dead silence which reigned, His astonishment was by no means diminished when on entering the common room he encountered Mr Bickers pacing up and down the floor amidst the scared juniors there assembled. Railsford, with all his follies, was a man of quick perception, and took in the whole situation at a glance. He understood why Mr Bickers was there, and why the place was so silent. Still more, he perceived that his own authority in the house had suffered a shock, and that a lesson was being read him by the man whom, of all his colleagues, he disliked the most. "Good-evening," said Mr Bickers, with a show of friendliness. Mark nodded. "I am glad to be able to render up your house to you in rather better order than I found it. If you'll take my advice, Railsford, you will not venture out, in the evening specially, leaving no one in authority. It is sure to be taken advantage of." Railsford bit his lips. "I ought to be much obliged to you," said he coldly. "As it happens, I did not venture out without leaving anyone in authority." "If you mean Stafford and--what is his name?--Felgate--I can't congratulate you on your deputies. They were, in fact, aiding and abetting the disorder, and I have sent them to their rooms as incompetent. I would advise you to relieve them of their office as soon as you can." "Thank you for your advice," said Railsford, whose blood was getting up. "I will make my own arrangements in my own house." "Of course, my dear fellow," replied Bickers, blandly, "but you should really find two better men than those. There was no attempt to stop the disorder (which had been going on for half an hour) when I arrived. I had to castigate one of the ringleaders myself--Herapath by name, claiming kinship with you, by the way. I'm not sure that you ought not to report him to Dr Ponsford." It was all Railsford could do to listen quietly to this speech, drawled out slowly and cuttingly by his rival. He made a desperate effort to control himself, as he replied-- "Don't you think, Mr Bickers, you might with advantage go and see how your own house is getting on in your absence?" Mr Bickers smiled. "Happily, I have responsible prefects. However, now you are back--and if you are not going out again--I will say good-night." Railsford said "Good-night," and disregarding the proffered hand of his colleague, walked moodily up to his own room. He may be excused if he was put out and miserable. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. And yet the manner in which the rebuke had been administered was such as no man of spirit could cheerfully endure. The one idea in his mind was, not how to punish the house for its disorder, but how to settle scores with Bickers for restoring order; not how to admonish the incompetent prefects, but how to justify them against their accuser. He sent for the four prefects to his room before bed hour. Ainger and Barnworth, it was plain to see, had been informed of all that had happened, and were in a more warlike mood even than their two companions. "I hear," said Railsford, "that there was a disturbance in the house while I was away for a short time this evening. Ainger and Barnworth of course were out too, but I should like to hear from you, Stafford and Felgate, what it was all about." Stafford allowed Felgate to give his version; which was, like most of Felgate's versions, decidedly apocryphal. "There was rather a row, sir," said he, "among some of the juniors. Some of them were wrestling, I fancy. As soon as we saw what was going on, Stafford and I came to stop it, when Mr Bickers turned up and sent us to our rooms. We told him we had been left in charge by you, but he would not listen." "Very annoying!" said the master. "It's rather humiliating to our house, sir," said Ainger, "if our prefects are not to be allowed to deal with our own fellows." "I agree with you," said Mark, warmly. "I have no reason whatever for doubting that they can and will do their duty when--" He had intended to say "when they are not interfered with," but deemed it more prudent to say, "when occasion requires." "We could easily have stopped the row, sir," said Stafford, "if we had been allowed to do so." "I have no doubt of it," said the master. "I am glad to have had this little explanation. The honour of our house is of common interest to all of us." A week ago this speech would have seemed a mere commonplace exhortation, but under present circumstances it had a double meaning for those present. "He's a brick," said Ainger, as they returned to their studies. "He means to back us up, after all, and pay Bickers out." "What surprises me," said Barnworth, "is that Stafford, the bull-dog, did not invite the intruder out into the square and impress the honour of our house with two black marks on each of his eyes." "I'm just as glad," said Felgate, "it's all happened. We shouldn't have got Railsford with us if--" "If you'd done your duty, and stopped the row the moment it began," said Ainger; who, with all his jealousy for his house, had no toleration for humbug, even in a prefect whose cause he espoused. So Railsford's house went to bed that night in a warlike mood. CHAPTER SEVEN. THE SESSION OF MASTERS AND AN OUTRAGE. It is to be feared that Mark Railsford, Moral Science man though he was, had yet to learn the art of applying his philosophy to his own circumstances, or he would never have committed the serious error, on the day following the event recorded in the last chapter, of writing the following foolish note to Mr Bickers:-- "_February_ 1. "Sir,--Referring to the unpleasant topic of our conversation last night, I have since consulted my prefects on the matter, and made other inquiries as to what took place here during my temporary absence at the athletic meeting. The report I have received, and which I am disposed to credit, differs materially from your own version. In any case, allow me to say that I require no assistance in the management of my house. When I do, I shall ask for it. Meanwhile I shall continue to consider the interference of anyone, whatever his motives, as an impertinence which I, although the junior master at Grandcourt, shall have no hesitation in resenting to the utmost of my power. I trust these few lines may obviate any future misunderstanding on a point about which I feel very strongly. "Yours, etcetera, "M. Railsford." Mr Bickers was hardly the man to neglect the opportunity afforded by this letter for a crushing reply; and accordingly he spend a pleasant hour that same afternoon in concocting the following polite rejoinder:-- "_February_ 1. "Dear Railsford,--Many thanks for your note just to hand. I can quite believe that the version of yesterday's proceedings which you are disposed to credit, given by your prefects (two of whom were absent, and the other two participators in the disturbance), differs materially from my own. Such diversities of opinion are not uncommon in my experience. As to the management of your house, I assure you in what I did yesterday I had no intention of assisting you. In fact, you were not there to assist. It was because you were not, that my duty to the school suggested that I should attempt to do what you would have done infinitely better, I am aware, had you been on the spot. Under similar circumstances I should do the same again, in face of the uncomfortable knowledge that thereby I should be guilty of an impertinence to the junior master at Grandcourt. It is kind of you to take steps to make your meaning quite clear on this matter. May I suggest that we refer the matter to the session of masters, or, if you prefer it, to Dr Ponsford? I believe the masters meet to-night. Unless I hear from you, I shall conclude you are as anxious as I am to have the matter thoroughly gone into by a competent tribunal, to obviate any future misunderstanding on a point on which you naturally feel strongly. "Believe me, my dear Railsford, "Yours, very truly, "T. Bickers." Mark was entertaining company when this uncomfortable letter arrived, in the person of Monsieur Lablache, the French master. It would be difficult to say what there was in the unpopular foreigner which attracted the Master of the Shell. It may have been a touch of Quixotic chivalry which led him to defy all the traditions of the place and offer his friendship to the best-hated person in Grandcourt; or it may have been a feeling that monsieur was hardly judged by his colleagues and pupils. However it was, during the short time the term had run, the two men had struck up an acquaintance which perplexed a great many spectators and displeased a great many more. "I think you should be careful with Lablache," said Grover to his friend. "Not that I know anything against him, but his reputation in the school is rather doubtful." "I suppose the reputation of all detention masters is doubtful," said Railsford, laughing; "yours or mine would be if we had his work to do. But a man is innocent till he is proved guilty in England, isn't he?" "Quite so," said Grover. "I don't want to set you against him, for, as I say, I know nothing of him. All I mean, is, that you must be prepared to share a little of his unpopularity if you take up with him. That's all." "I'll take my chance of that," said Railsford. The first time Monsieur Lablache appeared in Railsford's house, in response to an invitation from the new master to come and take coffee, there was considerable excitement in the house. The juniors considered their liberty was at stake, and hissed their master's guest down the corridors. The Shell boys presumed still further, and raised a cry of "Turn him out!" and some even attempted to hustle him and trip him upon the stairs. But the most curious incident of that untriumphal progress was when Munger, the cad of the Fifth, confronted monsieur in the lobby outside Railsford's room with the shout, "He's going to raise money on his old clothes at last!" The brutal words (for monsieur was very shabbily attired) were scarcely uttered when Railsford's door suddenly opened and Munger was sent reeling across the lobby under a blow which echoed through the house. The Master of the Shell, white with rage, stood there with a look on his face which sent the few loiterers packing to their dens, and made Munger only sorry the wall against which he staggered did not open and let him through. "Come here, you--you boy!" Munger advanced, scarcely less pale than his master. "Apologise to Monsieur Lablache--here, down on your knees--for behaving like a blackguard, and saying what you did!" "No, it is no matter," began monsieur, with a shrug, when Mark checked him by a gesture almost as intimidating as that by which he had just summoned the offender. "You hear me?" he said to the boy. Munger went down on his knees and repeated whatever he was told; and would have called himself by still worse names, had he been requested. It didn't matter much to Munger! "Now tell me your name?" "Munger." "Your form?" "Fifth." The master turned on his heel and ushered his guest into the room, leaving Munger to rub his cheek, and wonder to himself how he ever came to stand being knocked about in the way he had been that afternoon. This had happened a day or two ago. Since then, whatever the house thought, no one was bold enough to molest the French master publicly in Railsford's, unless it was perfectly certain Mr Railsford was out of the way. It would be a mistake to say the two masters had become devoted friends. Monsieur Lablache's chief attraction in Railsford's eyes was that he was looked down upon by the other masters, and persecuted by the boys; while the French master was so unused to notice of any kind, that he felt a trifle suspicious that the kindness of his new acquaintance might be in some way a snare. However, a little mutual mistrust sometimes paves the way to a good deal of mutual confidence; and after a few days the two men had risen considerably in one another's esteem. When Railsford, on the evening in question, crushed Mr Bickers's note up in his hand, with an angry exclamation, monsieur said-- "_Voila, mon cher_ Railsford, you do not get always _billets-doux_?" Monsieur had heard, of course, as everyone else had, of the new master's matrimonial prospects. "No," said Railsford, gloomily; "not always," and he pitched Mr Bickers's letter into the grate as he spoke. "Perhaps," said monsieur, "you do not always write them. I advise you to not answer that letter." "Why?" said Railsford, "how do you know what that letter is?" "I do not know; but I think that it does need no answer." Railsford laughed. "You are setting up as a soothsayer, monsieur. Suppose I tell you that letter does need an answer, quickly?" "Then, I say, somebody else will answer it better than you will." Railsford picked the crushed-up letter off the coals just in time to save it from the flames. "How should you answer it, monsieur?" Monsieur slowly unfolded the paper and smoothed it out. "Meester Beekaire!" said he, with a twist of his moustache, as he recognised the writing. "You mean that I read it?" "Certainly, if you like." The Frenchman read the document through, and then pitched it back into the fire. "Well?" said Railsford. "Well, my good friend, it seems you do not know Meester Beekaire as well as others." "Is that all?" said Railsford, a little nettled. "The masters' meeting is to-night, is it not?" "So he says." "You shall go?" "Of course." "It will not be pleasant times for you, for you will need to make speeches, my good friend." "Look here," said Railsford, who was getting a little impatient of these enigmatical utterances, "I fancied you could give me some advice; if you can't, let us talk about something more pleasant." "I do give you advice. I say to you, go to the meeting, and say you did wrong, and will not do it again--" "What!" thundered Mark, in a voice which made Arthur and the baronet in the room overhead jump out of their chairs. "My kind Railsford, it is only my advice. You have been in the wrong. I say to you, as a brave man, do not make yourself more wrong. Meester Beekaire would help you very much to make yourself more wrong. Do not let him help you, I say." Unpalatable as it was, there was some force in his visitor's advice, which Railsford was bound to admit. Poor monsieur was not a shining example of successful dealing with his fellow-masters. Still, out of the mouth of the simple one may sometimes hear a home truth. The masters' session was a periodical conference of the Grandcourt masters, half social, half business, for the purpose of talking over matters of common school interest, discussing points of management, and generally exchanging ideas on what was passing in the little world of which they were the controllers. Dr Ponsford rarely, if ever, put in an appearance on such occasions; he had the greatest faith in holding himself aloof from detail, and not making himself too accessible either to master or boy. Only when the boys could not settle a matter for themselves, or the masters could not settle it for them, he interfered and settled it without argument and without appeal. It was never pleasant when the doctor had to be called in, and the feeling against such a step contributed very largely to the success of the school's self-government. Railsford by this time knew most of his fellow-masters to speak to, but this was the first occasion on which he had met them in their corporate capacity, and had he not been personally interested in the proceedings he would felt a pleasant curiosity in the deliberations of this august body. Mr Bickers was already there, and nodded in a most friendly way to the Master of the Shell on his arrival. Grover and Mr Roe welcomed their new colleague warmly, and began at once to compare notes as to school- work. A few minutes later Monsieur Lablache, a little smarter than usual, came in, and having bowed to the company generally--a salute which no one seemed to observe--subsided on a retired seat. Railsford, to the regret perhaps of some of his friends, presently walked across and took a seat beside him, and the meeting began. "Before we come to business," began Mr Roe, who by virtue of his seniority occupied the chair, "I am sure the meeting would wish me to express their pleasure at seeing Mr Railsford among us for the first time, and to offer him a hearty welcome to Grandcourt." "Hear, hear," said Grover and others, amongst whom Mr Bickers's voice was conspicuous. Railsford felt uncomfortable thus to become an object of general notice, and coloured up as he nodded his acknowledgments to the chairman. "They do not know of your scrape," said monsieur, cheerfully. "I would tell them about it, my good friend, before Meester Beekaire makes his little speech." Railsford glared round at his companion, and felt his heart thumping at the prospect of the task before him. "There are one or two matters," began Mr Roe, "to bring before--" Railsford rose to his feet and said, "Mr Roe, and gentlemen--" There was a dead silence at this unexpected interruption, broken only by an encouraging cheer from Mr Bickers. Supposing the new master was about to acknowledge the compliment just paid him by a set speech, Mr Roe put down his agenda paper and said, "Mr Railsford." "If you will allow me," began Mark, rather breathlessly, "I would like to refer to a matter which personally concerns myself. I should not venture to do it in this way, immediately after your kind welcome, if I did not feel it to be my duty. Yesterday, gentlemen, an unfortunate incident occurred in my house--(`Hear, hear,' and a smile from Mr Bickers). I went--" "Excuse me," said the chairman, "may I explain to Mr Railsford, as he is a new member here, that our practice is invariably to take up any questions in order of the seniority of the masters present. Mr Smith, I believe, has a motion on the paper--" Poor Railsford subsided, full of confusion, stripped of his good resolutions, abusing himself for his folly, and wishing Monsieur Lablache and his advice at the bottom of the sea. What Mr Smith and the other masters who followed had to say he neither heard nor cared. His determination to admit his own error had oozed away, and he resolved that if his story was to be kept waiting, it should be none the sweeter, when it did come, for the delay. Several topics were discussed pleasantly, with a view to elicit the opinion of the meeting on small questions of policy and discipline. Presently Mr Roe turned to Bickers. "I think you said you had some question to ask, Mr Bickers?" "Oh, well, yes. Mine's quite a hypothetical point, though," began Mr Bickers, airily. "I just wanted to ask, supposing one of us becomes aware of a riot in a neighbouring house, during the absence of the master of that house, and ascertains, moreover, that the prefects on duty, so far from making any attempt to control the disorder, are participating in it, I presume there can be no question that it would be the duty of anyone of us to interfere in such a case? It's quite a hypothetical case, mind, but it might occur." "Certainly, I should say, if you were quite sure the proper house authorities were not there to enforce order," said Mr Roe. "Of course," said Grover; "but it's rather an unlikely case, isn't it?" "It occurred in my house last night," broke in Railsford, hotly. "I was at the Athletic Union, and two of my prefects; the other two were left in charge. Mr Bickers took upon himself to interfere in my absence, and I have written to tell him that I consider his action impertinent, and resent it. In reply, he writes--" "A _private_ letter," interposed Mr Bickers hurriedly, evidently not relishing the prospect of having his effusion read. "It was not marked `private,' but I can quite understand the writer would not like to hear it read aloud here. All I wish to say is that his hypothetical case is no more hypothetical than his interference was in the affairs of my house; and that if he asks my opinion on the matter, I shall tell him he would do better to mind his own business!" Railsford sat down, very hot, and painfully conscious that he had not exhibited the moderation and temper which he had promised himself to observe. An embarrassed silence ensued. Mr Roe, a man of peace, frowned, and turned inquiringly to Bickers. Bickers stroked his beard and smiled, and said nothing. "Do you wish to say anything?" asked the chairman. "By no means. Mr Railsford has said all I could wish said far more eloquently than I could. Shall we go on to the next business, Mr Chairman?" As for Railsford, the further proceeding had no interest for him, and he vanished the moment the meeting was over, without speaking to anyone. As Mr Bickers walked off towards his house, he really felt a little sorry for his fellow-master, who had let himself down by so paltry an exhibition of temper thus early in his career. However, no doubt he would take to heart to-night's lesson, and do himself more justice in future. Mr Bickers, in the fulness of his heart, took a little round of the big square on his way home, with the double intent of giving himself the air, and perchance intercepting, for the good of the school, one or more youthful night-birds in their truant excursions. This was a kind of sport in which Mr Bickers was particularly successful, and which, therefore (as became a successful sportsman), he rather enjoyed. To his credit be it said, he was strictly impartial in his dealings; whether the culprit belonged to his own house (as often happened) or to another's, he was equally down upon him, and was never known to relax his penalties for the most plausible excuse set up by his ingenious victims. To-night it seemed as if he would return without a "bag" at all, and he was about to resign himself to his disappointment, when his quick eyes detected in the darkness a hovering shadow moving ahead of him in the direction of Railsford's house. It vanished almost immediately, but not before the master had caught a faintly uttered "Hist!" which betrayed that he had to deal with more than one truant. He quickened his pace a little, and came once more in view of the phantom slinking along by the wall at a pace which was not quite a run. Rather to Mr Bickers's surprise the fugitive passed the door of Railsford's, and made straight on towards the chapel, slackening pace as he did so. "A decoy," said the knowing master to himself. "Employed to draw me on while the rest make good their retreat. There is a touch of generosity in the decoy which one is bound to admire; but on this occasion, my young friend, you are dealing with rather too aged a bird to be caught--" At this moment he had come up to the door of Railsford's, and before his soliloquy had been able to advance by another word he seemed to see sparks before his eyes, while at the same moment his feet went from under him, and something was drawn over his head. The bag, or whatever it was, was capacious; for the neck of it descended to his waist, and closed by the magic of a slip-knot round his mouth and elbows before he had the presence of mind to shout or throw out his arms. To complete his misfortune, as he tried to raise himself, another noose was snugly cast around his feet, and thus gagged and pinioned, silently, rapidly, and dexterously, Mr Bickers found himself in a situation in which, he could positively aver, he had never stood--or lain--before. The thought did flash through his sack-enveloped head, that his assailants, whoever they were, must have rehearsed this little comedy carefully and diligently for a day or two, in order to arrive at the perfection displayed in the present performance. He also made a mental calculation that three, possibly four, fellow-beings were engaged on the job, of whom two were strong, and two were small; one of the latter possibly being the decoy whom he had so lately apostrophised. Not a syllable was uttered during the ceremony; and the victim recognising his position, had the good sense to remain cool and not waste his time and dignity in a fruitless struggle. The pinioning being complete, and a small hole being considerately opened in the sack in the region of the nose for purposes of respiration, he was hauled up one or two steps, dragged one or two feet, deposited on the board floor of the shoe-cupboard, and, after a few mild and irresolute kicks, left to his own meditations, the last sound which penetrated into the sack being the sharp turning of a key on the outside of his dungeon door. "So," soliloquised Mr Bickers, after discovering that he was unhurt, though uncomfortably cramped, "our friend Railsford is having one lodger more than the regulation number to-night. This will make another hypothetical case for the next session of masters!" CHAPTER EIGHT. THE DOCTOR HAS A WORD OR TWO WITH RAILSFORD'S HOUSE. Railsford's house was not famous for early risers. The chapel-bell in winter began to ring at 7.30, and "call-over" was at 7.45. Between these two periods, but chiefly at the 7.45 end, most of the rising in the house was accomplished. Master Simson, the Shell-fish, was in for the hundred yards under fourteen at the sports; and being a shy youth who did not like to practise in public, he had determined to rise before the lark and take a furtive spin round the school track while his schoolfellows and enemies slept. It was a cold, raw morning, and before he was fully arrayed in his flannels he had had more than one serious idea of relapsing into bed. Be it said to his credit, he resisted the temptation, and gallantly finished his toilet, putting on an extra "sweater" and pea-jacket to boot--for he had seven pounds to run off between now and the sports. He peered out of the window; it was dark, but a patter on the panes showed him that a light sleet was falling outside. If so, being of a frugal mind, he would not run in his new shoes, but in his old boots. Now, his old boots were in the cupboard under the staircase by the front door. And the reader understands at last why it is I have taken so much trouble to describe Master Simson's movements on this particular morning. It was so rare an event for any boy to be up at six o'clock on a winter morning in Railsford's, that no one had ever thought about making a rule to prevent the early birds leaving the house at that hour, if they could succeed in getting out. Simson, who had interest with the cook, believed he could get an _exeat_ through the kitchen window; meanwhile he must get his boots. He armed himself with a match--the last one in the box--and quietly felt his way along the corridor and down the stairs. There was a glimmer of light from under the maids' door as he passed, which told him they were up and that he would not have long to wait downstairs. At the foot of the stairs he turned sharp round, and following the wall with his hand, came at length on the familiar handle of the "boot-box." To his surprise the door was locked, but the key was on the outside. "A sell if I hadn't been able to get in," said he to himself, opening the door. Now Simson, like a cautious youth, aware of the frailty of matches, wisely resolved to penetrate as far as possible into the interior of the cupboard, in the direction in which he knew his particular boots to be, before striking a light. But at the first step he tripped on something and fell prostrate over a human carcase, which emitted a muffled gasp and moved heavily as he tumbled upon it. Then there went up a yell such as curdled the blood of half Railsford's as they lay in their beds, and made the domestics up- stairs cling to one another in terror, as if their last moment had come. Simson, with every hair on his head erect, made a frantic dive out of that awful den, banging the door and locking it behind him in a frenzy of fright. Then he dashed up-stairs, and plunged, as white as his shirt, into the dormitory. Another yell signalised his arrival. Not his, this time, but the joint performance of the other occupants of the room, who, sitting up with their chins on their knees, half petrified by the horror of the first shriek, now gave themselves up for lost when the door broke open in the dark, and a gasping something staggered into the room. "There's some--bo--dy been mur--dered," gasped Simson, "in the bo--ot- box!" Everybody was on his feet in a moment. "Murdered?" "Yes," said Simson, wonderfully comforted by the noise and general panic. "I got up early, you know, to have a grind on the track, and went to get my boots, and--I--I fell over it!" "Over what?" "The bo--od--y," whispered Simson. "Has anybody got a light?" shouted Arthur. But at that moment a light appeared at the door, and Ainger came in. "What's all this row--what's the matter?" "Simson says somebody's been murdered in the boot-box," replied Arthur. "I say, hadn't we better go and see?" It was a practical suggestion. The corridor was already full of half- dressed inquirers, and a moment later Mr Railsford's door opened. The story was repeated to him. "Come with me, Ainger," said he, quietly; "the rest of you return to your dormitories, and remain there." Arthur, seized by a noble desire not to leave his future kinsman unprotected in such an hour of peril, elected to disregard this last order, and, accompanied by his henchman, followed the candle at a respectful distance down the stairs. "There's no blood on the stairs," observed the baronet, in a whisper. "They've left the key in the door," muttered Arthur. "Hold the light," said Railsford, turning the key, and entering. Prostrate on the ground, bound hand and foot, and enveloped down to the waist in a sack, lay the figure of a man, motionless, but certainly not dead, for sounds proceeded from the depths of the canvas. In a moment Railsford had knelt and cut the cords round the prisoner's feet and hands, while Ainger drew the sack from the head. Arthur gave a whistle of consternation as the features of Mr Bickers came to light, pale and stern. The sudden sight of Medusa's head could hardly have had a more petrifying effect. The victim himself was the first to recover. Stretching his arms and legs in relief, he sat up, and coolly said,-- "Thank you." "Whatever does all this mean?" exclaimed Railsford, helping him to rise, for he was very stiff and cramped. "That I cannot say. Kindly reach my hat, Ainger." "Who has done this?" "That, too, I cannot say. I can walk, thank you." "Won't you come to my room and have something? You really must," said Railsford, taking his arm. Mr Bickers disengaged his arm, and said coldly, "Thank you, no; I will go to my own, if you will open the door." Arthur at this moment came up officiously with a glass of water, which Mr Bickers drank eagerly, and then, declining one last offer of assistance, went slowly out towards his own house. Railsford retired to his room and threw himself into his chair in a state of profound dejection. Mysterious as the whole affair was, one or two things were clear. The one was that his house was disgraced by this criminal and cowardly outrage, the other was that the situation was made ten times more difficult on account of the already notorious feud between himself and the injured master. His high hopes were once more dashed to the ground, and this time, it almost seemed, finally. Mark Railsford was no coward, yet for half an hour that morning he wished he might be well out of Grandcourt for ever. Then, having admitted cooler counsels, he dressed and went to the captain's study. "Call the other prefects here, Ainger. I want to talk to you." The seniors were not far off, and speedily assembled. "First of all," said the master, who perceived at a glance that it was not necessary for him to explain the gravity of the situation, "can any of you give me any information about this disgraceful affair?" "None, sir," said Ainger, a little nettled at the master's tone; "we have talked it over, and, as far as we are concerned, it's a complete mystery." "Have you any reason to suspect anybody?" "None at all, sir." "You know, all of you, I needn't tell you, that the credit of the house is at stake--in fact, it's gone till we find the offenders. Mr Bickers will naturally report the matter to Dr Ponsford, and I am going to the doctor for the same purpose. I wished to consult you before taking any step, because this is a matter in which we must work together." "Certainly, sir," said Ainger, speaking for the rest. "What I mean is, that no personal feeling must come between us and the duty we all owe to Grandcourt to see this wrong put right; you understand me?" "Yes," said the downright Ainger; "we none of us like Mr Bickers, but we must find out the fellows who scragged him, all the same." "Exactly; and I am glad to hear you say that. There is one other matter. Two of you, Stafford and Felgate, recently felt specially aggrieved by something which Mr Bickers said to you. You must forget all that now, and remember only that your duty to the whole school requires that you should do everything in your power to help to put an end to this scandal." "Of course we shall," said Felgate, curtly, in a tone which Railsford did not consider particularly encouraging. However, having opened his mind to his lieutenants, he went away straight to the doctor's. Mr Bickers was leaving just as he entered, and Railsford read in his looks, as he brushed past, no great encouragement to hope that things would soon be made right. "Mr Bickers," said he, advancing almost in front of his colleague, "I _must_ tell you how distressed I am at what has occurred. I--" "Yes, it _is_ trying for you," said the injured master, drily. "Excuse me, though; I want my breakfast." It was not easy to feel cordial sympathy with a man like this. However, there was nothing for it but to go and lay his case before the doctor, and Railsford entered accordingly. Dr Ponsford was at breakfast, and asked his visitor to take a seat. "You have come to tell me that Mr Bickers's assailants are discovered?" said he. "I wish I could," said Railsford. "I have only had time to speak to my prefects." "Two of whom are not to be trusted, and profess a personal spite against Mr Bickers." This was just like the doctor. He gave other people information and never wanted any himself. "I know, of course, what you refer to. I have not myself found any reason to consider Felgate or Stafford untrustworthy. Mr Bickers says--" "I know what Mr Bickers says; but what do you say?" "Well, sir, frankly, I do not feel quite sure of Felgate; and Stafford is too amiable to say `no' to anybody." "Now let me hear about the affair this morning." Railsford gave a careful account of the discovery of Mr Bickers in the boot-box, and was conscious that the doctor, although he gave little sign of it, was not quite blind to the unfortunate position in which he, as the new master of the offending house, was placed. "Have a call-over of your house at ten o'clock, Mr Railsford. I will come." This announcement was about as cheerful a one in Grandcourt as an appointment made by the Court of the Inquisition would have been, once upon a time, in Spain, Railsford rose to go. "You had better stop and have breakfast here," said the doctor, ringing the bell for another cup. During the meal no further reference was made to the event of the morning, but Railsford was drawn out as to his work and the condition of his house generally, and was painfully aware that the doctor was making the best of his time to reckon him up. He only wished he could guess the verdict. But on this point he received no light, and went off presently charged with the unpleasant task of summoning his house to answer for themselves at the bar of the head- master. It was a curious spectacle, the crowd of boys which assembled in the common room that morning at Railsford's. Some were sulky, and resented this jumbling of the innocent and guilty. Some were so anxious to appear guileless and gay, that they overdid it and compromised themselves in consequence. Some were a little frightened lest an all- round flogging should be proposed. Some whispered mysteriously, and looked askance at one or two fellows who had been "mentioned" as possibly implicated. Some, like Arthur and the baronet, with Simson squeezed in between them, looked knowing and important, as though horses and chariots would not drag their secret out of them. Ainger looked pale, and his big chest went up and down in a manner which those who knew him felt to be ominous. Stafford looked alternately solemn and sneering, according as he turned to the captain or Felgate. And Barnworth alone looked comfortable, and, apparently, had not an idea what all the excitement was about. At ten o'clock Railsford entered in his cap and gown, and Ainger immediately began to call over the roll. Every one answered to his name except Maple of the Shell, who was away at his father's funeral, and Tomkins the Baby, who had been so scared by the whole affair, that he had turned sick during breakfast, and retired--with the dame's permission--to bed. During the call-over the doctor had entered and seated himself at the master's desk. His quick eye took in each boy as he uttered his "Adsum," dwelling longer on some than on others, and now and then turning his glance to the master and senior prefect. When it was all over and Ainger had handed in the list, the head-master took his eyeglass from his eye, laid the list on the desk before him, and said-- "Boys, this is an unusual and unpleasant visit. You know the object of it; you know the discredit which at present lies on your house and on Grandcourt, and you know what your duty is in the matter. If any boy here does not know what I mean, let him stand up." It was as much as the life of anybody present was worth to respond to this challenge. One or two who could never hear a good story too often would not have objected if somebody else had demanded further information. But for their own part, their discretion outdid their curiosity, and they retained their seats amidst a dead silence. "Very well. Now I will put a question to you as a body. It is a very serious question, and one which no honest boy here, if he is able to answer it, can afford to evade. A great deal more depends on your answer than the mere expulsion of one or more wrong-doers. You boys are the guardians of the honour of your house. The only honourable thing at a time like this is to speak the truth, whatever the consequences. The question I ask is this-- Was any boy here concerned in the outrage on Mr Bickers? or does any boy know who was? I will wait for two minutes, that you may understand the importance of the question, before I call for an answer." Dead silence. The boys for the most part looked straight before them with heightened colour, and watched the slow progress of the minute-hand of the clock. "I repeat the question now," said the doctor, when the allotted time had run--"Was any boy here concerned in the outrage on Mr Bickers? or does any boy know who was? If so, let him stand up." The silence which followed was broken to some by the thumping of their own hearts. But no one rose; and a sense of relief came to all but Railsford, who felt his spirits sink as the prospect of a near end to his trouble receded. "Every boy here," said the doctor, slowly, "denies all knowledge of the affair?" Silence gave consent. "Then," continued the head-master, more severely, putting up his eyeglass, and handing the list to Ainger, "I shall put the question to each boy separately. Call over the list, and let each boy come up and answer." Ainger began by calling out his own name, and forthwith walked up to the master's desk. "Do you know anything whatever of this affair?" asked the doctor, looking him full in the face. "No, sir," said Ainger, returning the look, after his fashion, half defiantly. The next name was called, and its owner marched up to the desk and uttered his denial. Railsford, as he stood scanning keenly the face of each boy in turn, felt that he was watching the action of some strange machine. First Ainger's clear voice. Then the short "Adsum," and the footsteps up to the desk. Then the doctor's stern question. Then the quick look-up and the half-defiant "No, sir," (for they all caught up the captain's tone). And, finally, the retreating footsteps, and the silence preceding the next name. There was no sign of faltering; and, wherever the secret lurked, Railsford saw little chance of it leaking out. A few boys, indeed, as was natural, gave their replies after their own fashion. Barnworth looked bored, and answered as though the whole performance was a waste of time. Arthur Herapath was particularly knowing in his tone, and accompanied his disclaimer with an embarrassing half-wink at his future kinsman. Felgate said "No" without the "sir," and swaggered back to his place with an ostentatious indifference which did not go unnoted. The baronet, who was nothing if not original, said nothing, but shook his head. "Reply to the question, sir!" thundered the doctor, ominously. Whereat Sir Digby, losing his head, said, "No, thank you, sir," and retired, amid some confusion. Simson, when interrogated, mildly added to his "No, sir" the explanatory sentence, "except finding him there when I went for my boots"; and Munger, the cad, added to his answer, "but I'll try to find out," with a leer and an oily smile, which Ainger felt strongly tempted to acknowledge by a kick as he passed back to his place. Stafford, painfully aware that he was one of the "mentioned" ones, looked horribly confused and red as he answered to his name, and satisfied several of the inexpert ones present that it was hardly necessary to look further for one of the culprits. So the call-over passed, and when once more Ainger handed in the list Railsford seemed further than ever from seeing light through the cloud which enveloped it. The doctor's brow darkened as he took once more his glass from his eye. "This is very serious," said he, slowly. "When I came here it was with the painful feeling that the house contained boys so cowardly and unprincipled as to waylay a defenceless man in the dark, and to treat him as Mr Bickers has been treated. But it is tenfold worse to believe that it contains boys cowardly enough to involve the whole house in their own disgrace and punishment. (Sensation.) I will not mince matters. Your house is deeply disgraced, and cannot pretend to rank any longer with the other houses, who at least have a good name, until you have yourselves made this matter right. It rests with you to retrieve your credit. Meanwhile--" Everybody took a long breath. The occasion was as when the judge puts on the black cap before passing sentence of death. "Meanwhile the house will cease to dine in Hall, but will dine in this room at one o'clock daily; and on Saturdays, instead of taking the half- holiday in the afternoon, you will take it in the morning, and assemble for school at twelve o'clock. I still trust that there may be sufficient self-respect among you to make this change only of slight duration; or that," and here the doctor's tone grew bitter, and his mouth gathered sarcastically--"at least self-interest may come to your assistance, and make it possible to return to the old order." And he stalked from the room. "Let us off easy, eh?" said the baronet. "Easy?" fumed Arthur; "he might as well have given us a bit of rope a- piece and told us to go and hang ourselves! Look at Ainger; do you suppose _he_ thinks we've been let off easy?" The captain's face left no doubt on that question. CHAPTER NINE. AINGER HAS A CRUMPET FOR TEA, AND SMEDLEY SINGS A SONG. Railsford for a brief moment had shared the opinion of his distinguished pupil, that the doctor had let the house off easily. But two minutes' reflection sufficed to undeceive him. The house was to dine daily at one o'clock in Railsford's. That meant that they were to be cut off from all association with the rest of the school out of school hours, and that just when all the rest turned out into the playing-fields they were to sit down at their disgraced board. The half-holiday regulation was still worse. For that meant nothing short of the compulsory retirement of his boys from all the clubs, and, as far as athletics went, their total exclusion from every match or contest open to the whole school. The house was slower at taking in the situation of affairs than the master. With the exception of Ainger, on whom the full significance of the doctor's sentence had flashed from the first, there was a general feeling of surprise that so big a "row" should be followed by so insignificant a retribution. "Who cares what time we have dinner," said Munger to some of his admirers, "as long as we get it after all? Now if old Punch (this was an irreverent corruption of the head-master's name current in certain sets at Grandcourt)--if old Punch had stopped our grub one day a week--" "Besides," broke in another, "we'll get things hotter than when we dined in hall." "A precious sight hotter," said Arthur, wrathfully. "What are we to do at beagle-time to-morrow? Just when the hounds start we've got to turn in to dinner. Bah!" This was the first practical illustration of the inconvenience of the new _regime_, and it instantly suggested others. "We'll be stumped," said Tilbury, "if this goes on after cricket starts--it'll be all up with any of us getting into one of the School matches." "I suppose," said Ranger of the Fifth, "this will knock all of us out of the sports, too?" Fellows looked blank at the suggestion. Yet a moment's reflection showed that Ranger was right. One o'clock was the daily training hour in the playing-fields, and Saturday afternoon four weeks hence was the date fixed for the School sports. It took some days for Railsford's house to accommodate itself to the new order of things imposed upon it. Indeed, it took twenty-four hours for Grandcourt generally to comprehend the calamity which had befallen the disgraced house. When one o'clock arrived on the first afternoon, and neither Ainger, Wake, Wignet, Tilbury, Herapath, nor the other familiar frequenters of the playing-field, put in an appearance, speculation began to pass about as to the cause of their absence. Some of Bickers's boys knew there had been a "howling shine" about something. But it was not till Smedley, impatient to settle some question relating to the sports, sent his fag to fetch Ainger that it became generally known what had happened. The fag returned with an important face. "Such a go!" said he, in reply to his chief's inquiry; "there's a feast going on at Railsford's! Smelt fine! I saw them through the door, but couldn't go in, because Railsford was there. Ainger and all the lot were tucking in. The beef was just going in, so they've only just started." "Jolly shame!" said someone who overheard this announcement; "we never get feasts in our house! I suppose Railsford thinks he'll get his chaps in a good-humour by it. It's not fair unless everybody does it." "It'll be hall-time before they've done. We'd better not wait," said one of the Sixth. "I wonder what it all means?" "I heard Ponsford had been down rowing them about something this morning--something some of them had been doing to Bickers, I believe." "Very likely; Bickers looked as green as a toad this morning, didn't he, Branscombe?" "He did look fishy," said Branscombe, shortly, "but I say, Smedley, hadn't we better measure off without Ainger, and get him to see if he approves afterwards?" So the work went on without the representatives of Railsford's house, and the bell rang for school-dinner before any of the missing ones had put in an appearance. The mystery was heightened when in Hall the fifty seats usually occupied by Railsford's boys stood empty; and no inquiry was made from the masters' table as to the cause of the defection. It was noticed that Mr Railsford himself was not present, and that Mr Bickers still looked upset and out of sorts. "Have you any idea what the row is?" said Smedley to Branscombe as the company stood round the tables, waiting for the doctor. "How should I know? You'd better go and ask up there." Smedley did. As the doctor entered, he marched up to meet him, and said,-- "None of Mr Railsford's house are here yet, sir." "Quite right. Call silence for grace and begin," said the doctor, slowly. For the rest of the day Railsford's seemed to be playing hide and seek with the rest of the school, and it was not till late in the evening that the mystery was cleared up. "Come and let's see what it's all about," said Smedley to Branscombe. Both the seniors had been fretting all the afternoon with a sense of something gone wrong at Grandcourt, the former with just a little indignation that he, the captain of the school, should be kept in the dark, along with everybody else, on the subject. "I ought to work," said Branscombe; "you go and _tell_ me what's up." "Why, I thought you were as anxious as anyone to know?" "So I am," said Branscombe, who to do him justice looked thoroughly worried; "but you know while there's this row on between the two houses I--I don't care to go over there without being asked." "_I_ asked you, didn't I?" said Smedley. "You're not afraid of being eaten up, are you? Never mind. I'll brave the wild beasts myself, and let you know how I get on." It was the rule at Grandcourt that after dark no boy from one house might enter another without permission. Smedley therefore went straight to Railsford. "May I go and see Ainger, please, sir?" "Certainly. And, Smedley," said the master, as the captain retired, "look in here for a moment as you go out. I want to see you about the sports." Smedley found Ainger alone, and heard from him a full, true, and particular account of the day's events. The captain's wrath was unbounded. "What!" he exclaimed, "cut all of you out of the sports and everything! I say, Ainger, it must be stopped, I tell you. I'll go to the doctor." "Might as well go to the unicorn over the gate," said Ainger. "Can't you find the fellows?" "That's just it. There's not even a fellow in the house I can suspect so far." "You feel sure it's one of your fellows?" "It couldn't be anyone else. Roe's and Grover's fellows never come over our side, and never have anything to do with Bickers. And it's hardly likely any of Bickers's fellows would have done it. In fact, ever since Bickers came in here the other night and thrashed one of our fellows, the two houses have been at daggers drawn." "So Branscombe said. He didn't seem to care about coming in with me. I asked him." "I don't wonder. Some of the young fools down there would give him a hot reception for no other reason than that he belongs to Bickers's house." "I don't fancy he's proud of that distinction," said Smedley, laughing. "But, I say, can't anything be done?" "Nothing; unless Railsford can do anything." "Railsford asked me to go in and see him. Come, too, old man." But Railsford had nothing to suggest. He explained dejectedly the effect of the doctor's sentence. It meant that his house was out of everything in the playing-fields; and that, as for himself, he was as much excluded as his boys. And he confirmed Ainger's opinion that it was utterly useless to appeal further to the doctor. "It would be only fair, sir," said Smedley, "for you to take back the prize and subscription you offered for the sports." "Certainly not, my dear fellow," said the master. "If I cannot take part in the sports in person, at least I would like to have some finger in the pie." That was all that passed. "I like Railsford," said Smedley; "he's genuinely cut up." "It's awfully rough on him," replied Ainger. The two friends said good-bye. "By the way, Smedley," said Ainger, calling the captain back, "I may as well tell you, we are going to have our revenge for all this." "What!" said Smedley, rather alarmed. "Surely you're not going to--" "To roast the doctor? No. But we're going to make this the crack house of the school in spite of him." Smedley laughed. "Good! You've a busy time before you, old man. I'll promise to keep it dark--ha! ha!" "You may think it a joke, dear old chap," said Ainger, standing at the door and watching his retreating figure, "but even the captain of Grandcourt will have to sit up by-and-by." Smedley, the brave and impetuous, walked straight from Railsford's to the doctor's. He knew his was a useless mission, but he wasn't going to shirk it. The doctor would snub him and tell him to mind his own affairs; "but"--so said the hero to himself--"what do I care? I'll tell him a piece of my mind, and if he like to tell me a piece of his, that's only fair. Here goes!" The doctor was engaged in his study, said the servant; but if Mr Smedley would step into the drawing-room he would come in a few minutes. Smedley stepped into the dimly-lighted drawing-room accordingly, which, to his consternation, he found already had an occupant. The doctor's niece was at the piano. Smedley, for once in a way, behaved like a coward, and having advanced a step or two into the room, suddenly turned tail and retreated. "Don't go, Mr Smedley," said a pleasant voice behind him. "Uncle will be here in a minute." "Oh, I--good-evening, Miss Violet. I'm afraid of--" "Not of me, are you? I'll go if you like," said she, laughing, "and then you'll have the room to yourself." "Oh no, please. I didn't mean that. Won't you play or sing something, Miss Violet?" So Miss Violet sang "Cherry Ripe," and then, the doctor not having yet put in an appearance, Smedley asked if she would mind playing the accompaniment of "Down among the Dead Men," as he would like to try it over. The young lady cheerfully complied, and when presently the head-master stalked into the room he was startled, and possibly a little amused, to be met with the defiant shout of his head boy,-- "And he that will this health deny, Down among the dead men--down among the--" He was shaking his fist above his head, after the fashion of the song at the school suppers, when he suddenly stopped short at the sight of the doctor, and realised the horror of the situation. "Go on, Mr Smedley," said Miss Violet, "finish the verse. We shan't be a moment, uncle." But Smedley could as soon have finished that verse as fly up the chimney. So the doctor's niece finished it for him, and then, with a "Good-night, Mr Smedley; thank you very much for the song," she tripped out of the room, leaving the hero to his fate. It was not a very terrible fate after all. "You and my niece have been having quite a concert," said the doctor. "I hope I did not disturb you, sir. Miss Violet was so kind as to play some accompaniments for me while I was waiting for you." "You want to see me. What is it, Smedley?" Smedley till this moment had forgotten the object of his delicate mission, and now, suddenly recalled to business, felt less taste than ever for his task. Still he must go through with it. "It was about Mr Railsford's house, sir." "That, Smedley, is not a subject for discussion." "I know, sir. All I mean is that the whole school will suffer." "That increases the responsibility of those who can rectify all by owning their misconduct." "Won't it be possible to make some exceptions, sir? Our School sports will go all to pieces without Ainger and Barnworth and some of their fellows." "You must see they do not go to pieces, Smedley," said the doctor; "it would be unworthy of the school if they did. As for Mr Railsford's boys, I have said what I had to say to them, and have nothing more to add." "But Mr Railsford himself, sir," began the captain, desperately playing his last card; "we hoped he--" "It is a most unfortunate thing for everyone," said the doctor--"I include myself and you and Mr Railsford. We are called upon to make a sacrifice, and there should be no question about our being willing, all of us, to make it for the good of the school. Good-night, Smedley, good-night." Smedley walked back, humming "Cherry Ripe" to himself, and feeling decidedly depressed about things in general. CHAPTER TEN. ARTHUR PUTS TWO AND TWO TOGETHER. Sir Digby Oakshott, of Oakshott Park, Baronet, was down on his luck. His heart had been set on saving his house single-handed by a brilliant discovery of the miscreants to whom it owed its present disgrace. It had been a busy week for him. He had had three or four fights a day with outraged suspects, and had not invariably got the best of them. Besides, in his devotion to the public service his private duties had been neglected, and the pile of impositions had grown with compound interest. Worst of all, his own familiar friend had lifted up his heel against him, and had openly gibed at his efforts. This was "the most unkindest cut of all," and Sir Digby felt it deeply. "What's the use of going on fooling?" said Arthur, one evening, when the tension was becoming acute. "Why can't you shut up making an ass of yourself?" "Look here, Arthur, old man," said the baronet deprecatingly, "I don't want to be jawed by you. It's no business of yours." "What I can't make out," pursued his friend sarcastically, "is why you haven't tried to smell the chaps out by means of Smiley. Now, if you let Smiley have a good sniff of that bit of rope on your watch-chain, and then turn him out into the square, he'd ferret them out for you." "I tell you what, old man, if it's coming to a regular row between us two, hadn't you better say so at once, and get done with it?" "Who says anything about a row? All I say is, you're in a precious good way of getting yourself kicked round the house, the way you're going on; and I don't much mind if I'm asked to lead off." "You'd better try to kick me, that's all," said Dig. "I'll see what I can do for you some day. But, I say, Dig, can't you see what a howling ass you're making of yourself?" "No, I don't know so much about asses as you do," responded Dig. "Daresay not. If you were in the company of one all day long, as I am, you'd soon throw it up. I tell you, my--" Here the speaker suddenly broke off and looked affectionately at the troubled face of his old chum. "Look here, Dig, old man, I don't want to have a row with you, no more do you. I vote we don't." "Hang a row," said Dig. "But it seems to me, Arthur, you don't care twopence whether the chap's found out or not." Arthur's face clouded over. "Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. I don't see we're called upon to show them up." "But look what a mess the house is in till they're bowled out. We'll never get hold of a bat all the season." "Jolly bad luck, I know, but we must lump it, Dig. You must drop fooling about with your clues. Don't get in a wax, now. I've got my reasons." "Whatever do you mean? Do you know who it was, then? Come in! Who's there?" The intruder was the Baby Jukes, who carried half a dozen letters in his hand, one of which he presented to the two chums. "One for you," said he. "They're all the same. Wake gave Bateson and me a penny a-piece for writing them out, and we knocked off twenty. He says he'd have sent you one a-piece, only he knows you've not two ideas between you. Catch hold." And he departed, smiling sweetly, with his tongue in his cheek, just in time to avoid a Caesar flung by the indignant baronet at his head. "Those kids are getting a drop too much," said Dig. "They've no more respect for their betters than Smiley has. What's this precious letter?" The letter was addressed to "Messrs. Herapath and Oakshott," and was signed by Wake of the Fifth, although written in the inelegant hand of Master Jukes the Baby. "`Central Criminal Court, Grandcourt. The assizes will open this evening in the forum at 6.30 sharp. You are hereby summoned on urgent business. Hereof fail not at your peril.'" "What do that mean?" again inquired Dig. "What right has Wake to threaten us?" "Don't you see, Wake, whose father is a pettifogging lawyer, is going to get up a make-believe law court--I heard him talk about it last term-- instead of the regular debating evening. The best of it is, we kids shall all be in it, instead of getting stuck on the back bench to clap, as we generally are." "He's no business to tell us to fail not at our peril," growled Dig. "What will they do?" "Try somebody for murder, perhaps, or--why, of course!" exclaimed Arthur, "they'll have somebody tried for that Bickers row!" "By the way," said Dig, returning to the great question on his mind, "you never told me if you really knew who did it." Arthur's face clouded again. "How should I know?" said he shortly. "What's the use of talking about it?" There was something mysterious in Herapath's manner which disturbed his friend. It was bad enough not to be backed up in his own schemes, but to feel that his chum knew something that he did not, was very hard on Sir Digby. Now he recalled it, Arthur had all along been somewhat reserved about the business. He had made sport of other fellows' theories, but he had never disclosed his own. Yet it was evident he had his own ideas on the subject. Was it come to this, that after all these terms of confidence and alliance, a petty secret was to come between them and cloud the hitherto peaceful horizon of their fellowship? Digby, perhaps, did not exactly put the idea into these poetical words, but the matter troubled him quite as much. Now, it is my intention, at this place, generously to disclose to the reader what was hidden from Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, and from everyone else at Grandcourt--namely, that Arthur Herapath was fully persuaded in his own mind that he knew the name of the arch offender in the recent outrage, and was resolved through thick and thin to shield him from detection. He was perfectly aware that in so doing he made himself an accessory after the fact, but that was a risk he was prepared to run. Only it decided him to keep his knowledge to himself. Arthur was not a particularly sharp boy. His qualities were chiefly of the bull-dog order. He did not take things in with the rapidity of some fellows, but when he did get his teeth into a fact he held on like grim death. So it was now. In the first excitement of the discovery he had been as much at sea and as wild in his conjectures as anybody. But after a little he stumbled upon a piece of evidence which gave him a serious turn, and had kept him serious ever since. On the morning of the discovery, Arthur, being in the neighbourhood of the "boot-box," thought he would have a look round. There was no fear of his mistaking the place; he had been there before, and seen Mr Bickers come out of the sack. Everything was pretty much as it had been left. The sack lay in the corner where it had been thrown, and the cord, all except the piece which the baronet had secured, was there too. On the dusty floor could clearly be perceived the place where Mr Bickers had rolled about in his uncomfortable shackles during the night, and on the ledge of the dim window which let light into the boot-box from the lobby still stood the tumbler which Arthur himself had officiously fetched an hour or two ago. One or two things occurred to Arthur which had not previously struck him. One was that the door of the boot-box was a very narrow one, and, closing-to by a spring, it would either have had to be held open or propped open while Mr Bickers was being hauled in by his captors. He found that to hold it open wide he would have to get behind it and shut himself up between it and the stairs. Most likely, all hands being required for securing the victim, the captors would have taken the precaution to prop the door open by some means, so as to be ready for their deep-laid and carefully prepared scheme. So Arthur groped about and discovered a twisted-up wedge of paper, which, by its battered look and peculiar shape, had evidently been stuck at some time under the door to keep it from closing-to. He quietly pocketed this prize, on the chance of its being useful, and after possessing himself of the sack and cord, and two wax vestas lying on the floor, one of which had been lit and the other had not, he prepared to quit the scene. As he was going up-stairs he caught sight of one other object--not, however, on the floor, but on the ledge of the cornice above the door. This was a match-box of the kind usually sold by street arabs for a halfpenny. Arthur tried to reach it, but could not get at it even by jumping. "The fellow who put that there must have been over six feet," said he to himself. With some trouble he got a stick and tipped the box off the ledge, and as he did so it occurred to him that, whereas the dust lay a quarter of an inch thick on the ledge, and whereas the match-box had no similar coating of dust, but was almost clean, it must have been put up there recently. He opened the box and looked inside. It contained wax vestas, with curiously coloured purple heads, which on examination corresponded exactly with the matches he had picked up on the floor of the boot-box. "Oh," said Arthur to himself, very red in the face, "here's a go!" and he bolted up to his room. Dig, as it happened, was out, not altogether to his chum's regret, who set himself, with somewhat curious agitation, to examine his booty. First of all he examined once more the match-box, and satisfied himself that there was no doubt about the identity of its contents with the stray vestas he had picked up. The result was decisive. The box had been placed above the door very recently by someone who, unless he stood on a form or climbed on somebody else's back, must have been more than six feet high. No one puts matches above doors by accident. Whoever put it there must have meant it--and more than that, must have opened it and dropped one out inside the boot-box. "Now," considered the astute Arthur, "it was pitch dark when Bickers was collared; lights were out, and the fellows thought they'd have a glim handy in case of need. They struck one and spilt one, and shoved the box up there, in case they should want it again. I say! what a clever chap I am! The tall chap this box belongs to did the job, eh?" An expert might possibly find a flaw in this clue, but Arthur was a little proud of himself. Next he spread out the sack and inspected the cord. There was not much to help him here, one would suppose, and yet Arthur, being once on a good tack, thought it worth his while to look closely at these two relics. The sack was not the ordinary type of potato-sack which most people associate with the term, but more like a large canvas pillow-case, such as some article of furniture might be packed in, or which might be used to envelop a small bath and its contents on a railway journey. Arthur perceived that it had been turned inside out, and took the trouble to reverse it. It was riddled with holes, some of them to admit the running cords which had closed round the neck and elbows of the unfortunate Mr Bickers, and some, notably that in the region of the nose, made hastily, with the motive of giving the captive a little ventilation. Arthur could not help thinking, as he turned the sack outside in, that it would have been nicer for Mr Bickers to have the comparatively clean side of the canvas next to his face instead of the very grimy and travel-stained surface which had fallen to his lot. But these speculations gave place to other emotions as he discovered two black initials painted on the canvas, and still legible under their covering of dirt and grease. There was no mistaking them, and Arthur gave vent to a whistle of consternation as he deciphered an "M.R." Now, as Arthur and everybody else knows, "M.R." _may_ mean Midland Railway, but the Midland Railway is not six feet two inches, and does not carry wax vestas about him, or drop them on the floor of the boot- box. Arthur gaped at those initials for fully three minutes, and then hurriedly hid the sack away in the cupboard. He had still one more point to clear up. He pulled the wedge of paper out of his pocket and began nervously to unroll it. It was frayed and black where the door had ground it against the floor; but, on beginning to open it, it turned out to be a portion of a torn newspaper. It was a _Standard_ of February 4--two days ago--and Arthur whistled again and turned pale as he saw a stamp and a postmark on the front page, and read a fragment of the address--"...ford, Esquire, Grandcourt." "That settles it clean!" he muttered to himself. "I say! who'd have thought it!" Then he sat down and went over the incidents of the last twenty-four hours. Last night--it is sad to have to record it--Arthur had been out in the big square at half-past nine, when he should have been in bed. He had been over to find a ball which he had lost during the morning while playing catch with Dig out of the window. On his way back--he remembered it now--he had had rather a perilous time. First of all he had nearly run into the arms of Branscombe, the captain of Bickers's house, who was inconveniently prowling about at the time, probably in search of some truant of his own house. Then in doubling to avoid this danger he had dimly sighted Mr Bickers himself, taking a starlight walk on Railsford's side of the square. Finally, in his last bolt home, he had encountered Railsford stalking moodily under the shadow of his own house, and too preoccupied to notice, still less to challenge, the truant. All this Arthur remembered now, and, carrying his mind a day or two further back, he recalled Mr Bickers's uninvited visit to the house-- Arthur had painful cause to remember it--and Railsford's evident resentment of the intrusion, and the threatenings of slaughter which had been bandied about between the two houses ever since. "Why," said Arthur to himself, "it's as clear as a pikestaff. I see it all now. Bickers said it was about a quarter to ten when he was collared. No fellows would be about then, and certainly no one would know that he would be passing our door, except Marky. Marky must have been actually hanging about for him when I passed! What a pity I didn't stop to see the fun! Yes, he'd got his sack ready, and had jammed the door open with this paper, and got his matches handy. Bickers would never see him till he came close up, and then Marky would have the sack on in two twos before he could halloa. My eye! I would never have believed it of Marky. Served Bickers right, of course, and it'll be a lesson to him; but it'll be hot for Marky if he's found out. Bickers says there may have been more than one fellow on the job, but I don't fancy it. If Mark had had anybody, he'd have got me to help him, because it would be all in the family, and I'd be bound to keep it dark. Wouldn't he turn green if he knew I'd twigged him! Anyhow, I'll keep it as close as putty now, and help him worry through. Very knowing of him to go with a candle and let him out this morning, and look so struck all of a heap. He took me in regularly." Arthur said this to himself in a tone which implied that if Mark had been able to take _him_ in, it was little to be wondered at that all the rest of the house had been hoodwinked. "Hard luck," thought he condescendingly. "I daren't tell Dig. He's such a gossip, it would be all over the place in a day. Wonder if I'd best let Marky know I've spotted him? Think not. He wouldn't like it, and as long as he's civil I'll back him up for Daisy's sake." Then, having stumbled on to the thought of home, it occurred to him that since the opening day, when he had sent a postcard to announce his arrival, he had not yet troubled his relatives with a letter this term. It was a chance, while he was in the humour, to polish them off now; so he took up his pen, and thus discoursed to his indulgent sister:-- "Dear Da,--Mark's all right so far. He doesn't hit it with a lot of the chaps, and now and then we hate him, but he lets Dig and me alone, and doesn't interfere with Smiley. I hope you and he keep it up, because it would make me look rather foolish if it was all off, especially as Dimsdale and one or two of the chaps happen to have heard about it, and have bets on that it won't last over the summer holidays. "I'm getting on very well, and working hard at French. _Je suis allant a commencer translater une chose par Moliere le prochain term si je suis bon_. There's a howling row on in the house just now. Bickers got nobbled and sacked the other night, and shoved in the boot-box, and nobody knows who did it. I've a notion, but I'm bound to keep it dark for the sake of a mutual friend. It would be as rough as you like for him if it came out. But I believe in _assistant un boiteux chien au travers de la stile_; so I'm keeping it all dark. Ponsford has been down on us like a sack of coals. They've shoved forward our dinner-hour to one o'clock, so we're regularly dished over the sports, especially as Saturday afternoon has been changed into morning. The house will go to the dogs now, _mais que est les odds si longtemps que vous etes heureuses_? Dig sends his love. He and I remember the loved ones at home, and try to be good. By the way, do you think pater could go another five bob? I'm awfully hard up, my dear Daisy, and should greatly like not to get into evil ways and borrow from Dig. Can you spare me a photograph to stick up on the mantelpiece to remind me of you always? You needn't send a cabinet one, because they cost too much. I'd sooner have a _carte-de-visite_ and the rest in stamps, if you don't mind. I'm doing my best to give Marky a leg-up. I could get him into a row and a half if I liked, but for your sake I'm keeping it all dark. I hope you'll come down soon. It will be an awful game if you do, and I'll promise to keep the fellows from grinning. _Maintenant, il faut que je close haut. Donnez mon amour a mere et pere, et esperant que vous etes tout droit, souvenez me votre aimant frere_, Arthur Herapath. _Dig envoie son amour a tous_." Daisy might have been still more affected by this brotherly effusion than she was, had not she received a letter by the same post from Mark himself, telling her of his later troubles, and containing a somewhat more explicit narrative of recent events than had been afforded in the letter of his prospective brother-in-law. "I am, I confess, almost at a loss," said he. "I do not like to believe that anyone in the house can have the meanness to involve us all in this misfortune by his own guilty silence. ... Much depends now on the spirit which my prefects show. I believe, myself, that if they take a proper view of the situation, we may weather the storm. But the new order of things hits them harder than anyone else, for it excludes them from football, cricket, and the sports; and I fear it is too much to expect that they will even try to make the best of it! I begin to feel that a master, after all, if he is to do any good, must be a sort of head boy himself, and I would be thankful if my seniors let me into their confidence, and we were not always dealing with one another at arm's length. All this, I fear, is uninteresting to you; but it means a good deal to me. The flighty Arthur does not appear to be much cast down by our troubles. I wish I could help him to a little of the ballast he so greatly needs. But, although I am the master of this house, I seem scarcely ever to see him. I hear him, though. I hear him this minute. He and his chum occupy the room over me, and when they execute a war dance--which occurs on an average six times a day--it makes me tremble for my ceiling. I have a notion Arthur spends his weekly allowance rather recklessly, and am thinking of suggesting to your father that a reduction might be judicious," etcetera, etcetera. Had Railsford guessed, as he wrote these rather despondent lines, that his youthful kinsman in the room above was hugging himself for his own astuteness in tracking out his (Railsford's) villainy, he might perhaps have regarded the situation of affairs as still less cheerful. As it was, after the first discovery, the hope had begun to dawn upon the Master of the Shell, as it had already dawned on Barnworth, that some good might even result from the present misfortunes of the house. And as the days passed, he became still more confirmed in the hope, and, with his usual sanguine temper, thought he could see already Railsford's house starting on a new career and turning its troubles to credit. Alas! Mark Railsford had rough waters still to pass through. And the house, before it was to start on its new career, had several little affairs to wind up and dispose of. Among others, the Central Criminal Court Assizes were coming on, and the boys were summoned, "at their peril," not to fail in appearing on the occasion. CHAPTER ELEVEN. A "CAUSE CELEBRE." Wake, of the Fifth, was one of those restless, vivacious spirits who, with no spare time on their hands, contrive to accomplish as much as any ordinary half-dozen people put together. He formed part of the much- despised band of fellows in his form contemptuously termed "muggers." In other words, he read hard, and took no part in the desultory amusements which consumed the odd moments of so many in the house. And yet he was an excellent cricketer and runner, as the school was bound to acknowledge whenever it called out its champions to do battle for it in the playing-fields. More than that, if anyone wanted anything doing in the way of literary sport--in the concoction of a squib or the sketching of a caricature-- Wake was always ready to take the work upon himself, and let who liked take the credit. He had a mania for verses and epigrams; he was reputed a bit of a conjuror, and no one ever brought a new puzzle to Grandcourt which Wake, of Railsford's, could not, sooner or later, find out. Among other occupations, Wake had for some time past acted as secretary for the House Discussion Society--an old institution which for years had droned along to the well-known tunes--"That Wellington was a greater man than Napoleon," "That Shakespeare was a greater poet than Homer," "That women's rights are not desirable," "That the execution of Charles the First was unjustifiable," etcetera, etcetera. But when, six months ago, Trill, of the Sixth, the old secretary, left Grandcourt, and Wake, at the solicitation of the prefects (who lacked the energy to undertake the work themselves), consented to act as secretary, the society entered upon a new career. The new secretary alarmed his patrons by his versatility and energy. The old humdrum questions vanished almost completely from the programme, and were replaced by such interesting conundrums as "Is life worth living?" "Ought the _Daily News_ to be taken in at the school library?" "What is a lie?" and so on. Beyond that, he boldly appropriated evenings for other purposes than the traditional debate. On one occasion he organised a highly successful reading of _Coriolanus_, in which the juniors, to their vast delight, were admitted to shout as citizens. Another evening was given to impromptu speeches, every member who volunteered being called upon to draw a subject out of a hat and make a speech upon it there and then. And more than once the order of the day was readings and recitations, in which the younger members were specially encouraged to take part, and stood up gallantly to be shot at by their critical seniors. Whatever might be said of this novel departure from old tradition, no one could deny that the Discussion Society had looked up wonderfully during the last six months. The forum was generally crowded, and everyone, from prefect to Baby, took more or less interest in the proceedings. No one, after the first few meetings, questioned Wake's liberty to arrange what programme he liked, and the house was generally kept in a pleasant flutter of curiosity as to what the volatile secretary would be up to next. The "Central Criminal Court" was his latest invention, and it need scarcely be said the idea, at the present juncture, was so startling that a quarter of an hour before the hour of meeting the forum was packed to its fullest extent, and it was even rumoured that Mr Railsford had promised to look in during the evening. It was evident directly to the juniors that the proceedings had been carefully thought out and settled by the secretary, in consultation with some of the wise heads of the house. The room was arranged in close imitation of a court of justice. The bench was a chair raised on two forms at one end; the witness-box and the dock were raised spaces railed off by cord from the rest of the court. Rows of desks represented the seats of the counsel, and two long forms, slightly elevated above the level of the floor, were reserved for the accommodation of the jury. The general public and witnesses-in-waiting were relegated to the rear of the court. The question was, as everyone entered, Who is who? Who is to be the judge, and who is to be the prisoner, and who are to be the counsel? This natural inquiry was answered after the usual style of the enterprising secretary. Every one on entering was asked to draw out of a hat a folded slip of paper, which assigned to him the part he was to play, the only parts reserved from the lot being that of judge, which of course was to be filled by Ainger, and that of senior counsels for the prosecution and defence, which were undertaken respectively by Barnworth and Felgate. It was suspected later on that a few of the other parts were also prearranged, but no one could be quite sure of this. "What are you?" said Dig, pulling a long face over his piece of paper. "I'm junior counsel for the defence," said Arthur proudly. "What are you?" "A wretched witness," said the baronet. "What a spree! Won't I pull you inside out when I get you in the box, my boy!" There was a call for order, and Ainger, mounting the bench, said,-- "This is quite an experiment, you fellows. It may be a failure, or it may go off all right. It depends on how we do our best. The idea is that a prisoner is to be tried for murder (delight among the juniors). Barnworth, who is the counsel for the prosecution, has prepared the story, and Felgate has been told what the line to be taken against the prisoner is, so that he might prepare his defence. These are the only two who know exactly what they are to do beforehand. All the rest will have to act according to the papers they have drawn. Who has drawn prisoner?" Amid much laughter Stafford blushingly owned the soft impeachment, and was called upon to enter the dock, which he did, looking rather uncomfortable, and as if he half repented his consent to take a part in the proceedings. "Now," proceeded Ainger, consulting a paper, "the twelve jurymen are to go into the box there." The twelve boys with "Jury" on their papers obeyed. They were a motley crew, some being Fifth-form boys, some Shell-fish, and some Babies. And by the odd irony of fate, the one who had drawn the "foreman's" ticket was Jukes, the Baby. "Now the witnesses go to the back seats there. You'll find on each the name you will be called by, and a short note of what your evidence is to be. You will have to listen very carefully to Barnworth's story, so as to know exactly what it's all about." There was a laugh at this. Some thought it a trifle queer that witnesses should have to learn what their evidence was to be from notes given them in court and from counsel's speech. But they were young, and did not know much of law courts. "Of course you must not show one another your notes," said Ainger; "that would spoil all." "Ta-ta," said the baronet rather dismally to his chum; "they call me Tomkins!" "The junior counsel for the prosecution, of course, are to sit behind Barnworth, and for the defence behind Felgate. You must listen carefully, as you may have to help in the cross-examination. The rest of the public go to the back; and now we are ready to begin. Usher, call silence in the court." Tilbury, whose proud office it was to act in this capacity, shouted, "Order, there! shut up!" in a loud voice. Wake, who acted as clerk, read out the name of the case, "Regina _versus_ Bolts." The jury answered to their names and promised to bring in a true verdict. The prisoner was called upon to plead guilty or not guilty, and answered, "Not guilty"; and then Barnworth rose and opened the case for the prosecution. "My lord, and gentlemen of the jury," he began; "the prisoner at the bar is charged with the wilful murder of John Smith, on the night of Tuesday, February 4." This was interesting, for Tuesday, February 4, was the date of the Bickers affair. "I shall, as briefly as possible, narrate the circumstances of this unfortunate affair. The prisoner, Thomas Bolts, is a workman in the employ of a large firm of engineers in this neighbourhood, in which the murdered man was also engaged as a foreman and overseer. It is unnecessary, gentlemen of the jury, to explain to you that the works in question are divided into several distinct departments, or shops. I need not describe them all, but two of them were the screw department and the boiler department. Smith was foreman and overseer of the screw department, while the prisoner was one of the skilled workmen in the boiler department. For some time past ill-feeling had existed between the men of the boiler department and the deceased on account of his interference with them; and this ill-feeling appears to have culminated a few days before the murder, on account of an intrusion made by Smith into the boiler department, and the alleged assault of one of the men there employed." Every one saw now what was coming, and pricked up his ears in anticipation. Ainger, who had had as little idea of the turn things were going to take as anybody else, grew fidgety, and wished Wake had shown more discretion. But it was too late to stop the case now. "This assault occurred, I believe, on the 2nd of February." "No, the 3rd--the day before," whispered Ranger, who acted as junior counsel for the prosecution. "I am obliged to my learned friend for correcting me. This occurred on the 3rd, the day before the murder. Now, gentlemen of the jury, I ask your attention to the occurrences which followed. At the time of the assault the prisoner, in the absence of the head foreman, was acting as overseer of his shop, and witnesses will prove that he protested against the behaviour of the deceased, and was in consequence insulted by Smith. I mention this to show that a personal grudge existed between the two men." Stafford, whose _role_ as prisoner may or may not have been the result of mere accident, began not to like the turn things were taking. "On the 4th everything went well till the evening, although, it is stated, a formal complaint of Smith's interference was made through the regular, foreman of the boiler-shop, as will appear in evidence. In the evening of that day--that is, about eight o'clock--a meeting of the heads of the various departments was held in a distant part of the works, which was attended by Smith as well as the other foremen. The meeting lasted till 9.30, and Smith was last seen proceeding to his own quarters, in the neighbourhood of the boiler-shop. "On the morning of the 5th, a workman named Simple, on entering the coal-cellar under the stairs of the boiler-shed, stumbled against a human body, and being frightened, gave an alarm. The foreman of the boiler department, accompanied by the prisoner and one or two other men, proceeded to the spot, and found the body of the deceased lying on the floor among the coals, enveloped in a sack, and bound hand and foot. He was alive at the time, and on being released stated that on passing the door of the boiler-shed, on the previous evening, he had been seized from behind by some person unknown, and after being bound in the sack had been dragged into the cellar and shut up there for the night. He was much exhausted when found, and on the evening of the 5th succumbed to the injuries he had received." Some of the juniors breathed again. It was _very_ like the story of Mr Bickers, only Mr Bickers was alive and kicking still. It was much more satisfactory for the present purposes to have the fellow out of the way. "Now, gentlemen of the jury," proceeded Barnworth, putting his hands in his pockets and addressing himself particularly to Jukes, the Baby, "I ask your particular attention to a few facts. At the time of the murder the prisoner, who is usually working in his own shop, was observed to be absent, and no satisfactory account can be given of his whereabouts. Further than that, a witness will prove to you that after the quarrel on the previous day he was heard to say that he would pay the deceased out. It will also be proved that on the same afternoon he procured several yards of cord from a neighbouring shop, which the maker will identify as very like the cord used for binding the murdered man. Finally, on an inquiry made by the head of the firm, on a question being put to each man in the boiler department in succession, it was observed that the accused gave his replies with evident confusion and alarm. For these reasons, gentlemen of the jury, and others which will come out in evidence, I shall ask you by your verdict to find the prisoner guilty of the wilful murder of John Smith." This seemed a very strong case, and one or two of the jury rather wondered that the judge did not at once direct them to bring in a verdict of "Guilty." However, as it appeared to be the usual thing to hear evidence, they waited. The first witness called was Job Walker, and, in response to the call, Blyth of the Fifth stepped into the box. His evidence related to the feud between the murdered, man and the men in the boiler-shop; and he gave an account of the intrusion of Smith on the night of the 3rd and of the quarrel which ensued. Blyth, in fact, related what had happened in the common room at Railsford's that evening, only changing names and places in accordance with Barnworth's story. When his examination in chief was concluded, Felgate rose and said,-- "I have one or two questions to ask you, Mr Job Walker. You say you were in the boiler-shop during the whole of the evening in question. Where was the proper foreman of the shop at the time?" "He was out." "Was work going on as usual in his absence?" "Pretty much." "What do you mean by pretty much? Were _you_ working yourself?" Great delight of the juniors, for Blyth had been one of the chief rioters. "Well," said he, "perhaps I was a little slack." (Laughter.) "Who was in charge of the shop at the time?" "The prisoner and another workman called Flounders." "And pray were they `slack,' too, as you call it?" "Yes--they were no good at all." (Laughter.) "Were you present when the proper foreman returned?" "Yes, I was." "Did he say anything to the prisoner?" "He seemed in a great rage." "Did they come to blows?" "No--but I shouldn't have been surprised if they had." "That will do, Mr Job Walker." Barnworth asked another question before Mr Walker stepped down. "Did you notice what took place between the prisoner and the deceased?" "Yes. The deceased, when he came in, told the prisoner he was no good, and sent him to his place and took charge of the shop. The prisoner was very angry, and said he would like to pay Smith out." The general opinion was that Blyth had acquitted himself well, and he was cheered by the public as he stood down. Timothy Simple was next called, and Simson, rather pale and scared- looking, answered to the name. The examination of this witness was left to Ranger, who got him to narrate the circumstances of his finding the body of the "deceased" on the morning of the 5th. The unfortunate youth seemed to forget that the trial was a mock one, and coloured up and stammered and corrected himself, as if the life of a fellow-being actually depended on his evidence. Felgate, after a hurried communication from his junior, only asked a very few questions in cross-examination. "Did you observe if the body was lying with its head to the door or its feet?" "I really couldn't say. It was so dark, and I was so horrified." "Was the key of the cellar always on the outside of the door?" "Yes, generally; it must have been, because I locked it behind me when I ran out." "Who would be the last person at night to go to the cellar? Would the foreman go round and lock up?" "I don't know; I suppose so." "You wouldn't swear that the foreman did not usually keep the key at night in his own room?" "No--that is, yes. Do you mean I wouldn't swear he did, or didn't?" "You would not swear he did not keep it?" "I don't know." "But you wouldn't swear he didn't?" "I couldn't, because if I don't know--" "If you don't know you couldn't swear he didn't do it. Come, tell the jury, Yes, or No, Mr Simple; it is an important question." Simson looked up and down. Half a dozen friends were winking at him suggestively from different parts of the court, and he couldn't make out their meaning. At length he perceived Munger nodding his head, and as Munger had lent him a crib to Ovid the day before, he decided to refer to him. "Yes," he said. "I thought so," said Felgate. "Why could you not say that before, Mr Simple?" And Simson descended from his perch amid laughter and jeers, not quite sure whether he had not committed a crime beside which the offence of the prisoner at the bar was a trifle. "Call William Tomkins," said Barnworth. William Tomkins was called, and Dig, with his tawny mane more than usually dishevelled, and an excited look on his face, entered the box. He glared round him defiantly, and then dug his hands into his pockets and waited for his questions. "Your name is William Tomkins?" began Barnworth. "Sir William Tomkins, Baronet," said the witness, amidst laughter. "To be sure, I beg your pardon, Sir William. And what are you, pray?" "A baronet." (Loud laughter.) "A baronet in reduced circumstances, I fear. You work in the boiler department of this factory?" "All right, go on." Here the judge interposed. "The witness must remember that he is bound to answer questions properly. Unless he does so I shall order him to be removed." This somewhat damped the defiant tone of Digby, and he answered the further questions of counsel rather more amiably. These had reference to the discovery of the body on the morning of the 5th, with the details of which the reader is already acquainted. The public began to get a little tired of this constant repetition of the same story, and were about to vote the proceedings generally slow, when a double event served to rouse their flagging attention. Mr Railsford entered the court as a spectator, and was accommodated with a seat on the bench, beside the judge. At the same moment, Barnworth, having ended his questions, Arthur Herapath, junior counsel for the defence, rose to his feet, and said,-- "Now, Sir William Tomkins, Baronet, have the goodness to look at me and answer a few questions. I would advise you to be careful." The baronet replied by putting his tongue in his cheek, and giving a pantomimic wave of his fist in the direction of the learned counsel. "Now, Sir William Tomkins, Baronet, how old are you, my lad?" "Find out," said Sir William hotly. "That's what I mean to do. Answer me, sir, or I'll get the beak to run you in for contempt of court." "Come and do it," said the witness, red in the face. Here the judge again interposed. "The learned junior must confine himself to the case before us, or I shall have to ask Mr Felgate to conduct the cross-examination." "All serene, my lord," rejoined the learned junior, who was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Of course, if your lordship think the question's not important I won't press it against your lordship's desire. I'm obliged to your lordship for your lordship's advice, and I'll pull your nose, Dimsdale"--this was in a parenthesis--"if you don't shut up. Now, Sir William Tomkins, Baronet, you say you saw the prisoner pulled out of the sack?" "I never said anything of the sort." "My lord, I must ask your lordship to commit this man for perjury. He's telling crackers." "I think he said he saw the murdered man pulled out of the sack," said the judge. "That's what I said. How came you to say you didn't, eh, sir? Didn't I tell you to be careful or you'd get your hair combed a way you don't fancy? Now, what I want to know is, what's the width of the door of the cellar?" "Look here," said the witness, "if you want to make an ass of yourself you'd better shut up. What's that got to do with it?" "It's quite a proper question," said the judge. "There you are!" said Arthur, delighted. "I'm obliged to your lordship for your lordship's remarks. Now, Sir William Thingamy, what do you mean, sir, by refusing to answer the question? I've a good mind to ask his lordship to send you to penal servitude. Now, what about the door?" "I don't know anything about it, and I don't care." "Ha! ha! You'll _have_ to care, my boy. Could two chaps go through it together?" "Come and try," said the baronet, snorting with wrath. "You must answer the question, witness," said the judge. "No; _he_ knows two chaps couldn't. He measured it himself and found it was only twenty-eight inches wide." "Who measured it?" asked one of the jury. "Why, Herapath, that idiot there." Arthur was somewhat sobered by this piece of evidence, as well as by a significant consultation on the bench, which he rather feared might relate to his conduct of the case. "That's what I wanted to get at," said he. "Now, Sir William, what's the _height_ of that door, eh?" "What's the good of asking me when you measured it yourself, you duffer? Didn't you tell me yourself it was seven feet two to the top of the ledge?" "There you are! Keep your hair on! That's what I wanted! Seven foot two. Now suppose you were told a box of wax lights was found stuck upon that ledge, and that two of the matches out of it were found on the floor of the boot-box--cellar, I mean--what should you think?" "It is hardly evidence, is it, to ask a witness what he would think?" suggested Barnworth. "Oh, isn't it? Easy a bit, and you'll see what we're driving at, your lordship! I'll trouble your lordship to ask the learned chap not to put me off my run. Come, Mr What's-your-name, what should you think?" Dig mused a bit, and then replied, "I should think it was a little queer." "Of course you would! So it _is_ a little queer," said Arthur, winking knowingly at his future brother-in-law. "Now, could _you_ reach up to the top of that ledge, my little man?" "You be blowed!" responded the baronet, who resented this style of address. "That means you couldn't. When you're about four feet higher than you are you'll be able to do it. Now could the prisoner reach up to it?" "No, no more could you, with your boots and three-and-sixpenny Sunday tile on!" "Order in the court! Really, your lordship, your lordship ought to sit on this chap. Perhaps your lordship's friend on your lordship's right would kindly give him a hundred lines when next he comes across him. Now, Mr Baron, and Squire, and Knight of the Shire, and all the rest of it, I want to know if there's any chap in our house--I mean the boiler- shop--could reach up there? Mind your eye, now!" "Ainger could by jumping." "I didn't ask you anything about jumping, you duffer! How tall would a chap need to be to reach up there?" "About double your measure--over six foot." "There you are! Now is there any chap in our boiler-shop over six feet?" "No." "I knew you'd say that. Think again. What about the foreman?" and he gave a side inclination of his head towards the unconscious Railsford. "Oh, him! Yes, _he's_ over six foot." "Go down two places, for saying _him_ instead of _he_. There you are, my lord, we've got it at last. Bowled the chap out clean, first ball. That's our case, only there's plenty more to be got out first. We'll trouble your lordship to bring the chap in not guilty, when it's all done." And he nodded knowingly to the jury. Railsford had sat and listened to all this in a state of the completest mystification. Not having heard Barnworth's opening statement, he had no glimmer of a suspicion that the _cause celebre_ occupying the attention of this august assembly was anything but a pleasant fiction from beginning to end, and he had been wondering to himself whether such performances, conducted in the irregular style which he had witnessed, could be of any good. However, coming as a guest (for the master of the house was always a visitor on such occasions), he deemed it best not to interfere just then. He would give Arthur a little friendly advice as to the conduct of a junior counsel later on. But he was the only unconscious person in the court. The listeners had been quick to pick up the drift of Barnworth's opening story, and equally quick to detect the line of defence taken up by Felgate and his vivacious junior. They kept their eyes fixed most of the time on Railsford, to note how he took it; and when Arthur reached his triumphant climax, some among the juniors fully expected to see their master fall on his knees and plead guilty before the whole court. Instead of that he laughed, and, turning to the judge, said, in an audible voice,-- "This seems very amusing, but it's all Hebrew to me. Is this the end?" "I think we've had nearly enough for to-night," said Ainger, who himself felt rather uneasy lest matters should go any further. Not that he laid any stress on Arthur's wonderful discovery--that merely amused him; but he foresaw a danger of the tone of the proceedings becoming offensive, and considered it better to interpose while yet there was time. "Gentlemen," he said, "as far as the case has gone I think I may say it has been ably conducted and patiently listened to. As our time is nearly up I adjourn the hearing till a future occasion." "Jolly hard luck," said Arthur to his senior. "I'd got plenty more to come out." "You've done quite enough for one evening," said Felgate, grinning, "the rest will keep." CHAPTER TWELVE. THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. Arthur's great hit at the Central Criminal Court was the topic in the junior circles at Railsford's for some days. It was hardly to be expected that Sir Digby Oakshott would share in the general admiration which fell to his friend's lot. That young baronet had a painful sense of having come off second best at the trial, and the relations between the friends became considerably strained in consequence. What made it harder for Dig was that Arthur had suddenly gained quite a prestige among the lower boys of the house, who, without being too curious, arrived at the conclusion that he knew a thing or two about Railsford in connection with the row about Bickers, and was keeping it dark. Strangely enough, from the same cause, Railsford himself leapt into sudden popularity with his juniors. For if he, argued they, was the man who paid out Bickers for them, then, although it put them to a little inconvenience, they were resolved as one man to back their hero up, and cover his retreat to the best of their ability. The master himself was considerably surprised at the sudden outburst of affection towards himself. He hoped it meant that his influence was beginning to tell home on the minds of his youthful charges; and he wrote cheerfully to Daisy about it, and said he had scarcely hoped in so short a time to have made so many friends among his boys. "Tell you what," said Arthur one evening, after discussing the virtues of his future kinsman with some of the Shell, "it wouldn't be a bad dodge to get up a testimonial for Marky. I know a stunning dodge for raising the wind." "Good idea," said Tilbury, "I'm game." "Let's give it him soon, to get him in a good-humour, next week," suggested someone. "No, we'd better do it just before the Easter holidays," replied Arthur; "that'll start him well for next term." That evening the differences between the two friends were patched up. Dig, under a pledge of secrecy, was initiated into the whole mystery of the sack, and the wedge of paper, and the wax vestas, promising on his part to respect his friend's reputation in the matter of the "fifty-six billion Snowball." The baronet was fully impressed with the importance of his friend's disclosures. "It's a regular case," said he. "I never thought it of him. We must keep it dark and give him a leg out." "I fancy so," said Arthur. "It's a sort of family affair, you see. It's half a pity he can't know that we've bowled him out and are sticking to him. But I suppose it's best not to let him suspect it." "No--better keep it all dark. He'll know all about it some day." And the two confederates went to bed happy that night, in the consciousness that they were restored to one another's confidence, and that they were standing between their miscreant "kinsman" and the punishment which properly belonged to his crime. On the following morning a notice appeared on the common room door, signed by Ainger, summoning the house to meet after tea on particular business. The important business had no connection with the _affaire Bickers_, but was the captain's first move towards pulling up the house to the proud position he designed for it. "Now, you fellows," said he, in the course of a short spirited speech, "I needn't tell you that our house is down on its luck this term. (Cheers.) We are in the black books of the doctor, as you know--and we can't well help it. Somebody in the house thinks fit to tell a lie, and gets us all into trouble; but we aren't going down on our knees to that person or any other sneak to help us when we mean to help ourselves. (Loud cheers.) Now this is one way I propose we help ourselves. We are, you all know, cut out of the sports, and school cricket, and all that sort of thing. (Shame!) Very well; but they can't prevent our getting up house sports of our own, and a house eleven, and showing that we aren't going to be put down. (Applause.) I mean to train hard myself, and run the mile if I can in quicker time than Smedley or anyone else in the School sports; and unless I'm mistaken Barnworth means to show that Railsford's house can jump an inch higher than any other house at Grandcourt, even though we don't get a prize for it (tremendous cheers); and I am not so sure if Wake doesn't press their second man pretty close. (Bravo, Wake!) You youngsters will have to do your share. We want a Railsford's fellow to lick the time of every event in the School sports. (Loud cheers.) We may not be able to do it in all; but we'll know the reason why, if we don't. (So we will!) You'll have to sit up, some of you, if you're going to do it. But of course you'll do that. (Rather!) Railsford's sports will be held this day three weeks--just a week after the School sports. So we shall know what we've got to beat. That's one thing I've got to say. Every boy here should enter for some event or other, and see he wins it. (Applause.) The next thing is this. Cricket is coming on; it begins the Saturday after the sports. We aren't going to be done out of our cricket to please anybody! (Tremendous enthusiasm and waving of caps.) We intend to turn out as stiff a house eleven as ever played in the fields, and some fine day you fellows will see Railsford's play the School and win. (Applause.) Yes, and we'll have a second eleven, too. (Rather! from the juniors.) Mr Railsford is going to back us up. (Cheers.) He played in his college eleven at Cambridge, and he's promised to give up all his Saturdays to the end of the term to coach us. (Three cheers for Railsford.) Now the last thing--" "Whatever else can there be?" said the baronet, in a perspiration of fervour. "Some of you may open your eyes when I mention it, but I know you won't funk it. We mean to get hold of all the School prizes at Grandcourt this term, if we can. (Sensation.) Yes, you may gape, but it's a fact! Of course, I can't beat Smedley for the gold medal. (Yes, have a try!) Rather! I mean to try; and Smedley will have to put on steam. (Loud cheers.) Then Stafford is going to cut out Branscombe--(Boo-hoo!)--for the Melton Scholarship, and Barnworth will get the vacant Cavendish Scholarship, and Wake and Ranger and Sherriff and Wignet are going to walk off with all the Fifth-form prizes; and Herapath will pull off the Swift Exhibition, and Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet.--(tremendous cheers)--will win the Shell History medal." "I say!" said the baronet, mopping his face vehemently; "that's the first I've heard about that!" "Yes, and our Babies are going to show the way, too!" continued the captain; "and on prize-day we'll crowd up and cheer them when they toddle up to take their prizes. (Laughter and cheers.) That's all I want to say. (Laughter and applause.) Some of you will say I'm cracked. (No!) I'm not! Railsford's is going in and going to win, and if you all back up--(So we will I)--we shall do it easily. (Cheers.) Don't let us brag too much. The school will find out what we are up to soon enough without our blowing trumpets. Oh, there's one thing more," continued the captain--"positively the last--(laughter)--about this row we're all in. It was a caddish thing, whoever did it, to maul a man about in the dark when he couldn't defend himself--(cheers)--and a low thing, whoever did it, to tell a lie about it. (Cheers.) But my advice is, let the beggar alone. He's an enemy to our house, but we aren't going to make ourselves miserable on his account. Let him alone. Don't go poking and sniffing about to try to smell him out. (Arthur blushed violently here.) Think of something better. In spite of him we're going to make Railsford's the cock house at Grandcourt! That will be the best way to pay him out, and it will take us all our time to do it, without dirtying our fingers over him." Ainger concluded amidst a burst of cheers which quite took him aback, and the meeting dispersed enthusiastically to talk over the wonderful programme, and take the first steps towards carrying it out. The captain's words came upon most of the fellows as a surprise that there could be any other way out of their present misfortunes than by submitting to them tamely and giving up the glory of their house as a bad job. The audacious proposal first took their breath away, and then took possession of them. They would have their revenge; and here was a way open to them. It scarcely occurred to any but the experienced seniors that there would be any difficulty in making Ainger's bold predictions true. Arthur for instance, having heard it publicly announced that he was about to win the Swift Exhibition, thought and behaved as if the prize were already in his hands. "Twenty pounds a-year for three years," said he complacently, to his ally. "Not a bad pot. Tell you what, Dig, well get a tandem tricycle, my boy, with the first year's money. Hope they'll pay it in advance, don't you? then we can get it after break-up, and have some ripping spins in the summer holidays. Better fun than fooling about in Switzerland with Marky and Daisy. We'll either get that, or I know a jolly little boat Punter has for sale at Teddington, with a towing-line and double sculls, and a locker under the stern seat for grub. He wanted £22 for it, but I expect he'll come down the £2 for ready money. Perhaps it would be better to buy it this summer, and get the tricycle with next year's money. I've a good mind to write to Punter to-night." "Hadn't you better get the Exhibition first?" suggested the baronet. "Of course I mean to get it," said Arthur, rather nettled; "I fancy Ainger's as good a judge of what a chap can do in that line as you are." "I don't know," replied Dig; "he said _I_ was going to get the History Medal, but I'm not so sure if I shall." "Well, I did think he was letting out a bit when he said that," replied Arthur, with a chuckle. "Never mind, we'll go halves in the Exhibition." It must be admitted that the prospect of his coming academical success did not appreciably affect Arthur Herapath's studies during the present term. Four-and-a-half months is a long time to look ahead in a schoolboy's career; and, as it happened, the captain's speech had suggested other matters in the immediate future, which for the time being absorbed not only Arthur's attention but everyone else's. That evening, a list of events for the House sports was exhibited on the common room door, with space below each for the names of intending competitors. It was noticed that the list corresponded in every particular with the list of the School sports to be held a week earlier, and that the compiler (who was detected by the handwriting to be Barnworth) had already written in brackets the names of those who had entered for each of the events in the School sports. Every one, therefore, in Railsford's, could see, not only what he was going in for, but who the competitors were whom he was expected to beat. A good beginning had already been made before the list came under the notice of the juniors. For the High Jump, which this year, for some reason or other, had been looked forward to as one of the principal events, the signature of Barnworth stood boldly underneath the dreaded names of Smedley and Clipstone. More than that, Wake, too, had entered himself in the lists against these great competitors. The entries for the Mile were scarcely less interesting. Smedley was to run for the School, and, still more formidable, the long-legged Branscombe. Against them now appeared the names of Ainger and Stafford, and the plucky Ranger of the Fifth, and so on down the list, for all the big events, the prefects and the redoubtable Fifth-form "muggers" of Railsford's had set their challenge, and the hearts of the juniors swelled big within them as they crowded round the board to write their names against the lesser contests. Arthur and the baronet adopted the simple and modest method of entering themselves for everything; and it was not till Maple hinted something about the entrance fees mounting up to about a sovereign a-piece that they drew in their horns and limited their ambitions to the long jump under fifteen, the junior hurdle race, and the quarter-mile under sixteen. The other Shell-fish followed suit. Tilbury, of course, put himself down for throwing the cricket-ball under fifteen. Indeed, some of his admirers thought he might even venture to throw against the seniors; only Felgate already had his name down for that event. Dimsdale undertook the hundred yards under fifteen against several strong opponents; and, on the whole, among them, the boys of the Shell contrived to make a strong show on the list for every event within their reach. When the turn came for the Babies, they evinced equal spirit, and divided the list among them with a fierceness which augured ill for the Babies of the other houses whose claims they challenged. Ainger and Barnworth strolled down later on to examine the list, and now suggested a few alterations. The baronet for instance, was called upon to enter for the second class of kicking the football contest, and Arthur was moved from the quarter-mile to the half-mile, because a good man was wanted there to beat Smythe, of the School-House, whereas Sherriff could very well be trusted to take care of the quarter-mile for Railsford's house. Mr Railsford presently arrived on the scene, and went into the whole programme enthusiastically, and in a way which won him friends among the boys, more even than his reputed authorship of the Bickers outrage had lately done. He invited any boys who chose during the next few days to try over their event in his presence, and suggested that a record of the times should be carefully kept, with a view to ensure that each trial should beat the last. More than that, he offered a prize for the best all-round record in the house; and proposed that, although they were not rich enough to give prizes for each event, any boy who beat the School record in his competition should receive back his entrance fee. This practical suggestion gave much satisfaction. "Of course," said he, to one or two of those round him, "it is harder to run against time than against another fellow. You must make up your minds for that; and I would advise you to try to get the two best in our house to enter for each event, so as to get the spur of a close race. Our times are sure to be the better for it." Boys liked him for that word "our." It sounded like a common cause, and they were quick to hail the first symptom of such feeling in a master. The next fortnight witnessed a smart athletic fever in the house. Of course, it soon spread abroad what Railsford's was up to, and the School form generally improved in consequence. In fact, when the day arrived for the School sports, it was generally felt that Grandcourt had rarely come on to the ground better up to the mark. Alas! Grandcourt came on to the ground in two halves, and on two different days. When the boys of the school-House, Roe's, Bickers's, and Grover's turned out to the starting-post, Railsford's, chafing like greyhounds in the leash, turned in to their penitential dinner. "Never mind," said Ainger, as the distant shouts were wafted from the playing-fields into the common room, "it will be our turn to-day week!" CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A FLY IN THE OINTMENT. Ainger's prediction that the house was not likely to get much backing-up in its new efforts from Felgate, looked likely enough to be fulfilled. While everyone else was full of athletic and scholastic fervour, he remained listless and even sulky. Some said it was because Ainger had proposed the great scheme, and Felgate disdained to play second riddle even to the captain. Others said it was because he could not win anything even if he tried. Others darkly hinted that he was one of the authors of the house's present disgrace; and others whispered that there was no love lost between Railsford and his fourth prefect. In this last conjecture the gossips were right. Felgate and the Master of the Shell had not hit it from the first day of their acquaintance; and within the last few days an occurrence had taken place which had brought the two into violent collision. Railsford on leaving his room one afternoon had been attracted by the noise of groans and weeping at the far end of the passage. Going in the direction of the melancholy sounds, he discovered Bateson, the Baby, with a face as white as a sheet, huddled up all of a heap, the picture of misery and tribulation. "What is the matter?" inquired the master. The sufferer did not hear him at first; but on a repetition of the question he looked up and groaned. "Oh, I'm dying! I'm so ill! Oh, what _shall I_ do?" Railsford was alarmed. The boy looked so white, and trembled all over. He stooped down to lift him up; but Bateson blubbered. "Don't touch me, please. Oh, I'm dying!" and rolled over, groaning. It was no time for parleying. Railsford lifted him up in his arms and looked at him. There were beads of perspiration on his face, and a flavour of strong tobacco about his jacket. Bateson had been smoking. The master carried him downstairs and out into the square, where he set him on his feet. The cool air instantly revived the unhappy boy, and what it left undone a short and sharp fit of sickness completed. "You're better now," said Railsford, when this little ceremony was over. Bateson was fain to admit it. "How many more cigars have you got about you?" inquired the master, as he stalked with the delinquent at his heels into his room, and closed the door. The Baby was pale this time with terror, not with tobacco. He tremblingly turned out his trousers pockets, and produced a big cigar of which about a quarter had been consumed. "That's all, really, sir," he faltered. Railsford took the cigar and sniffed it. In his old college days he would not like to say he had not smoked as good a one himself. "Very well," said he, handing it back to the astonished Baby. "Now, Bateson, sit down on that chair. Here are some matches. You must finish this cigar to the end before you leave this room." The wretched Bateson turned green and began to howl. "Oh no, please sir! Don't say that, sir! It will kill me! Please, Mr Railsford!" Railsford quietly lit a match, and handed it to the boy. Bateson fairly went down on his knees, and grovelled at the master's feet. "Oh, Mr Railsford! I'll promise never to touch one again--I really will if you'll only let me off. I should die if you made me. Oh, please!" Railsford blew out the match and told the boy to get up. "I never did it before," whimpered Bateson--it was hardly necessary to say that. "I didn't know it was any harm. Felgate said it would do me good. Please, Mr Railsford, may I put it in the fire? I'll never touch such a beastly thing again." And as Railsford said nothing to prevent it, he flung the origin of his evils into the fire. "Now go to your room," said the master. "And don't be so foolish again." Bateson departed, marvelling that he had not been thrashed for his crime, but pretty effectually cured of any ambition to renew his narcotic experiments. Railsford, had he been anyone else but Master of the House, would have enjoyed this little adventure. As it was, he did not like it, for it could scarcely end where it had. He astonished Felgate that evening by a visit to his study. "Felgate," said he, "I wish to know your reason for giving Bateson a cigar to smoke." "I give Bateson a cigar, sir?" "Do you deny it, Felgate?" demanded the master sternly. "Oh," said the prefect, with a forced laugh, "I believe there was some joke about a cigar. He had a great fancy to try one." A scornful look came into Railsford's face as he said, "Do you really suppose, Felgate, any good is gained by not telling the truth at once?" "The truth, sir?" said Felgate, firing up as uncandid persons always do when their veracity is questioned. "I don't understand you, sir." "You understand me perfectly," said Railsford. "You know that it is against rules for boys to smoke here." "I wasn't smoking," said Felgate. "No. You encouraged another boy to do what you dared not do yourself; that is hardly creditable in a prefect." Felgate shifted his ground. "There's nothing wrong in smoking," said he; "lots of fellows do it." "I do it myself," said Railsford bluntly, "but what has that to do with this matter? You, as a monitor, are on your honour to observe the rules of the school, and see that others observe them. You break them yourself, and encourage others to break them. Is there nothing wrong in that?" Felgate said nothing, and jauntily took up a book. "Put down that book, and bring me all the cigars or tobacco you have, at once." Railsford said this quietly and firmly. He had lost his shy, hesitating manner with his prefects; and now, when, for the first time, he was in collision with one of their number, he showed himself a stronger man than Felgate, at any rate, had given him credit for being. The prefect looked for a moment as if he would resist. Then he sullenly went to his locker and produced a case containing four cigars. "These are all you have?" Felgate nodded. "They are confiscated by the rules of the school," said Railsford. "They will be returned to you after breaking-up. I wish I were able to return them to you now, and rely on your honour not to repeat your offence." "I don't want them back," said Felgate, with a sneer. "You may smoke them yourself, sir." He repented of the insult before it had left his lips. Railsford, however, ignored it, and quietly taking the cigars from the case, took them away with him, leaving the case on the table. Felgate's impulse was to follow him and apologise for his ill-bred words. But his evil genius kept him back; and before bed-time arrived he not only repented of his repentance, but reproached himself for not saying a great deal more than he had. Felgate had a wonderful gift of self-delusion. He knew he had acted wrongly and meanly. "And yet," he argued, "smoking is no crime, and if the school rules make it one, it doesn't follow that I'm a sinner if I have a whiff now and then. He admits he smokes himself. He doesn't call himself a sinner. Easy enough for him to be high and mighty. One law for him and another for me." Poor young Bateson had a sorry time of it for the next week. In his terror at the prospect of having to smoke that awful cigar to the bitter end, he had scarcely known what he was saying; and it was not until Felgate charged him with being a sneak that he realised he had said anything to compromise his senior. Felgate was not one of the vulgar noisy sort of bullies, but a good deal worse. He made the wretched Baby's life miserable with all sorts of exquisite torture. He hounded him on to break rules, and then caught him red-handed, and held over his head threats of exposure and punishment. He passed the word round the house that the boy was a tell-tale, and little was the mercy poor Bateson got either from friend or foe when that became known. Nor did Felgate, in his revengeful whims, omit the orthodox functions of the bully. Only he took care to perform such ceremonies in private, for fear of a mishap. But in these precautions he unluckily reckoned without his host. Railsford, after what had happened, was hardly likely to consider Bateson's lot a happy one, and kept a sharp look-out to prevent any mischief coming to the luckless Baby on account of his confessions. For some days, no sign of any such trouble came under the master's notice; and he was beginning to congratulate himself that Felgate had taken a proper view of his delinquencies, and was taking the only manly course of making amends, when the smouldering fires broke out unexpectedly and fiercely. Master Bateson was one of those practical young gentlemen who believe in having a shilling's worth for a shilling; and when after a day or two he heard himself called a sneak from every corner of the house, it occurred to him, "What's the use of being called a sneak if I'm not one?" Whereupon he marched off to Railsford, and informed him that Felgate had twice screwed his arm; once made him catch hold of a poker at the hot end--the proof whereof he bore on his hand--had once made him stand in the corner on one foot for the space of an hour by the clock; and had half a dozen times threatened him that unless he did something wrong he would accuse him of theft or some other horrible crime to the doctor. By reason of which ill-usage and threats, he, the deponent, went in bodily fear of his life. "Oh, and please, Mr Railsford, be sure and not let him know I told you, or he'll kill me!" Railsford had another uncomfortable interview with Felgate after this. Felgate as usual began by impugning the junior's veracity, but on the master's proposing to send for the boy, and let him repeat his story there and then, he sullenly admitted that he might have played practical jokes on his tender person of the kind suggested. When Railsford said the matter was a serious one, the prefect smiled deprecatingly, and said it was not pleasant to him to be spoken to in this manner, and that if Mr Railsford wished to punish him he would be glad to have it over and done with. Railsford said that the question in his mind was whether he would allow Felgate to continue a prefect of the house. Whereupon Felgate promptly changed colour and dropped his sneer entirely. "I'm sure," said he, "I had no intention of hurting him. I may have been a trifle inconsiderate, but I didn't suppose--he didn't complain to me, so I could hardly know he minded it." "I can have very little confidence in a prefect who acts as you have done, Felgate." "You may depend on me, sir, not to touch him again." "I want to depend on more than that," said the master. "As a prefect, you hold a position of influence in the house. If that influence is badly used--" "I don't think you will have to complain any more," said Felgate. "I sincerely hope not--for you may be sure another offence of this kind could not possibly be passed over. For the present I shall say no more about this, and shall do my best to treat you with the same confidence as heretofore. Just now we need all to work together for the good of our house and the school; and the boys are sure to look to the prefects to help them. Good-night, Felgate." The grimace with which the prefect returned the salute, after the door closed, might have convinced Railsford, had he seen it, that he had done no good either to himself, the house, or the prefect by his leniency. As it was, he was destined to make the discovery later on. Felgate, to all appearances, resumed his old ways in the house. He let young Bateson alone, and kept to himself his feud with the master. He even attempted to pretend a languid interest in the new ambitions of his fellow-prefects, and at Ainger's request entered his name for one of the events in the sports list. Railsford observed with some relief that he appeared to recognise the force of the rebuke which had been administered him, and with characteristic hopefulness was tempted to look upon the incident as ended. It was by no means ended. Felgate, to all appearance docile and penitent, nursed his wrath within him, and kept his eye open, with all the keenness of a sportsman, to the slightest opening for a revenge. In a quiet way he continued to do a great deal in the house to thwart the spirit of enterprise which was at present knitting all factions together. He sneered in a superior way at the enthusiasm all round him, and succeeded in making one or two of the fellows a little ashamed of their own eagerness. The funds for Railsford's testimonial came in slowly. The result of a fortnight's hard work was only four shillings and threepence, and to get even that wretched sum Arthur had made himself temporary enemies all over the house. He wrote an urgent letter to Daisy, to "shell out" something, and strove to work on the feelings of his parents to assist him to do honour to their future son-in-law. Meanwhile he conceived the wild project of approaching the prefects on the subject. Unluckily for everybody, he made his first attempt with Felgate. "A testimonial for Marky?" inquired that worthy. "What for?" "Well, you know he's been pretty civil since he came, and he's backed us up in that row about Bickers, you know. We thought we'd get him a ring, you know. He's spoons on my sister Daisy, and Dig and I thought it would fetch him if we stuck `Chuckey'--that's the pet name he calls her--on it. Don't you think it would be a good dodge? He'd be sure to be pleased if he saw your name on the list of subscribers, Felgate." "I'm certain of that," said Felgate, laughing, "and if only I'd got any tin I'd be delighted. By the way, I fancy I did see a sixpence kicking about somewhere." "Thanks, awfully. That'll be a stunning lift. He's sure to be extra civil to you after it." "Oh, I see. Bribery, is it?" said Felgate, laughing. "And what particular reason have you for getting Mr Chuckey a testimonial?" "Ha, ha!" said Arthur, who felt bound to laugh at the senior's joke. "Jolly good name for him. Oh, some of the fellows think he's backed us up, you know, about Bickers and all that. Thanks awfully for the sixpence, Felgate. I'll be sure and stick your name at the top of the list. I say, when's that trial adjourned to?" "I don't know. By the way, youngster, what a smart barrister you made that evening. Where did you pick it all up?" "Oh, I don't know," said Arthur, feeling rather flattered. "Dig and I went and heard a chap tried at the Old Bailey once. It was rather slow. But, I say, do you really think I doubled up Dig well? He was awfully wild." "I don't wonder. You did it splendidly. Whatever put all the things into your head?" "Oh, I don't know," said Arthur, getting a little "tilted" with all this flattery from a senior. "It was a notion I had." "Not half a bad notion," said Felgate, beginning to think the game was worth following up. "Not one fellow in a dozen would have thought about that match-box up on the ledge." "That's just it. It must have been a tall chap to put it up there." "Of course, unless someone got on a chair." "I thought of that," responded Arthur grandly; "only there were one or two other things to come out if I'd had time. I say, do you know when it's adjourned to?" "I don't know. I hope not for long. I'd like to hear what else you've got. I could never make up such things to save my life." "Perhaps I didn't make them up," said Arthur, who felt that for once in a way thorough justice was being done to his own cleverness. "You don't mean you can produce the actual match-box? Why, you ought to be made Attorney-General or Lord Chancellor." "Can't I, though, I can!" said Arthur, "and something else too. Suppose we'd found the door was kept open with a wedge of paper addressed in a certain handwriting to a certain name--eh? and suppose the sack had the initials on it of the same fellow that the paper and match-box belonged to--eh? That would make a pretty hot case for our side, wouldn't it?" "My word, youngster; you're a sharp one. But I suppose it's all make- up!" "Not a bit of it," said Arthur, flushed by his triumph. "I'll believe it when I see it," said Felgate sceptically. "I'll show it you now," said Arthur, "if you'll promise to keep it dark. I'm not making up a bit of it." "If you aren't, all I can say is--Where are they?" "Come and see," said Arthur, leading the way to his study. Dig was out on leave in the village. "There you are," said Arthur, when he had opened his locker and produced the precious relics. "There's the match-box. Have you ever seen any others of the same kind? I have." "I fancy I saw one once," said Felgate. "Belonging to a fellow six foot two who could reach up to the ledge?" Felgate nodded. "Now look at that paper--a bit of the _Standard_: there's part of the address. I fancy I know my sister Daisy's fist when I see it. There you are! That was screwed up to jam open the door to keep it from sliding-to. Six foot two again. Then there's the sack--precious like an M and an R those two letters, aren't they? and M R is precious like the initials of six foot two again. I don't blame him if he did scrag old Bickers--very good job; and as it happens, it don't hurt our house very much now we're going to get all the sports; and I'm booked for the Swift Exhibition--£20 a-year for three years. We mean to back him up, and that's one reason why we're going to give him the testimonial-- though none of the chaps except Dig knows about these things. I say, be sure you keep it quiet, Felgate, won't you? I trust you not to tell anybody a word about it." "Don't you be afraid of me, youngster," said Felgate. "I'd advise you to take good care of those things. We'll have some fun with them when the trial comes on again. Don't go saying too much about it till then. Did I give you the sixpence? No? There it is. Put it down from `A Friend.' I must go now, young 'un." He departed, leaving Arthur to pack up his treasures, amid some misgivings lest the sixpence in his hand was after all hardly worth the secret he had bought it with. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. CHALLENGING THE RECORD. On the Monday before Railsford's sports, Ainger and Barnworth sat rather dismally conning a document which lay on the table between them. It was Smedley's report of the School sports held the Saturday before, and was sufficiently alarming to dishearten any ordinary reader. "`The Mile Race. Smedley 1, Branscombe 2. Time 4 minutes 50 seconds.' Whew!" said Ainger, "I can't beat that; 4.52 is the shortest I've done it in, and I doubt if I could do that again." "Fiddlesticks! If you don't do it in 4.48 you deserve to be sent home to the nursery. But do you see Branscombe gave up before the end? That's odd. I rather thought he was the better man of the two." "Branscombe seems to be down on his luck altogether this term," said Ainger. "I fancy he hasn't a very sweet time at Bickers's." "But he ought to have won the mile, for all that. He's got the longest legs in Grandcourt, and used to have the best wind." "Gone stale," said Ainger, "and growing too fast. Why, he must be as tall as Railsford already; and he's good for an inch or so more." "Poor beggar! But what about the high jump?" "High jump? Smedley and Clipstone a tie, 5 feet 4½." "Thank you," said Barnworth. "I may as well scratch at once. I once jumped that, but that was in the days of my youth." "Fiddlesticks! If you don't clear 5 feet 5, you deserve to be sent home to a daily governess," said Ainger, laughing. "And, by the way, I hear Wake has been jumping finely lately. Mind he doesn't do it for you." "Wake had better mind his own business," responded Barnworth. "I, a prefect and a very great person in this house, should greatly resent it if a Fifth-form fellow beat me at the jump. Upon my word I'd give him 100 lines." "`Cricket-ball. Clipstone 77 yards.' What a poor throw! Felgate is sure to beat that, at any rate." "Not if he can help," said Barnworth. "In fact, if I were you, I would either scratch him, or see someone else is in too, to make sure of it. Unless you do, we lose it." "Do you mean he'd throw short on purpose?" "My dear fellow, you are just beginning to perceive what anybody who isn't a born simpleton would have seen for himself a week ago." Ainger's brow clouded. "I'll enter myself, then," said he. "No you won't; enter Stafford. Stafford won't get the mile, which you will. A little success may keep him with us; otherwise the odds are he may go over to the enemy--_alias_ your friend Felgate." Ainger wrote Stafford's name down there and then. In this way the two friends went through the list. It was a strong record to beat, and if they were doubtful of themselves they were still more doubtful of some of their juniors. For instance, Arthur, if he meant to win the long jump under sixteen, would have to clear 15 feet 8 inches; and Dimsdale, to secure the 100 yards under fifteen, would have to do it in 13 seconds. Tilbury was safe for the cricket-ball in his class; and Arthur, if he took care, might beat Smith's record for the Shell half-mile. Most of the other events were decidedly doubtful, and it was evident the week which remained would need to be used well, if the ambitious attempt of Railsford's house was to succeed. By no means the least interested peruser of the list when presently it was posted up on the common room door Railsford himself. For a week or two past he had been as nearly happy as he could be in the congenial work of training and encouraging the youthful athletes of his house. He had felt drawn to them and they to him by quite a new bond of sympathy. He spared himself in nothing for the common cause, and his enthusiasm was, as might be expected, contagious. "There are one or two of these records we shall not beat," said the master to Ainger; "but the majority of them we should be able to manage." He spoke so hopefully that Ainger's spirits went up decidedly. A final overhaul of the list was made, and the times registered compared with the times on the School list. In one or two cases Railsford advised that a second man should be run with a good start, in order to force the pace, and through one or two names belonging to hopeless triflers or malcontents he quietly passed his pencil. "I see Stafford has entered for the cricket-ball," said he, "as well as Felgate; how is that?" "We should lose the cricket-ball otherwise," said Ainger. "Felgate may do his best if someone is against him, but he won't if he's the only man in for us. He has no interest in sports." Railsford's face clouded. "Is Stafford the best man to enter? Should not you or Barnworth go in?" "I think not, sir. Stafford made some good practice yesterday, and can beat the School record as it is." During the next few days every spare moment at Railsford's house was used in preparing for the great trial of Saturday. Nor, strange to say, did the school-work suffer in consequence. The idlers in the Shell, being in the way of spurts, took a sudden spurt of interest in class-- partly for fear of being excluded by detention or otherwise from Saturday's celebration, and partly because the healthy condition of their bodies had begotten for the time being a healthier condition of mind. Arthur and the baronet actually knew their syntax for two days running, and the astounding phenomenon of a perfectly empty detention- room occurred on both the Friday and the Saturday. The latter event was specially satisfactory to Railsford, as he was able to secure the services of Monsieur Lablache as assistant-judge--not exactly a popular appointment, but, failing any better, one which fellows had to make the best of. The house rose that Saturday morning with a full sense of the crisis which was upon it. Despite Felgate's sneers, and the jealous ridicule which floated in from outside on their efforts, they felt that they stood face to face with a great chance. Their reputation as a house was on its trial; they were boycotted by the doctor, and held up as a warning to evil-doers. They resolved to make themselves a warning to good and evil-doers alike that day, and show the doctor and everyone else that the spirit was not yet knocked out of them. The half-holiday at Railsford's, as we have said, began under the new _regime_ immediately after breakfast, and ended at one o'clock, so that the farce of morning school did not interpose to chill the ardour of the combatants. The whole house assembled in flannels in honour of the occasion. The weather was very much like what the School had had a week ago; if anything, the ground was hardly in quite as good condition. At any rate, it was felt that, as far as externals went, the test between the two days' performances would be a fair one. True, there was something a little chilly about the empty field. The usual inspiriting crowd of partisan spectators was absent, and the juniors of Railsford, who usually had to fight for front places, felt it a little dismal when they discovered that they could occupy any position they liked--even the ladies' stand. Arthur was very angry with himself for not getting Daisy down for the occasion. Her presence would have lent undoubted prestige both to himself and Dig, as well as to Railsford; and if she could have given the prizes afterwards it would have been a magnificent family affair. He bemoaned this omission to Railsford himself as he walked down with him to the fields. However, just before proceedings begun, the wished- for excitement was supplied by three most unexpected arrivals on the course. The first was that of the doctor's niece, who, having watched the School sports a week ago with great interest, and being secretly rather sorry for the misfortunes which had over taken Railsford's house, saw no reason why she should not take her accustomed place in the stand to-day. The boys were just in the mood to appreciate this little act of chivalry, and as she shyly walked up to the pavilion, they welcomed her with a cheer which brought the blushes to her cheeks and a smile of half-frightened pleasure to her lips. Boys who had seen her every day for the last three months in chapel suddenly discovered that she was simply charming; they greeted her much as mortals in distress would greet the apparition of the good fairy, and fifty champions there and then were ready to do battle for her, and only wished they had the chance. The excitement of this arrival was hardly passed when another figure appeared on the scene, hardly less important or less popular. This was no other than Smedley, the School captain, who had asked and obtained special leave from Mr Roe to be present as representing the school on the occasion. He was still indignant at the disabilities imposed upon the rival house; and though he by no means wished it success in its ambitious project of beating the School record, his sense of fair play told him that if no one was on the ground to represent the other houses, they would compete at a disadvantage. If it went out that the School captain had been present, everyone, at any rate, would have to admit there had been fair play and no opening for dispute, whatever the result might be. So Smedley, although it might be to see his own record beaten, came down to the fields that morning. There was a little uncertainty as to his reception at first, for Railsford's was in an Ishmaelitish mood, and was ready to call everybody an enemy who wasn't on its side. But when Ainger was heard to say-- "Hurrah! he's a regular brick to come and back us up like this!" everybody jumped to the correct view of Smedley's motives, and cheered him scarcely less enthusiastically than they had just now cheered their "Queen of Love and Beauty." "I only wish he was in his flannels," said Arthur, "and would run the mile against us. It would be something like to lick him off his own stride." Arthur was rather proud of his athletic slang. What he meant was that he would sooner see Ainger win the mile against Smedley himself than against Smedley's time. "Never mind, he's going to be the judge, do you see? I say, old man, you and I'll have to sit up now." This was the universal effect of the captain's presence. Perhaps he hardly realised himself what an advantage his presence was conferring on his rivals. The first event on the programme was the Babies' hundred yards, for which our friends Bateson and Jukes were entered, with the serious record of twenty-two seconds to beat. They were both a little pale and nervous with the excitement of opening the ball, and looked round wistfully, first at Railsford, then at Smedley, where he stood, watch in hand, at the winning-post, and then up at the ladies' stand. "Now, youngsters," said Railsford, "do your very best. You ought both of you to run it under twenty seconds. Are you ready now? Off!" The flood-gates were opened now; and from this moment till the end of the sports Railsford's kept up a continual roar. Both Bateson and Jukes had little difficulty in registering a double victory for their house. Bateson covered the ground in nineteen seconds and Jukes in twenty-one. While the cheers for this initial victory were in full cry, the third of that morning's apparitions came upon the scene. This was no other than Mr Bickers, at sight of whom a chill fell upon the assembly. What did he want there? Hadn't he done them harm enough? Who asked him to come? Why wasn't he making his own fellows miserable instead of coming here and spoiling their fun? Mr Bickers, after looking round him, and taking in the scene generally, walked up to the ladies' stand. Fellows dropped back sullenly to make room for him, although one or two pretended not to notice him and continued to stand and shout "Bateson!" "Jukes," until he pushed them aside. "Good-morning, Miss Violet," said he, lifting his hat. "I did not expect to see you here." "Didn't you, Mr Bickers? I'm going to see all the events. They have just run the first race, and Bateson and Jukes have both beaten the boy in your house who won last week. Haven't you a programme? Mr Railsford will give you one." "Thank you. I'm not staying long. It will be rather dull for you, will it not?" "Dull!" said Miss Phyllis, laughing. "_I_ don't think it dull, thank you." Mr Bickers walked slowly into the enclosure, watched by everyone. Railsford greeted him with a nod, and then walked off to the starting- post to prepare for the next race. The prefects of the house looked another way, and Smedley was busy comparing his watch with that of monsieur. "Smedley," said Mr Bickers, "how come you to be here? You ought to be in your house." "I have an _exeat_, sir," said the captain. "From the doctor?" "From Mr Roe." "Mr Roe can scarcely be aware that I have refused a similar application to boys in my own house." Smedley made no reply to this observation, about which he had nothing to say. "You had better go in, Smedley. I will explain to Mr Roe." Smedley looked at him in blank astonishment. It sounded more like a jest than sober earnest. "I have my master's _exeat_" he said; "if he or the doctor cancels it I shall go in at once, sir." It was Mr Bickers's turn to stare now. He had overdone it for once in a way. His genius for interference had carried him a step too far; and with a "Very good, Smedley," in terms which were meant to be ominous, he turned away and proceeded to where Railsford was. It was to speak to Railsford that he had come out into the fields that morning. His interviews with Miss Violet and the captain had been by the way. Railsford was busy marshalling the competitors for the Shell quarter-mile, of whom there was an unusual number. He was too much engrossed to notice Mr Bickers until that gentleman called him by name. "I want a word with you, Railsford," said Mr Bickers. "Now then, toe the line and be ready. Be careful about fouling. Are you ready?" "Railsford, I want a word with you." Railsford looked sharply round and perceived who the intruder was. "I can't speak to you now, Mr Bickers, I'm busy. Now, boys, are you all ready? Off!" And he started to run beside the race. Mr Bickers put as cheerful a face on this little rebuff as he could, and presently walked across to the winning-post to make another attempt. The race had been well won by Tilbury, who had beaten the School record hollow, and shown himself a long way ahead of his fellow-runners. He of course came in for an ovation, which included a "Well run" from Smedley, and a "Bravo, indeed" from Railsford, which he valued specially. It was while he was receiving these friendly greetings that Mr Bickers once more approached Railsford. "Now you have a moment or two to spare," he began. "I've not a moment to spare," said Railsford, irritated. "What do you want?" "I want you to look at this letter. It concerns you." And he produced an envelope from his pocket. "Give it to me," said Railsford. "I'll read it when I have time." "No, thank you. I want you to--" "Ring the bell for the high jump," said Railsford, turning his back. At the signal the whole company closed in a solid phalanx round the poles. For the high jump was one of the great events of the day. Mr Bickers became mixed up in the crowd, and saw that it was hopeless to attempt further parley. He turned on his heel, and the fellows made a lane for him to pass out. As he got clear, and began slowly to retreat to his own house, the boys raised a loud defiant cheer. But whether this was to hail his departure or to greet the appearance of Barnworth and Wake, ready stripped for the fray, it would be difficult to say. But whichever it was, Mr Bickers seemed by no means discomfited. He turned and caught sight of the head and shoulders of his rival towering among his boys, and he smiled to himself and tapped the letter in his hand. "Not a moment to spare!" said he to himself. "Good. We can wait. You may not be in such a hurry to get rid of me when you do read it; and your dear boys may change their minds about their hero, too," added he, as a fresh cheer, mingled with a "Huzza for Railsford," was wafted across the fields. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. MR. BICKERS PREFERS THE DOOR TO THE WINDOW. The history of the great events of Railsford's sports were so faithfully chronicled at the time by Arthur Herapath in a long letter to his sister Daisy, that it would be presumption on my part, with that valuable document lying before me, to attempt to narrate in my own words what has been so much more vivaciously described by my young friend. Arthur was great at letter-writing, especially to his sister. And there is small doubt that, with the aid of a slang dictionary and a little imagination on her own part, that sympathetic young person was usually able to catch the drift of her young brother's rollicking lucubrations. "Dear Da. Thanks awfully for the bob." A good many of Arthur's letters began with this curious observation. Whether this particular "bob" had reference to Railsford's testimonial or not, the writer cannot speak positively. "We had a ripping time at our sports, and licked all the records but three. No end of a crow for us. The School's tearing its hair all over the place, and our fellows have been yelling for two days without stopping. It's a jolly good job that row about Bickers came on when it did, as our chaps would never have pulled themselves together as they did without it. Nobody wants to find the chap out now; so your particular is all serene up to now, and I don't mean to drip and spoil his game." (We wonder what Daisy made of this curious sentence when she read it!) "Dig and I were awfully riled we hadn't got you down for the sports, and I wanted Marky to wire up for you and put them off till you came. As it was, it didn't matter a bit, for Miss Violet showed up like a trump as she is, and backed us up; so it's just as well you hadn't come. Violet nodded to me! She's the most beautiful girl in the world. Smedley turned up too; brickish, wasn't it? Bickers of course came, and tried to spoil our sports, but Marky gave him a flea in his ear, and Dig and I howled; so he didn't stay long. "Bateson and Jukes pulled off the kids' hundred yards; and jolly cocky they were, I can tell you. Bateson's the sneak I told you of. "Tilbury won the Shell quarter-mile. Dig and I were in for it, but we wanted to save ourselves for the long jump and hurdles, so we ran easy, and Tilbury did it hands down. "Ah, Da, really you should have been there to see the high jump! Smedley and Clipstone tied 5 4½ last week for the School. No end of a jump to beat; and Dig and I were in a blue funk about our men. Barnworth and Wake were the only two entered;--dark horses both; at least _I_ didn't know what either of them could do. I heard Ainger tell Violet he thought we'd pull it off, so I perked up. They started at 4 foot 10. Wake muffed his first jump, and we gave ourselves up for gone 'coons. However, he hopped over second try. They went up by inches to five feet. My word! you should have seen the way Violet clapped! They'd have been cads if they hadn't gone over, with her backing them up like that. Wake's got the rummiest jump you ever saw. He runs sideways at the bar, and sort of lies down on his back on it as he goes over. You'd think he'd muff it every time, but just as he looks like done for, he kicks up his foot and clears. Barnworth takes it straight--skips up to the bar and goes over like a daisy, without seeming to try. "At 5 foot 1, Wake mulled twice, and we thought he was out of it. But the third time he got over finely with a good inch to spare. It got precious ticklish after this; and no one said a word till each Jump was done: and then we let out. Violet stood up and looked as if she'd got a ten-pound note on the event. At 5 foot 3 Barnworth came a cropper; and I fancy he must have screwed his foot. Anyhow, he had to sit a minute before he tried again. Then he went over like a shot--and you may guess we yelled. Five foot 3½. Both of them mulled the first--but Barnworth cleared easily second shot. We fancied Wake would too, but he missed both his other chances, and so got out of it. Awfully good jump this for a Fifth-form chap. "Barnworth pulled himself together after that, and cleared the 5 foot 3½ and 5 foot 4 first go. Then came the tug. The bar went up to 5 4½, Smedley's jump, and you might have heard a fly cough. We were pretty nervous, I can tell you, and it would have done you good to see Violet standing up and holding her breath. Barnworth was the only chap that didn't seem flurried. Smedley and Marky both looked blue, and poor Froggy looked as if he was going to blubber. "My wig! Daisy, if you'd heard the yell when the beggar cleared the bar first shot! Dig and I went mad; and somebody had to clout us on the head before we could take it in that the fun wasn't over. Of course it was not. _Pas un morceau de il_--we'd tied them; but we'd still to lick them. "`Bravo, Barnworth,' yells Violet. `Go it, old kangaroo,' howls Dig. `Take your time and tuck in that shoe-lace,' says Marky. `A million to one on our man,' says I; and then up goes the bar to 5 foot 5; and then you could have heard a caterpillar wink. Old Barnworth looked a little green himself this time; and didn't seem in a hurry to begin. He muffed his first jump, and we all thought the game was up. But no! The beggar hopped over second time as easily as I could hop 3 feet. My word, it was a hop! Dig stood on his head and I could have done so too, only Violet was looking. She was no end glad. _Elle est une brique et une demie_! So's Smedley; for though it was his jump was beaten, he cheered as loud as anybody. I forgive him the licking he gave me last term. Marky made a regular ass of himself, he was so pleased. Every one wanted Barnworth to go on, but he wouldn't, as he had a race to come on. "Then came the Shell hurdles, 120 yards, ten flights. Dig and I were in, and had to beat 19½ seconds. I felt jolly miserable, I can tell you, at the start, and that ass Dig made it all the worse by fooling about just to show off, and making believe to spar at me, when he was shaking in his shoes all the time; Marky wasn't much better, for he came and said, `You'll have to run your very best to win it.' As if we didn't know that! He don't deserve a testimonial for doing a thing like that. Next that ass Smedley went and made up to Violet just when she wanted to back us up, and I don't believe she saw a bit of the race till the finish. It was enough to make any chap blue. Then monsieur started us, and kept us waiting a whole minute (it seemed like an hour) while the second hand of his wretched watch was getting round. And then he started us in such a rotten way that it wasn't till I saw Dig running that I took in we were off, and coming up to the first hurdle. But soon the fellows began to yell, and I felt better. "Dig had the pull of me at the start, but I got up to him at the third hurdle. He missed a step in landing, and that put him out, and we went over the fourth and fifth neck and neck. Then I saw Violet stand up, out of the corner of my left eye; and Smedley began to look at us too. After that it was all right. At the sixth hurdle we both rose together, and then I heard a crack and a grunt behind me, and knew poor old Dig had come a cropper. Of course I had no time to grin, as I had my time to beat. But it was very lonely doing those next three hurdles. I didn't know how I was going, only I could swear I'd been twenty seconds long before I got to the eighth. I nearly mulled the ninth, and lost a step after the jump. That made me positive I'd not beaten my time; and I had half a mind to pull up, I was so jolly miserable. However, the fellows were still yelling, so I pulled myself together and went at the last hurdle viciously and got clean over, and then put it on all I could to the winning-post. I guessed I'd done it in thirty seconds, and wished there was a pit I could tumble into at the end. "Then Marky came and patted me on the back. `Splendid, old fellow,' said he. `How do you mean?' said I; `ain't I licked into a cocked hat?' `You've done it in nineteen seconds,' said he. `Go on!' said I. And then the other fellows came up and cheered, and then Violet called out, `Bravo, Herapath,' and Ainger said, `Run indeed, young 'un.' So I had to believe it; and I can tell you I was a bit pleased. _J'etais un morceau plaise_. "I was sorry for old Dig, but he won the Shell wide jump directly afterwards. I made a mess of the half-mile. I ought to have got it from Smythe, of the School-house; but all I could do was to dead heat his time. I suppose I was fagged after the hurdles. Tilbury had it all his own way with the Shell cricket-ball, and Stafford got the senior throw. Felgate was in against him--rather a decent chap, one of our prefects; had me to tea in his room the other day. He and Marky don't hit it. He was lazy, and didn't bother himself. Fellows said he could easily have licked the School record if he'd tried; but he didn't; and Stafford missed it by a few inches. So that event we lost. Jolly sell, _joli vendre_. "Never mind, we got the mile, and that was the crackest thing of all. We had to beat Smedley and Branscombe, both--only Branscombe--he's Bickers's prefect--didn't run it out last week. Smedley's time was 4.50. Ainger and Stafford ran for us; and Ranger was put on the track with 200 yards start to force the pace. "Stafford was out of it easily; but Ranger stuck to it like a Trojan. The first lap he was still a hundred yards to the good, and going like steam. Ainger ran finely, and overhauled him gradually. Still he had about twenty yards to the good at the beginning of the last lap. Then it was fine to see Ainger tuck in his elbows and let himself out. A quarter of a mile from home Ranger was clean out of it, regularly doubled up; but Ainger kept on steadily for a couple of hundred yards. "Then, my word, he spurted right away to the finish! You never saw such a rush up as it was! The fellows _yelled_, I can let you know. Every one knew that it was our event the second the spurt began, and when he got up to the tape and `4.42' was shouted out, it was a sight to see the state we were in. It's the best mile we ever did at Grandcourt, and even Smedley, though he was a bit riled, I fancy, at his licking, said he couldn't have done it in the time if he'd tried. "I send you Dig's programme, with the times all marked. You'll see we won them all except the senior cricket-ball, half-mile, and senior hundred. It's a rattling good score for us, I can tell you; and we cheered Marky like one o'clock. It was an awful sell Violet couldn't give away our prizes; but she shied at it. I suppose old Pony would have gruffed at her. She is the most beautiful girl in the world. "You needn't go telling the _mater_, but I was off my feed a whole day after the sports. How soon do fellows get money enough to marry? If I get the Swift Scholarship I shall have £20 a-year for three years-- something to start with. I wish you'd come down and give me a leg-up. I'm afraid that cad Smedley's got his eye on her. His father's only a doctor. We're better off than that, besides being chummy with a baronet. Hullo! there's the bell for cubicles. Ta, ta. _Je suis tres miserable_. Your aff. A.H." Little dreaming of the sad blight which had come over his future young kinsman's life, Railsford was sitting in his room that Sunday evening, feeling rather more than usually comfortable. He had some cause to be pleased. His house had done better than anyone expected. They had beaten all the records but three, and, without being specially conceited, Railsford took to himself the credit of having done a good deal to bring about this satisfactory result. "Curious," said he to himself, "that in all probability, if that affair of Bickers's had not happened, we might never have risen as a house; indeed, it's almost a mercy the culprit has never been discovered, for we should have then been plunged back into the current, and the work of pulling ourselves together might never have been done. It's odd that, as time goes on, there is not even a hint or a suspicion who did it. There's only one boy in the house I'm not sure of, and he is too great a coward to be a ruffian. Well, well, we have the cricket season and the exams, coming on. If only we do as well in them as we've done in the sports, it will not be altogether against us if the mystery remains a mystery a little longer." Whereupon the door opened and Mr Bickers stepped in. Railsford had completely forgotten the episode in the fields the previous day; he scarcely recollected that Mr Bickers had been present at the sports, and was delightfully oblivious to the fact that he, Railsford, had either slighted or offended his colleague. He wondered what was the occasion of the present visit, and secretly resolved to keep both his temper and his head if he could. "Good-evening," said he, with a friendly smile. "I'm just going to have my coffee; won't you have a cup too, Bickers?" Mr Bickers took no notice of this hospitable invitation, but closed the door behind him and said, "I want a few words with you, Mr Railsford." "Certainly? I've nothing to do-- Won't you take a seat?" Mr Bickers took a seat, a little disconcerted by Railsford's determined good-humour. He had not counted upon that. "The last time I saw you you were hardly so polite," said he, with a sneer. "When was that? I'm very sorry if I was rude; I had no intention, I assure you." Railsford began to feel a little like the lamb in the fable. This wolf had evidently come bent on a quarrel, and Railsford, lamb and all as he was, would have liked to oblige him. But he was quick enough to see-- with the memory of more than one failure to warn him--that his only chance with Mr Bickers was, at all costs, not to quarrel. "You are fortunate in your short memory; it is a most convenient gift." "It's one, at any rate, I would like to cultivate with regard to any unpleasantness there may have been between you and me, Bickers," said Railsford. This was not a happy speech, and Mr Bickers accepted it with a laugh. "Quite so; I can understand that. It happens, however, that I have come to assist in prolonging your memory with regard to that unpleasantness. I'm sorry to interfere with your good intentions, but it cannot be helped this time." "Really," said Railsford, feeling his patience considerably taxed, "all this is very perplexing. Would you mind coming to the point at once, Bickers?" "Not at all. When I saw you yesterday I asked you to look at a letter I had with me." "Oh, yes; I remember now. I was greatly taken up with the sports, and had no time then. I felt sure you would understand." "I understood perfectly. I have brought the letter for you now," and he held it out. Railsford took it with some curiosity, for Mr Bickers's manner, besides being offensive, was decidedly mysterious. "Am I to read it?" "Please." The letter was a short one, written in an evidently disguised hand: "Sir,--The name of the person who maltreated you lately is perfectly well-known in Railsford's house. No one knows his name better than Mr Railsford himself. But as the house is thriving by what has occurred, it is to nobody's interest to let out the secret. The writer of this knows what he is speaking about, and where to find the proofs.--A Friend." Railsford read this strange communication once or twice, and then laughed. "It's amusing, isn't it?" sneered Mr Bickers. "It's absurd!" said Railsford. "I thought you would say so," said Bickers, taking back the letter and folding it up. "For all that, I should like to know the name of the person referred to." "You surely do not mean, Bickers, that you attach any importance to a ridiculous joke like that?" "I attach just the importance it deserves, Railsford." "Then I would put it in the fire, Bickers." Mr Bickers's face darkened. Long ere now he had calculated on reducing the citadel of his adversary's good-humour, and now that it still held out, he felt his own self-possession deserting him. "Allow me to tell you, Railsford, that I believe what that letter states!" "Do you really? I hope when I tell you that every word of it which relates to myself is a grotesque falsehood, you will alter your opinion." "Even that would not convince me," said Bickers. Railsford stared at him blankly. He had surely misunderstood his words. "I said," he repeated, and there was a tremor of excitement in his voice, which afforded his enemy the keenest pleasure--"I said that every word in that letter which refers to me is false. You surely don't believe it after that?" "I said," repeated Mr Bickers, with a fine sneer, "that even that would not convince me." Surely the longed-for explosion would come now! He saw Railsford's face flush and his eyes flash. But before the furious retort escaped from his lips, a wise whisper from somewhere fell between them and robbed the wolf of his prey. "Then," said the Master of the Shell, forcing his lips to a smile, "there is not much to be gained by prolonging this interview, is there?" Mr Bickers was deeply mortified. There was nothing for it now but for him to assume the _role_ of aggressor. He would so much have preferred to be the aggrieved. "Yes, Railsford," said he, rising from his chair and standing over his enemy. "I dare you to say that you neither know nor suspect the person who assaulted me!" Railsford felt devoutly thankful he had kept his head. He now dug his hands into his pockets, stretched himself, and replied,-- "You may very safely do that, Bickers." It was hard lines for poor Bickers, this. He had worked so hard to get himself an adversary; and here was all his labour being lost! "You're paltering," snarled he. "I dare you to say you did not do the cowardly deed yourself!" Railsford could not imagine how he had ever been so foolish as to be in a rage with the fellow. He laughed outright at the last piece of bluster. Bickers was now fairly beside himself, or he would never have done what he did. He struck Railsford where he sat a blow on the mouth, which brought blood to his lips. This surely was the last card, and Railsford in after years never knew exactly how it came about that he did not fly there and then at his enemy's throat, and shake him as a big dog shakes a rat. It may have been he was too much astonished to do anything of the sort; or it may have been that he, the stronger man of the two, felt a sort of pity for the poor bully, which kept him back. At any rate, his good genius befriended him this time, and saved him both his dignity and his moral vantage. He put his handkerchief to his lips for a moment, and then said quietly-- "There are two ways of leaving this room, Bickers: the door and the window. I advise you to choose the door." Mr Bickers was too cowed by his own act to keep up the contest, and hating himself at that moment almost as much--but not quite--as he hated his enemy, he slunk out of the door and departed to his own house. Railsford sat where he was, and stared at the door by which his visitor had left, in a state of bewildered astonishment. The more Railsford thought the matter over, the less he liked it. For it convinced him that there was someone desirous of doing him an injury by means of the very master who was already predisposed to believe evil of him. It was rather a damper after the glorious result of the sports, and Railsford tried to laugh it off and dismiss the whole matter from his mind. "At least," said he to himself, "if the accusation comes in no more likely a form than I have seen to-night, I can afford to disregard it. But though Bickers made a fool of himself for once in a way, it does not at all follow that he will not return to the attack, and that I may actually have to answer to Grandcourt the charges of that precious letter. It's too absurd, really!" CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE TESTIMONIAL. As the reader may suppose, the sympathetic soul of Miss Daisy Herapath was considerably moved by the contents of her brother's letter, which we gave in the last chapter. She naturally took an interest in the welfare and doings of Railsford's house; and as she heard quite as often from the master as she did from his pupil, she was able to form a pretty good, all-round opinion on school politics. Arthur's lively account of the House sports had delighted her. Not that she understood all the obscure terms which embellished it; but it was quite enough for her that the house had risen above its tribulations and rewarded its master and itself by these brilliant exploits in the fields. But when Arthur passed from public to personal matters, his sister felt rather less at ease. She much disliked the barefaced proposal for the testimonial, and had told her brother as much more than once. On the whole, she decided to send Arthur's letter and its enclosure to Railsford, and confide her perplexities to him. Railsford perused the "dear boy's" florid effusion with considerable interest, particularly, I grieve to say, certain portions of it, which if Daisy had been as wise as she was affectionate, she would have kept to herself. When people put notes into circulation, it's not the fault of those into whose hands they come if they discover in them beauties unsuspected by the person for whose benefit they were issued. Railsford saw a great deal more in Arthur's letter than Daisy had even suspected. A certain passage, which had seemed mere mysterious jargon to her, had a pretty plain meaning for him, especially after the interview last Sunday with Mr Bickers. "It's a jolly good job that row about Bickers came on when it did. ... Nobody wants to find the chap out now, so your particular is all serene up to now, and I don't mean to drip and spoil his game." What could this mean except that Arthur, somehow or other, knew a secret respecting the Bickers affair which he was keeping to himself, presumably in the interests of Railsford? Could this mysterious hint have any connection with the false rumour which had reached Bickers and magnified itself in his mind to such an uncomfortable extent? Railsford resolved to delight the heart of his young relative by a friendly visit, and make a reconnaissance of the position. He had a very good pretext in the anxious solicitude expressed in Daisy's letter for the health and appetite of her love-tossed brother. He would make it his business to inquire how the sufferer did. Waiting, therefore, until a preternatural stillness in the room above assured him that Dig was out of the way, the Master of the Shell went up-stairs and ushered himself into Arthur's study. "Hard at work, I see," said Railsford cheerily. "How are you getting on?" "All serene, thanks," replied Arthur. "That is, not very well." "Have you stuck fast in your translations? Let me look." "Oh no. I'm not doing my exercise," said Arthur, in alarm. "I'm only looking up some words. Do you want to see Dig? He's gone to Wake's room." "No, I came to see you. I heard you'd been out of sorts. Are you all right now? Was it the sports knocked you up?" "No--that is, yes, they did a bit, I think," said Arthur. It was the sports which had done it, though not in the way "Marky" fancied. "Well, we mustn't have you laid up, must we? We want you for the Swift Scholarship, you know." "Oh, all right, sir, I'm going to mug hard for that after Easter, really." "Why put it off till then? You may come to my room any evening you like. I shall generally have time enough." This invitation did not fascinate the boy as it deserved to do. "I fancy I'd work steadier here," said he. "Besides, Dig and I use the same books." "Well, the first thing is to get yourself all right. What's troubling you, Arthur?" This was a startling question, and Arthur felt himself detected. "I suppose you've heard. Keep it quiet, I say." "What is it? Keep what quiet?" "Why, about _her_, you know. I say, Marky--I mean Mr Railsford--could you ever give me a leg-up with her? If you asked her to your room one day, you know I could come too, and do my work." Railsford laughed. "I thought you could do your work better here; besides, you and Oakshott use the same books." "Oakshott be hanged! I mean--I say, Marky, do you think I've a chance? I know Smedley's--" Railsford's experience in cases of this sort was limited, but he was philosopher enough to know that some distempers need to be taken seriously. "Look here, Arthur," said he gravely, "the best thing you can do is to go straight over to Dr Ponsford's and ask to see him, and tell him exactly how matters stand. Remind him that you're just fifteen, and in the Shell, and that your income is a shilling a week. You need not tell him you were detained two afternoons this week, because he will probably find that out for himself by looking at monsieur's books. If he says he will be delighted to accept your offer, then I promise to back you up. Let me see, I know the doctor's at home this evening; it's not 7.30 yet, so you'll have time, if you go at once, to catch him before his tea. I'll wait here till you come back." Arthur's face underwent a wonderful change as the master quietly uttered these words. It began by lengthening, and growing a little pale; then it grew troubled, then bewildered, then scarlet, and finally, when he had ended, it relaxed into a very faint smile. "I think I'll wait a bit," said he gravely. "Very well, only let me hear the result when you do go." "I think I may as well start work for the Swift to-night," said he, "if you don't mind." "By all means, my boy. Come along to my room and we'll look through the list of subjects." Arthur, before the task was half over, had recovered his spirits and advanced far in the esteem of his future kinsman. "Awfully brickish of you, sir," he said. "It wouldn't be a bad score for our house if we got all the prizes at the exams, would it?" "Not at all. But we mustn't be too confident." "Jolly lucky we're cut off from the rest of the chaps, isn't it? It makes us all sit up." "That state of things may end any time, you know," said the master. "But we must `sit up' all the same." "Oh, but it won't come out till the exams, are over, will it?" "How do I know?" Arthur glanced up at his kinsman, and inwardly reflected what a clever chap he was to ask such a question in such a way. "Oh, all right. All I meant was, it wouldn't suit our book, would it, to let it out just yet?" "It's not a question of what suits anyone. It's a question of what is right. And if anybody in the house knows anything I don't, he ought to speak, whatever it costs." "There's an artful card," thought Arthur to himself, and added aloud-- "I don't fancy any fellow knows anything you don't, Marky--I mean Mr Railsford. _I_ don't." "Don't you? Do you know," said the master, "I have sometimes had an impression you did. I am quite relieved to hear it, Arthur." "Oh, you needn't be afraid of me," said Arthur, lost in admiration for the cleverness of his future brother-in-law. "I'm safe, never you fear." "It's a strange mystery," said Railsford, "but sooner or later we shall know the meaning of it." "Later the better," put in Arthur, with a wink. "I don't envy the feelings of the culprit, whoever he is; for he is a coward as well as a liar." "No, more do I, Perhaps you're too down on him, though. Never mind, he's safe enough, for you and me." "You have an odd way of talking, Arthur, which doesn't do you justice. As I said, you have more than once made me wonder whether you were not keeping back something about this wretched affair which I ought to know." "Honour bright, I know a jolly lot less about it than you; so you really needn't be afraid of me; and Dig's safe too. Safe as a door-nail." Railsford was able to write home on the following Sunday that Arthur had quite recovered his appetite, and that the "low" symptoms to which Dig had darkly referred had vanished altogether. Indeed, Arthur on this occasion developed that most happy of all accomplishments, the power of utterly forgetting that he had done or said anything either strange in itself or offensive to others. He was hail-fellow-well-met with the boys he had lately kicked and made miserable; he did not know what you were talking about when you reminded him that a day or two ago he had behaved like a cad to you; and, greatest exploit of all, he had the effrontery to charge Dig with being "spoons" on Violet, and to hold him up to general ridicule in consequence! "How much have you really got for the testimonial?" said Dig one morning. "Eleven and six," said Arthur dismally; "not a great lot, but enough for a silver ring." "Not with Daisy's name on it." "No, we'll have to drop that, unless we can scratch it on." "We'll have a try. When shall we give it?" "To-morrow's Rag Sunday, isn't it? Let's give it him to-night--after tea. I'll write out a list of the chaps, and you can get up an address, unless Felgate will come and give him a speech." "Think he will? All serene. We'll give the fellows the tip, and do the thing in style. Hadn't you better cut and get the ring, I say?" Arthur cut, armed with an _exeat_, and made the momentous purchase. The fancy stationer of whom he bought the ring assured him it was solid silver, and worth a good deal more than the 10 shillings 6 pence he asked. The other shilling Arthur invested in a box wherein to put it, and returned to school very well satisfied with his bargain. He and Dig spent an anxious hour trying to scratch the letters with a pin on the inner surface; and to Arthur belonged the credit of the delicate suggestion that instead of writing the term of endearment in vulgar English they should engrave it in Classic Greek, thus: _chuki_. The result was on the whole satisfactory; and when the list of contributors was emblazoned on a sheet of school paper, and Sir Digby Oakshott's address (for Felgate declined the invitation to make a speech) had been finally revised and corrected, the prospects of the ceremonial seemed very encouraging. Arthur and Dig, once more completely reconciled, went through the farce of house tea that evening in the common room with considerable trepidation. They had a big job on hand, in which they were to be the principal actors, and when the critical time comes at last, we all know how devoutly we wish it had forgotten us! But everything had been carefully arranged, and everyone had been told what to expect. It was therefore impossible to back out, and highly desirable, as they _were_ in for it, to do it in good style. As the clock pointed to the fatal hour, Dig sharply rattled his spoon against the side of his empty cup. At the expected signal, about a dozen boys, the contributors to the testimonial, rose to their feet, and turned their eyes on Arthur. Railsford, at the head of the table, mistook the demonstration for a lapse of good manners, and was about to reprimand the offenders, when by a concerted movement the deputation stepped over their forms and advanced on the master in a compact phalanx. Arthur and Dig, both a little pale and dry about the lips, marched at their head. "What is all this?" inquired Railsford. Arthur and Dig replied by a rather ceremonious bow, in which the deputation followed them; and then the latter carefully cleared his throat. "We, the undersigned, boys in your house," he began, reading from the paper before him in a somewhat breathless way, "beg to present you with a small token of our esteem--[Go on, hand it up, Arthur], and hope you will like it, and that it will fit, and trust that the name graven within will suggest pleasant memories in which we all join. The letters are in the Greek character. We hope we shall all enjoy our holidays, and come back better in mind and body. You may rely on us to back you up, and to keep dark things you would not like to have mentioned.-- Signed, with kind regards, Daisy Herapath (a most particular friend), J. Felgate (prefect), Arthur Herapath (treasurer), Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet (secretary), Bateson and Jukes (Babies), Maple, Simson, Tilbury, and Dimsdale (Shell), Munger (Fifth), Snape (Baby in Bickers's house)." It spoke a good deal for Mark Railsford that under the first shock of this startling interview, he did not bowl over the whole deputation like so many ninepins and explode before the assembled house. As it was he was too much taken aback to realise the position for a minute or so; and by that time the baronet's address was half read. He grimly waited for the end of it, studiously ignoring the box which Arthur held out, opened, to fascinate him with its charms. When the reading was done, he wheeled round abruptly in his chair, in a manner which made the deputation stagger back a pace; and said-- "You mean it kindly, no doubt; but I don't want a present and can't take one. It was foolish of you to think of such a thing. Don't let it occur again. I'm vexed with you, and shall have to speak to some of you privately about it. Go to your rooms." "What's to become of the ring!" said Dig disconsolately, as he and Arthur sat and cooled themselves in their study. "Mr Trinket won't take it back. He'd no business to cut up rough like that." "Fact is," replied Arthur, "Marky's got to draw the line somewhere. He knows he's in a jolly row about that business, you know, and he doesn't want a testimonial for it. I don't blame him. I'll get Daisy to buy the ring in the holidays, and we can have the fellows to a blow-out next term with the money." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE SECRET OUT. "If you please, sir, would you mind coming to see one of the young gentlemen in our house before you start? He don't seem himself." The speaker was Mrs Phillips, the dame of Bickers's house, and the individual she addressed was Mark Railsford, who, with his portmanteau on the steps beside him, was impatiently awaiting the cab which should take him from Grandcourt for the Easter holidays. The place was as empty and deserted as on that well-remembered day when he came down-- could it be only the beginning of this present term?--to enter upon his new duties at the school. The boys, as was their wont, had almost without exception left by the eight o'clock train, Arthur and Dig being among the foremost. The few who had remained to finish their packing had followed by the ten o'clock. The doctor and his niece had left for town last night; the other masters had made an early start that morning; and Railsford, junior master, and consequently officer of the guard for the day, imagined himself, as he stood there with his portmanteau about two o'clock, the "last of the Mohicans." "Who is it?" he said, as the cab rumbled through the gateway. "It's Mr Branscombe, sir. He overslep' hisself, as the way of speaking is, and as there was no call-over, and all the young gentlemen were in a rush, nobody noticed it. But when I went to make the beds, I finds him still in 'is, and don't like the looks of 'im. Anyhow, sir, if you'd come and take a look at him--" Railsford looked up at the school clock. He could catch the 2.30 train if he left in five minutes. If he lost that train he would have to wait till six. He told the cabman to put the portmanteau on the top, and wait for him at the door of Bickers's house, and then walked after Mrs Phillips, rather impatiently. He had never set foot in Mr Bickers's house before, and experienced a curious sensation as he crossed the threshold of his enemy's citadel. Suppose Mr Bickers should return and find him there--what a pretty situation! "Up-stairs, sir, this way," said Mrs Phillips, leading him up to the prefects' cubicles. She opened the door at the end, and ushered him into the house-captain's study. On his low narrow camp bed lay Branscombe, flushed, with eyes closed, tossing and moaning, and now and then talking to himself, Railsford started as his eyes fell on him. "He's ill!" he whispered to Mrs Phillips. "That's what I thought," observed the sagacious dame. Railsford knew little enough about medicine, and had never been ill himself in his life. But as he lifted the hot hand which lay on the coverlet, and marked the dry parched lips, and listened to the laboured breathing, he knew that he was in the presence of a grave illness of some kind. "Go and fetch Dr Clarke at once, Mrs Phillips," said he, "and tell the cabman on your way down not to wait." Branscombe opened his eyes and clutched greedily at the tumbler Railsford offered. But his throat was too sore to allow him to drain it, and he gave it back with a moan. Then he dozed off fitfully, and recommenced his tossing. "Where are they all?" he asked, again opening his eyes. He scarcely seemed to take in who Railsford was. "They went by the ten o'clock train," said Railsford. "Why didn't they call me? Where's Clipstone?" "You weren't very well. You had better lie quiet a little," said Railsford. The invalid made no attempt to get up, but lay back on the pillow and moaned. "Open the window," said he, "the room's so hot." Railsford made believe to obey him, and waited anxiously for the doctor. It seemed as if he would never arrive. It was a strange position for the Master of the Shell, here at the bedside of the captain of his rival's house, the only occupant with him of the great deserted school. He had reckoned on spending a very different day. He was to have seen Daisy once more that afternoon, and the foolish young couple had been actually counting the minutes till the happy meeting came round. By this time he would have been in the train whizzing towards her, with all the troubles of the term behind him, and all the solaces of the vacation ahead. To-morrow, moreover, was the day of the University Boat-Race, and he, an old "Blue," had in his pocket at that moment a ticket for the steamer which was to follow the race. He was to have met scores of friends and fought again scores of old battles, and to have dined with the crews in the evening! What was to become of all these plans now? He was absolutely a prisoner at this poor fellow's bedside. He did not know his address at home, or where to send for help. Besides, even if he could discover it, it would be twenty-four hours at least before he could hand over his charge into other hands. These selfish regrets, however, only flashed through Railsford's mind to be again dismissed. He was a brave man, and possessed the courage which, when occasion demands, can accept a duty like a man. After all, was it not a blessing his cab had not come five minutes earlier than it had? Suppose this poor sufferer had been left with no better guardian than the brusque Mrs Phillips, with her scruples about "catching" disorders? The doctor's trap rattled up to the door at last. He was one of those happy sons of Aesculapius who never pull long faces, but always say the most alarming things in the most delightful way. "Ah," said he, hardly glancing at the patient, and shaking hands airily with Railsford, "this is a case of the master being kept in, and sending to the doctor for his _exeat_, eh? Sorry I can't give it to you at present, my dear fellow; rather a bad case." "What is it?" asked Railsford. "Our old friend, diphtheria; knowing young dog, to put it off till breaking-up day. What an upset for us all if he'd come out with it yesterday! Not profitable from my point of view, but I daresay the boys will have it more comfortably at home than here, after all. This must have been coming on for some time. How long has he been feverish?" "I don't know. I only found him like this half an hour ago, and want your advice what to do." The doctor, almost for the first time, looked at the restless invalid on the bed and hummed. "Dr Ponsford has gone to the Isle of Wight, I hear," said he. "I really don't know where he's gone," said Railsford impatiently. "I wish _I_ could get a holiday. That's the worst of my kind of doctor--people take ill so promiscuously. As sure as we say we'll go off for a week, some aggravating patient spits blood and says, `No, you don't.' I think you should send for this boy's mother, do you know." "I don't know her address. Is he so very ill, then?" "Well, of the two, I think you should telegraph rather than write. It might be more satisfaction to you afterwards. Have you no way of finding where he lives? Looked in his pockets? There may be a letter there." It was not an occasion for standing on ceremony, and Railsford, feeling rather like a pickpocket, took down the jacket from the peg and searched it. There was only one letter in the pocket, written in a female hand. It was dated "Sunday," but bore no address further than "London, N." on the postmark. "Pity," said the doctor pleasantly. "Of course you have had diphtheria yourself?" "No." "H'm, I can hardly advise you to leave him till somebody comes to relieve guard. But it's doubtful whether he will be well in time to nurse you. You should send for your own folk in time." If this doctor had not been Railsford's only support at present, he would have resented this professional flippancy more than he did. "I'm not afraid," said he. "I shall try to find out where his people live. Meanwhile would it be well to send a trained nurse here; or can I manage myself?" "Quite straightforward work," said the doctor, "if you like it. I've known cases no worse than this finish up in three days, or turn the corner in seven. You mustn't be surprised if he gets a great deal worse at night. He's a bit delirious already." Then the doctor went into a few details as to the medicine and method of nursing. The most important thing was to discover, if possible, the address of the patient's parents, and summon them. He approached the bed in the vague hope that Branscombe might be able to help him. But the sufferer, though he opened his eyes, seemed not to know him, and muttered to himself what sounded more like Greek verse than English. In desperation Railsford summoned Mrs Phillips. She, cautious woman, with a son of her own, would by no means come into the room, but stood at the door with a handkerchief to her mouth. "Have you any idea where his home is?" "No. Hasn't he labelled his box?" "He does not seem to have begun to pack at all. Do you know the doctor's address?" "No, he said no letters were to be forwarded. You'll excuse me, Mr Railsford, but as you are taking charge, I should like to be spared away an hour or so. I feel so upset, like. A bit of fresh air would be the very thing for me." She was evidently in such a panic on her own account, and so nervous of her proximity even to Railsford, that he saw it was little use to object. "You must be back in two hours, without fail," said he; "I may want you to go for the doctor again." She went; and Railsford, as he listened to the clatter of her boots across the quadrangle, felt more than ever utterly alone. He set himself to clear the room as far as possible of all unnecessary furniture. The poor fellow's things lay about in hopeless confusion. Evidently he had had it in his mind to pack up yesterday; but had felt too ill to carry out his purpose, and gone to bed intending to finish in the morning. Flannels, running-shoes, caps, books, linen, and papers lay scattered over the room, and Railsford, as he gathered them together and tried to reduce the chaos to order, felt his heart sink with an undefined apprehension. Yesterday, perhaps, this little array of goods and chattels meant much to the young master who called them his. To-day, what cared he as he lay there tossing feverishly on his bed, muttering his Greek verses and moaning over his sore throat, whose they were, and who touched them? And to-morrow--? Railsford pulled himself together half angrily. A nice fellow, he, for a sick nurse? Suddenly he came upon a desk with the key in the lock. Perhaps this might contain the longed-for address. He opened it and glanced inside. It was empty. No. There was only a paper there--a drawing on a card. Railsford took it up and glanced at it, half absent. As his eyes fell on it, however, he started. It was a curious work of art; a sketch in pen and ink, rather cleverly executed, after the model of the old Greek bas-reliefs shown in the classical dictionaries. It represented what first appeared to be a battle scene, but what Railsford on closer inspection perceived was something very different. The central figure was a man, over whose head a sack had been cast, which a tall figure behind was binding with cords round the victim's neck and shoulders. On the ground, clutching the captive's knees with his arms, and preparing to bind them, sat another figure, while in the background a third, with one finger to his lips, expressive of caution, pointed to an open door, evidently of the dungeon intended for the prisoner. It was an ordinary subject for a picture of this kind, and Railsford might have thought nothing of it, had not his attention been attracted by some words inscribed in classic fashion against the figures of the actors in this little drama. Under the central figure of the captive he read in Greek capitals the legend BIKEROS; over the head of his tall assailant was written BRANSKOMOS. The person sitting and embracing the captive's knees was labelled KLIPSTONOS, while the mysterious figure in the rear, pointing out the dungeon, bore the name of MUNGEROS. Over the door itself was written BOOTBOX. Below the whole was written the first line of the Iliad, and in the corner, in minute characters, were the words, "S. _Branscombe, inv. et del_." Railsford stared at the strange work of art in blank amazement. What could it mean? At first he was disposed to smile at the performance as a harmless jest; but a moment's consideration convinced him that, jest or not, he held in his hand the long-sought clue to the Bickers mystery which had troubled the peace of Grandcourt for the last term. Here, in the hand of the chief offender himself, was a pictorial record of that grievous outrage, and here, denounced, by himself in letters of Greek, were the names for which all the school had suffered. The Master of the Shell seemed to be in a dream. Branscombe and Clipstone, the head prefects of Bickers's own house! and Munger, the ill-conditioned toady of Railsford's! His first feelings of excitement and astonishment were succeeded by others of alarm and doubt. The murder was out, but how? He knew the great secret at last, but by what means? His eyes turned to the restless sufferer on the bed, and a flush of crimson came to his face as he realised that he had no more right to that secret than he had to the purse which lay on the table. He had opened the desk to look for an address, and nothing more. If, instead of that address, he had accidentally found somebody else's secret, what right had he--a man of honour and a gentleman--to use it, even if by doing so he could redress one of the greatest grievances in Grandcourt? He thrust the picture back into the desk, and wished from the bottom of his heart he had never seen it. Mechanically he finished tidying the room, and clearing away to the adjoining study as much as possible of the superfluous furniture. Then with his own hands he lit the fire and carried out the various instructions of the doctor as to the steaming of the air in the room and the preparation of the nourishment for the invalid. Branscombe woke once during the interval and asked hoarsely, "What bell was that?" Then, without waiting for an answer, he said,-- "All right, all right, I'll get up in a second," and relapsed into his restless sleep. Mrs Phillips did not return till eight o'clock; and the doctor arrived almost at the same time. "Has he taken anything?" he inquired. "Scarcely anything; he can hardly swallow." "You'll have a night with him, I fancy. Keep the temperature of the room up to sixty, and see he doesn't throw off his clothes. How old is he--eighteen?--a great overgrown boy, six feet one or two, surely. It goes hard with these long fellows. Give me your short, thick-set young ruffian for pulling through a bout like this. Have you found out where he lives?" "No, I can't discover his address anywhere." "Look in his Sunday hat. I always kept mine there when I was a boy, and never knew a boy who didn't." Branscombe, however, was an exception. "Well," said the doctor, "it's a pity. A mother's the proper person to be with him a time like this. She'll never-- What's this?" It was an envelope slipped behind the bookcase, containing a bill from Splicer, the London cricket-bat-maker, dated a year ago. At the foot the tradesman had written, "Hon. sir, sorry we could not get bat in time to send home, so forward to you direct to Grandcourt School, by rail." "There we are," said the doctor, putting the document in his pocket. "This ought to bring mamma in twenty-four hours. The telegraph office is shut now, but we'll wake Mr Splicer up early, and have mamma under weigh by midday. Good-night, Railsford--keep the pot boiling, my good fellow--I'll look round early." He was gone, and Railsford with sinking heart set himself to the task before him. He long remembered that night. It seemed at first as if the doctor's gloomy predictions were to be falsified, for Branscombe continued long in a half-slumber, and even appeared to be more tranquil than he had been during the afternoon. Railsford sat near the fire and watched him; and for two hours the stillness of the room was only broken by the lively ticking of the little clock on the mantelpiece, and the laboured breathing of the sufferer. He was nearly asleep when a cry from the bed suddenly roused him. "Clip!" called the invalid. Railsford went to his side and quietly replaced the covering which had been tossed aside. "Clip! look alive--he's coming--don't say a word, hang on to his legs, you know--_En jam tempus erat_--Munger, you cad, why don't you come? _Italiam fato profugus_. Hah! got you, my man. Shove him in, quick! Strike a light, do you hear? here they come. What are you doing, Clip?--turn him face up. That's for blackguarding me before the whole house! Clip put me up to it. Don't cut and leave me in the lurch, I say. You're locking me in the boot-box!--let me out--I'm in for the mile, you know. Who's got my shoes? _Pastor_ _cum traheret per freta navibus_. Well run, sir! He's giving out! I say, I say. I can't keep it up. I must stop. Clip, you put me up to it, old man. It'll never come out--never--never. He thinks it was Railsford, ho, ho! I'll never do such a thing again. Come along--sharp--coast's clear!" Then he began to conjugate a Greek verb, sometimes shouting the words and sitting up in bed, and sometimes half whimpering them as Railsford gently laid him back on the pillow. There was not much fear of Railsford dropping asleep again after this. The sick lad scarcely ceased his wild talk all the night through. Now he was going over again in detail that dark night's work in the boot-box; now he was construing Homer to the doctor; now he was being run down in the mile race; now he was singing one of his old child's hymns; now he was laughing over the downfall of Mr Bickers; now he was making a speech at the debating society. It was impossible for the listener to follow all his wild incoherent talk, it was all so mixed up and jumbled. But if Railsford harboured any doubts as to the correctness of his surmise about the picture, the circumstantial details of the outrage repeated over and over in the boy's wild ravings effectually dispelled them. He knew now the whole of the wretched story from beginning to end. The proud boy's resentment at the insult he had received in the presence of his house, the angry passions which had urged him to the act of revenge, the cowardly precautions suggested by his confederate to escape detection, and the terrors and remorse following the execution of their deep-laid scheme. Yet if the listener had no right to the secret locked up in the desk, still less had he the right to profit by these sad delirious confessions. Towards morning the poor exhausted sufferer, who during the night had scarcely remained a moment motionless, or abated a minute in his wild, wandering talk, sunk back on his pillow and closed his eyes like one in whom the flame of life had sunk almost to the socket. Railsford viewed the change with the utmost alarm, and hastened to give the restoratives prescribed by the doctor in case of a collapse. But the boy apparently had run through his strength and lacked even the power to swallow. For two terrible hours it seemed to Railsford as if the young life were slipping through his hands; and he scarcely knew at one time if the prayer he sent up would reach its destination before the soul of him on whose behalf it rose. But soon after the school clock had tolled eight, and when the clear spring sun rising above the chapel tower sent its rays cheerily into the sick-chamber, the breathing became smoother and more regular, and the hand on which that of Railsford rested grew moist. The doctor arrived an hour later, and smiled approvingly as he glanced at the patient. "He's going to behave himself after all," said he. "You'll find he will wake up in an hour or two with an appetite. Give him an egg beaten up in milk, with a spoonful of brandy." "What about his parents?" asked Railsford. "They will be here by the four-o'clock train. What about your breakfast? you've had nothing since midday yesterday; and if you're going to have your turn at that sort of thing," added he, pointing to the bed, "you'd better get yourself into good trim first. Get Mrs Phillips to cook you a steak, and put yourself outside it. You can leave him safely for twenty minutes or so." Branscombe slept steadily and quietly through the forenoon, and then woke, clear in mind, and, as the doctor anticipated, with an appetite. He swallowed the meal prepared for him with considerably less pain than yesterday, and then, for the first time, recognised his nurse. "Thank you, sir," said he; "have I been seedy long?" "You were rather poorly yesterday, old fellow," said Railsford, "and you must keep very quiet now, and not talk." The patient evinced no desire to disobey either of these injunctions, and composed himself once more to sleep. Before he awoke, a cab had driven into the courtyard and set down three passengers. Two of them were Mr and Mrs Branscombe, the third was a trained nurse from London. As they appeared on the scene, joined almost immediately by the doctor, Railsford quietly slipped away from the room and signalled to the cabman to stop and pick him up. Five minutes later, he and his portmanteau were bowling towards the station, a day late for the boat-race. But in other respects Mark Railsford was a happy man, and a better one for his night's vigil in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. RODS IN PICKLE FOR RAILSFORD. Grandcourt assembled after the holidays in blissful ignorance of the episode narrated in our last chapter. Branscombe's illness had been an isolated case, and apparently not due to any defect in the sanitary arrangements of his house. And as no other boy was reported to have spent his holidays in the same unsatisfactory manner, and as Railsford himself had managed to escape infection, it was decided by the authorities not to publish the little misadventure on the housetop. The captain of Bickers's house was absent on sick leave, and the Master of the Shell (who had been nursing a stubborn cold during the holidays) would not be in his place, so it was announced, for a week. That was all Grandcourt was told; and, to its credit, it received the news with profound resignation. True, some of the more disorderly spirits in Railsford's house were disposed to take advantage of his absence, and lead the much-enduring Monsieur Lablache, who officiated in his place, an uncomfortable dance. But any indications of mutiny were promptly stamped upon by Ainger and the other prefects, who, because they resented monsieur's appointment, were determined that, come what would, he should have no excuse for exercising his authority. Monsieur shrugged himself, and had no objection to the orderly behaviour of the house, whatever its motive, nor had anyone else whose opinion on such a matter was worth having. Arthur and Sir Digby, as usual, came back brimful of lofty resolutions and ambitious schemes! Dig had considerably revised his time-table, and was determined to adhere to it like a martyr to his stake. Arthur, though he came armed with no time-table, had his own good intentions. He had had one or two painful conversations with his father, who had hurt him considerably by suggesting that he wasted a great deal of time, and neglected utterly those principles of self- improvement which had turned out men like Wellington, Dickens, Dr Livingstone, and Mr Elihu Burritt. Arthur had seldom realised before how odious comparisons may become. No doubt Wellington, Dickens, and Company were good fellows in their way, but he had never done them any harm. Why should they be trotted out to injure him? He thought he _was_ improving himself. He was much better at a drop- kick than he had been last year, and Railsford himself had said he was not as bad at his Latin verses as he had been. Was not that improvement--self-improvement? Then he was conscious of having distinctly improved in morals. He had once or twice done his Caesar without a crib, and the aggregate of lines he had had to write for impositions had been several hundred less than the corresponding term of last year. Thus the son gently reasoned with his parent, who replied that what he would like to see in his boy was an interest in some intellectual pursuits outside the mere school routine. Why, now, did he not take up some standard book of history with which to occupy his spare time, or some great poem like the _Paradise Lost_, of which he might commit a few lines to memory every day, and so emulate his great-uncle, who used to be able to repeat the whole poem by heart? Both Arthur and Dig had landed for the term with hampers more or less replete with indigestible mementoes of domestic affection. Arthur had a Madeira cake and a rather fine lobster, besides a small box of figs, some chocolate creams, Brazil nuts, and (an enforced contribution from the cook) pudding-raisins. Dig, whose means were not equal to his connections, produced, somewhat bashfully, a rather "high" cold chicken, some gingerbread, some pyretic saline, and a slab or two of home-made toffee. These good things, when spread out on the table that evening, made quite an imposing array, and decidedly warmed the cockles of the hearts of their joint owners, and suggested to them naturally thoughts of hospitality and revelry. "Let's have a blow-out in the dormitory," proposed Arthur. "Froggy will let us alone, and we can square Felgate with a hunk of this toffee if he interferes." Felgate was the prefect charged with the oversight of the Shell dormitory in Railsford's--a duty he discharged by never setting foot inside their door when he could possibly get out of it. From a gastronomic point of view the boys would doubtless have done better to postpone their feast till to-morrow. They had munched promiscuously all day--during the railway journey especially--and almost needed a night's repose to enable them to attack the formidable banquet now proposed on equal terms. But hospitality brooks no delays. Besides, Dig's chicken was already a little over ripe, and it was impossible to say how Arthur's lobster might endure the night. So the hearts of Maple, Tilbury, Dimsdale, and Simson were made glad that evening by an intimation that it might be worth their while at bed- time to smuggle a knife, fork, and plate a-piece into the dormitory, in case, as Arthur worded it, there should be some fun going. Wonderful is the intuition of youth! These four simple-minded, uncultured lads knew what Arthur meant, even as he spoke, and joyfully did him and Dig homage for the rest of the evening, and at bed-time tucked each his platter under his waistcoat and scaled the stairs as the curfew rang, grimly accoutred with a fork in one trouser pocket and a knife in the other. But whatever the cause, the Shell-fish in Railsford's presented a very green appearance when they answered to their names next morning, and were in an irritable frame of mind most of the day. Their bad temper took the form of a dead set on the unhappy Monsieur Lablache, who, during the first day of his vicarious office, led the existence of a pea on a frying-pan. They went up to him with difficulties in Greek prose, knowing that he comprehended not a word of that language; they asked his permission for what they knew he could not grant, and on his refusal got up cries of tyranny and despotism wherewith to raise the lower school; they whistled German war songs outside his door, and asked him the date of the Battle of Waterloo. When he demanded their names they told him "Ainger," "Barnworth," "Wake"; and when he ordered them to stay in an hour after school, they coolly stopped work five minutes before the bell rang and walked under his very nose into the playground. Poor monsieur, he was no disciplinarian, and he knew it. His backbone was limp, and he never did the right thing at the right time. He shrugged when he ought to have been chastising; and he stormed when he ought to have held his tongue. Nobody cared for him; everybody wondered why he of all men worked at the trade of schoolmaster. Perhaps if some of my lords and baronets in the Shell had known that far away, in a tiny cottage at Boulogne, this same contemptible Frenchman was keeping alive from week to week, with his hard-earned savings, a paralysed father and three motherless little girls, who loved the very ground he trod on, and kissed his likeness every night before they crept to their scantily- covered beds--if they had known that this same poor creature said a prayer for his beloved France every day, and tingled in every vein to hear her insulted even in jest--perhaps they would have understood better why he flared up now and then as he did, and why he clung to his unlovely calling of teaching unfeeling English boys at the rate of £30 a term. But the Grandcourt boys did not know all this, and therefore they had no pity for poor monsieur. However, as I have said, monsieur shrugged his shoulders, and accepted the help of the prefects to keep his disorderly charges within bounds. From one of the prefects he got very hide help. Felgate had no interest in the order of the house. It didn't matter to him whether it was monsieur who had to deal with the rioters or Ainger. All he knew was, he was not going to trouble his head about it. In fact, his sympathies were on the side of the agitators. Why shouldn't they enjoy themselves if they liked? They didn't hurt anybody--and if they did break the rules of the house; well, who was to say whether they might not be right and the rules of the house wrong? Arthur Herapath, for instance, had set up with a dog--puppy to his friend's dog, Smiley. Everybody knew live animals were against rules, and yet Railsford had winked all last term at Smiley; why shouldn't Arthur have equal liberty to enjoy the companionship of Smiley minor? He met master and puppy in the passage one afternoon. "Hullo, young 'un," said he, "another dog? How many's that?" "Two," said Arthur, a little doubtful as to the prefect's reception of the news. "You see it would be rough to take him from his mother while he is so young. It's not as if he was no relation." "Of course not. What have you been doing with Marky these holidays?" "Oh, he was seedy--sore throat. I fancy he was shamming a bit to get a week extra. You see, he's spoons on my sister Daisy." "I fancy I've heard that before," observed Felgate. "What I mean is, he hangs about our place a lot; so it's a good excuse for him to be laid up, you know." "Quite so. Perhaps he's not in a hurry to come back here for another reason we know of, eh, youngster?" "Ha, ha! but keep that mum, you know. We must back him through that business. It's nearly blown over already." "Has it? But, I say--" Here Ainger came up and detected the puppy. "You'll have to get rid of that, Herapath," said he. "What, Smiley's pup? Why? Felgate's given me leave." "Felgate may do as he pleases. I tell you you must send him home, and Smiley too." "What!" said Arthur aghast. "Smiley too! why, Railsford knows all about Smiley, and let us have him all, last term." "But you are not going to have them this term. Two other fellows have started dogs on the strength of Smiley already, and there's to be a clean sweep of the lot." "Oh, rot! you can't interfere with fellows' rights like that," said Felgate. "I tell you Railsford gave us leave," repeated Arthur. "Very well," said Ainger; "unless both of them are packed off home by this time to-morrow, or sent down to the school farm, you'll go up to the doctor and settle the question with him." "Rubbish!" said Felgate. "Until Railsford--" "Shut up," said the captain; "I'm not talking to you." It was hardly to be wondered at if he was out of temper. He was having any amount of extra work to do; and to be thus obstructed by one of his own colleagues was a trifle too much for his limited patience. Felgate coloured up at the rebuff, knowing well enough that the captain would be delighted to make good his words at any time and place which might be offered him. He remained after he had gone, and said to Arthur-- "That's what I call brutal. You're not going to care two straws what he says?" "All very well," said Arthur, stroking his puppy; "if he sends me up to Pony, what then?" "Bless you, he won't send you up to Pony." "Think not? If I thought he wouldn't, I'd hang on till Marky comes back. He'd square the thing." "Of course he would. It's a bit of spite of Ainger's. He thinks he's not quite important enough, so he's going to start bullying. I'll back you up." "Thanks, awfully," said the ductile Arthur. "You're a brick. I'd take your advice." He did, and prevailed upon Dig to do the same. The consequence was, that when next afternoon the captain walked into their study to see whether his order had been complied with, he was met by an unceremonious yap from Smiley herself, echoed by an impertinent squeak from her irreverent son. "You've got them still, then?" said Ainger. "Very well, they can stay now till after you've been to the doctor. Nine o'clock sharp to-morrow morning, both of you." The friends turned pale. "Not really, Ainger? You haven't sent up our names, have you? We'll send them off. We thought as Felgate said--oh, you cad!" This last remark was occasioned by Ainger departing and shutting the door behind him without vouchsafing any further parley. They felt that the game was up, and that they had been done. In their distress they waited upon Felgate and laid their case before him. He, as is usual with gentlemen of his type, said it was very hard and unjust, and they would do quite right in resisting and defying everybody all round. But he did not offer to go instead of them to the doctor, so that his general observations on the situation were not particularly comforting. Arthur proposed telegraphing to Railsford something in this form: "Ainger says Smiley's against rules. Wire him you allow." But when the form was filled up and ready to send, the chance of it succeeding seemed hardly worth the cost. Finally they went down sadly after tea to the school farm and hired a kennel, and arranged for the board and lodging of their exiled pets at so much a week. Next morning, in doleful dumps, they presented themselves before the doctor. Arthur could hardly help remembering how, a short time ago, he had pictured himself standing in that very room, demanding the hand of Miss Violet. Now, Smiley minor, squeaking and grunting, as he hung by his one tooth to his mother's tail, down there in the school farm, was worth half a dozen Miss Violets to him. And his once expected uncle--! The doctor dealt shortly and decisively with the miscreants. He caned them for defying their house-captain, and reprimanded them for imagining that dogs could be permitted under the school roof. On being told that Mr Railsford had known all about Smiley last term, he declined to argue the matter, and concluded by a warning of the possible consequences of a repetition of the offence. They went back to their place, sore both in body and mind. To be caned during the first week of the term was not quite in accordance with their good resolutions, and to be bereft of the Smileys was a cruel outrage on their natural affections. They owed both to Ainger, and mutually resolved that he was a cad of the lowest description. For all that they attended to his injunctions for the next few days with wonderful punctuality, and decided to defer, till Railsford's return, their own revenge and his consequent confusion. Altogether, it was getting to be time for Railsford to turn up. The evening before, the first master's session for the term had been held, and the doctor, for a wonder, had been present. Towards the end of the meeting, after the discussion of a great deal of general business, Mr Bickers rose and asked leave to make a statement. The reader can guess what that statement was. He begged to remind the meeting that Grandcourt still lay under the cloud of the mystery which enveloped the assault which had been made upon himself last term. For himself, it mattered very little, but for the honour of the school he considered the matter should not be allowed to drop until it was properly cleared up. With a view to assisting in such a result, he might mention that towards the end of last term a rumour had come to his ears--he was not at liberty to say through what channel--that the secret was not quite as dead as was generally supposed. He had heard, on what he considered reliable authority, that in Mr Railsford's house--the house most interested in this painful question--the name of the culprit or culprits was generally known, or, at least, suspected; and he believed he was not going too far in mentioning a rumour that no one could make a better guess as to that name than Mr Railsford himself. Here Mr Grover and Monsieur Lablache both rose to their feet. Monsieur, of course, gave way, but what he had meant to say was pretty much what Mr Grover did say. He wished to point out that in his friend's absence such an insinuation as that just made by the speaker was quite unjustifiable. For his own part, he thought it a great pity to revive the unfortunate question at all. At any rate, in Mr Railsford's absence, he should certainly oppose any further reference being made to it at this meeting. "That," echoed monsieur, "is precisely my opinion." "Very well," said Mr Bickers pleasantly. "What I have to say will keep perfectly well until Mr Railsford comes back." Whereupon the meeting passed to the next order of the day. CHAPTER NINETEEN. FELGATE, THE CHAMPION OF THE OPPRESSED. It spoke well for Railsford's growing influence with his boys that as soon as he returned to his post every sign of mutiny disappeared, and the house seemed to regain that spirit of ambition and self-reliance which had characterised the last days of the previous term. A few knotty questions, as the reader knows, were awaiting the Master of the Shell on his arrival, but he took them one at a time, and not having been involved in the previous altercations respecting them, disposed of them a great deal more easily than had been expected. Things had been coming to a climax rather rapidly between Felgate and Ainger. Not that Felgate had committed any unusual offence, or that Ainger had discovered anything new about him which he had not known before; but during the last few weeks of last term, and the opening days of the present, the two had crossed one another's paths frequently, and with increasing friction. Ainger was one of those fellows who, when their mind is set on a thing, seem to lose sight of all but two persons--the person who can help them most and the person who can hinder them most. In the present case Ainger's heart was set on making his house the crack house of Grandcourt. The person who could help him most was Railsford, and the person who could hinder him most was Felgate. The captain had been shy of the new Master of the Shell for a long time, and the mistrust had not been all on one side, but as last term had worn on, and a common cause had arisen in the temporary disgrace of the house, master and head prefect had felt drawn together in mutual confidence, and Railsford now, though he still did not always realise it, had no more loyal adherent than Ainger. Ainger, on his part, was quite ready to acknowledge that without Railsford the house stood a poor chance of fulfilling the ambitious project he and Barnworth had marked out for it, and he only hoped, now, that the master might not rest on the laurels of last term, but would help to carry through the still more important exploits of this. The great obstacle to whatever good was going on in Railsford's at present was Felgate. He had nearly succeeded last term in sowing discontent among the juvenile athletes, and he had, in the most unmistakable manner, not done his best in the one competition at the sports for which he had entered. That was bad enough, and the quick- tempered Ainger wrote up a heavy score against him on those two items. But now he had begun on a new line. Although a prefect himself, he not only evinced no interest in the order of the house at a time when the prefects were specially on their mettle, but he had taken pains to undermine the discipline of the place and set his authority up in antagonism to that of his own colleagues. Felgate laid his plans deeply and cleverly. Ainger, as he knew, was popular because he had won the mile, and was upright, and meant what he said, and said what he meant. No boy of whom the same can be said could help being popular. "But," said Felgate to himself, "there are other ways of being popular. I haven't won the mile or anything else; I'm not particularly upright, and I shouldn't like to assert I always either say what I mean or mean what I say. Still I can make myself pleasant to a parcel of kids when I choose; I can let them off some of their little rows, and I can help them to some better sport than all this tomfoolery about getting up a crack eleven and winning all the school prizes. Ainger won't like it, but I fancy I can sail close enough to the wind not to give him a chance of being down on me. And as for Railsford--the snob--if he interferes, well, I can take it out of him in a way he don't suspect. What a hypocrite the fellow must be to do a thing like that, and come here smiling and talk about making this the crack house of Grandcourt! Bah!" And the righteous soul of Felgate waxed hot within him, and he set himself to consider how, with least risk to himself, and most mischief to everyone else, he could drive a wedge into the project of his colleagues, and make to himself a party in Railsford's. He passed in review the various rules of the house, to discover someone on which he might possibly found a grievance. For your man who sets himself to make a party must have a grievance. He fancied he had discovered just what he wanted in the time-honoured rule about compulsory cricket. Every boy was obliged to show up in the cricket-field three times a week, whether he liked it or not. There were very few boys in Railsford's, as Felgate knew, who did not like it; but he fancied for all that he could make something out of the rule. He began by breaking it himself. He knew that no one would be particularly concerned on his account, for he was an indifferent player, and also a prefect might on a pinch excuse himself. After a week's abstention, during which, rather to his disappointment, no notice was taken of his defection, he began to talk about it to one and another of the more studious boys of the house, boys very keen on winning the school prizes at the end of the term for which they were entered. Sherriff of the Fifth was one of these, and, much as he liked cricket, he was bemoaning one day having to turn out into the fields just when he wanted to finish a knotty problem in trigonometry. "Don't go," said Felgate. "Surely no one has a right to spoil your chance of a scholarship for a musty old school rule that ought to have been abolished a century ago." "It's not a bad rule on the whole, I fancy," said Sherriff; "but it comes a little rough on me just now." "My dear fellow, we're not quite slaves here; and if it doesn't suit you to go down on your knees to an antiquated rule of this kind, then you're not the fellow I take you for if you do it. It hasn't suited me often enough, and I've not been such a muff as to think twice about it." "What happened to you when you didn't turn up?" "Nothing, of course. I should have been rather glad if something had, for the sake of fighting the thing out. It's enough to make some fellows loathe the very name of cricket, isn't it?" "Some of the fellows who can't play don't like it, certainly." "I don't blame them. If only a few of them would stand out, they'd soon break down the system. But I'm keeping you from your work, old man; you'll think me as bad as the rule. They say you'll have a jolly hard fight for your exam, so you're right to waste no time." The result of this conservation was that Sherriff, one of the steadiest second-rate bats in the house, was absent from the practice, and a hue- and-cry was made after him. He was found working hard in his study. "I really can't come to-day. I'm in for the exam, you know, and it'll take me a tremendous grind to lick Redgrave." "But," said Stafford, who was the ambassador, "it's all the same for all of us. If every fellow said the same, it would be all up with house cricket; and we wanted to turn out such a hot team this year, too. Come on. You'll do your work twice as well after it; and the ground's just in perfect condition for batting to-day." Sherriff was not proof against this wily appeal. It had been an effort to him to break the rule. It was no effort now to decide to keep it. So he jumped into his flannels and took his beloved bat, and made a long score that morning against Wake's bowling, and was happy. Felgate mentally abused him for his pusillanimity, but saw no reason, for all that, for not turning the incident to account. He proclaimed poor Sherriff's wrongs to a few of the other malcontents. "It's hard lines," said he, "that just because of this wretched rule, Sherriff is to lose his scholarship. He can't possibly win it unless he's able to read every moment of his time; and that our grave and reverend seniors don't mean to allow." "Brutal shame," said Munger, "hounding him down like that I've half a mind to stick out." "That's what Sherriff said," sneered Felgate, "but he had to knuckle under." "Catch me knuckling under!" said Munger. He stayed away the next practice day, and, much to his mortification, nobody took the slightest notice of his absence. "You see," said Felgate, "if only one or two of you stand steady, they can't compel you to play. It's ridiculous." Next day, accordingly, three fellows stayed away; who, as they were the three premier louts in Railsford's, were never missed or inquired after. But when the next day the number swelled to five, and included Simson, who at least knew one end of a bat from the other, and had once tipped a ball to leg for two, the matter was no longer to be overlooked. The captain's attention was called to the fact that one fellow in the Fifth, three in the Shell, and one Baby, besides Felgate, were not down on the ground. "Fetch them, then," said Ainger, "and tell them to look sharp, or they'll catch it." Wake was the envoy this time, and duly delivered his message to the deserters, whom, rather suspiciously, as it seemed to him, he found together. "You'd better go, you youngsters," said. Felgate, with a sneer; "you'll have to do it sooner or later--you'd better cave in at once." "I'm hanged if I go," said Munger. "I fancy that's a safe fixture, whether you go or not," drily observed Wake. "Look sharp, are you coming or not?" "I'm not coming, I tell you," said Munger. "No more am I," said Simson. "No more am I," said each of the others. "Are you coming, Felgate?" demanded Wake. This was an irreverent question for a Fifth-form boy to ask a prefect, and Felgate naturally rebuked it. "It's no business of yours, and you'd better not be impudent, I can tell you. As it happens, I've got some work to do, and can't come. Cut away, you needn't stay." Wake departed cheerfully, and announced that the whole thing was a "put- up job," as Arthur would have called it, and that Felgate was at the bottom of it. Whereupon Ainger's face grew dark, and he walked, bat in hand, to the house. The mutineers, with the exception of Felgate, who, with the usual prudence of a professional "patriot," had retired to his study, were loafing about the common room just where Wake had interviewed them. "What's the meaning of all this?" demanded the captain; "what do you mean by not turning up to cricket and sending word you weren't coming when Wake came for you?" It was much easier defying Ainger in his absence than in his presence, and now that he stood there and confronted them, the delinquents did not quite feel the hardy men of war they had been five minutes ago. Munger, however, tried to carry the thing off with a bluster. "We don't see the fun of being compelled to go every time. We don't care about cricket; besides--we don't mean to go. Felgate doesn't go; why don't you make him?" The captain put down his bat. "Munger, go and put on your flannels at once." "What if I don't?" asked Munger. Ainger replied by giving him a thrashing there and then, despite his howls and protests that he had just been going, and would never do it again. The captain replied that he didn't fancy he _would_ do it again in a hurry; and as the remainder of the company expressed positive impatience to go to the cricket-field, he let them of! with a caution, and, after seeing them started, walked moodily up to Felgate's study. Felgate was comfortably stretched on two chairs, reading a novel. But as he held the book upside down, Ainger concluded that he could not be very deeply engrossed in its contents. "You're working, I hear?" said the captain. "Is that all you've come to tell me?" replied Felgate. "No, only most fellows when they're reading--even if it's novels, read the right way up. It's bad for the eyes to do it upside down." Felgate looked a little disconcerted and shut up his book. "You've missed the last two weeks at cricket," said the captain. "We have managed to get on without you, though, and one of the things I looked in to say now was that if you choose to stay away always you are welcome. Don't think it will put us out." This was unexpected. Felgate was prepared to hear a peremptory order to go to the field, and had laid his plans for resisting it. "I've just been seeing one or two other louts down below who hadn't turned up. I'm glad to hear you advised them to go when I sent Wake to fetch them. It's a pity they didn't take your advice, for I've had to thrash Munger. And if you happen to know where I can find the coward who put him and the rest up to breaking the rule, and didn't dare to show face himself, I'll thrash him too." Felgate was completely disconcerted by this speech, and gnashed his teeth to find himself made a fool of after all. "Why on earth can't you get out of my study and go down to your cricket? I don't want you here," he snarled. "I dare say not. But I thought you ought to know what I have been doing to enforce the rule, and what I mean to do. I hope you will tell that coward I spoke of what he may expect." "Look here," said Felgate, firing up--for a baulked bully rarely talks in a whisper--"you may think yourself a very important person, but I don't." (This was the speech Felgate had prepared in case he had been ordered down to cricket.) "I consider the cricket rule is a bad one, and I'm not surprised if fellows kick against it. I've something better to do than to go down to the field three times a week; and I shall certainly sympathise with any fellows who complain of it and try to get it abolished, and I've told them so. You can do what you like with me. I've told you what I shall do." "And I," said the captain, whose temper was extinguished, "have told you what I shall do. Is this room large enough, or shall we come outside?" Felgate stared at him in consternation. "Whatever do you mean?" "To fight." "Rot! I'm not going to fight." "Very well. Then I give you your choice--a thrashing like that I gave Munger just now; or you can go and put on your flannels and come down to the field." Felgate hesitated. He had rarely been in such an awkward fix. He knew that a thrashing from the captain, besides being painful, would mean the extinction of any influence he ever had at Grandcourt. On the other hand-- But he had not time to argue it out. Ainger had already laid down his bat. "You shall have it your _own_ way," snarled he; "I'll come to the field." CHAPTER TWENTY. THE LITTLE SWEEP. Ainger's victory over the rebels had a great moral effect on the house. There was no further question as to the hardship of compulsory cricket; indeed, everyone became so keen on the prospect of turning out a "crack" eleven, that if the rule had required the attendance of every boy daily instead of thrice a week the fellows would have turned up. The prospects brightened rapidly after a week or two's practice. Railsford put his shoulder to the wheel with his usual energy. He would bowl or bat or field with equal cheerfulness, if thereby he might smarten up the form of any player, however indifferent, who really wanted to improve. He specially devoted himself to the candidates for a place in the second eleven; and it presently began to be rumoured that Railsford's would be able to put two elevens in the field, able to hold their own against any other two in Grandcourt. It was rather a big boast, but after the exploits of the house at the sports nobody could afford to make too little of its ambitious projects. Arthur, Dig, and their _coterie_--most of them safely housed already in the second eleven--caught a regular cricket fever. They lived in an atmosphere of cricket. They thought in cricket, and dreamed of nothing else. Any question which arose resolved itself into a cricket match in their minds, and was mentally played out to bring it to a decision. Their ordinary talk betrayed their mania, and even their work was solaced by the importation of cricket into its deepest problems. Here, for instance, is an illustration of the kind of talk which might been have overheard one evening during the first part of the term in the study over Railsford's head. Arthur was groaning over his Euclid. "I'm clean bowled by this blessed proposition," said he. "Here have I been slogging away at it all the evening and never got my bat properly under it yet. You might give us a leg-up, Dig." "Bless you," said Dig, "I'm no good at that sort of yorker. I'm bad enough stumped as it is by this Horace. He gets an awful screw on now and then, and just when you think you've scored off him, there you are in among the slips, caught out low down. I vote we go and ask Marky." "Don't like it," said Arthur. "Marky served us scurvily over poor old Smiley, and I don't mean to go over his popping-crease, if I can help it, any more." "That was an underhand twist altogether," said Dig. "Bad enough for Ainger to bowl us out, without him giving it out, too, the way he did. You know, I really think we ought to tell him what a nice way we can stump him out if we like. He just thinks we've caved in and put off our pads." "I don't like it, Dig. It would be an awfully bad swipe, and Daisy would be knocked over as much as he would. We're not forced to play up to him any more; but I don't like running him out." "You're a jolly decent brother-in-law, you are," said Dig admiringly, "and it's a pity Marky don't know what he owes you." At this point Tilbury burst into the room. If Dig and Arthur were a little crazed about cricket, Tilbury was positively off his head. "How's that, umpires?" cried he, as he entered. "Did you see me playing this afternoon? Went in second man, with Wake and Sherriff bowling, my boys. I knocked up thirty-two off my own bat, and would have been not out, only Mills saw where I placed my smacks in between the two legs, and slipped up and got hold of me low down with his left." "All right," said Arthur. "Why don't you put on side? I was watching you, and saw you give three awfully bad chances in your first over. Never mind, stick to it, and we'll make a tidy player of you some day. I hear they're going to get up a third eleven. I dare say Ainger will stick you in it if we ask him." Tilbury laughed good-humouredly; for it was all on the cards that he might get a place in the first eleven before very long. "I fancied Ainger had knocked you two over the boundary a little while ago. I heard someone say, by the way, if you two could be thrown into one, and taught to hold your bat straight and not hit everything across the wicket, you could be spared to play substitute in Wickford Infant School eleven at their next treat. I said I fancied not, but they're going to try you, for the sake of getting rid of you for half a day." "Get along. You needn't bowl any of your mild lobs down to us. By the way, is it true you've been stuck in the choir?" "Yes; awful sell. I tried to scratch, but Parks said they were hard up for a good contralto; so I had to go in the team. I'm to be third man up in the anthem to-morrow--got half a line of solo." "All serene," said Arthur, "we'll look out for squalls. Tip us one of your low A's, and we'll sky it from our pew. Who's there?" It was Simson, also infected with the fever, although with him, being of the weak-minded order, it took the form of a craze for "sport" generally. For Simson, as we have mentioned, once tipped a ball to leg for two, and consequently was entitled to be regarded as an authority on every subject pertaining to the turf generally. He looked very important at present, as he began: "I say, you chaps, I've got something to tell you--private, you know. You know Mills? His father's brother-in-law lives at Epsom, and so gets all the tips for the races; and Mills says he's put his father up to no end of a straight tip for the Derby. And Mills says he wants to get up a little sweep on the quiet. No blanks, you know. Each fellow draws one horse, and the one that wins gets the lot. Jolly good score, too." "Oh yes," said Arthur, "I know all about that! I once put a sixpence in a sweep, and never saw it again. Catch me fielding in that little game." "Oh, but Mills says it's not to be for money, for that's not allowed. He suggested postage-stamps, and then whoever won would be able to write lots of letters home, you know." "Who wants to write lots of letters home?" said Dig, whose correspondence rarely exceeded two letters a term. "Well, of course, you're not obliged," explained Simson seriously. "If I drew Roaring Tommy--I mean," said he, correcting himself with a blush, "if I drew the favourite, you know, and potted the sweep, I should turn the stamps into tin." "Is Roaring Tommy the favourite, then?" asked Tilbury. "Yes. I oughtn't to have let it out. I told Mills I wouldn't; because it might get his father into a row. Mills says he's dead certain to win. I say, shall you fellows go in?" "I don't mind," said Tilbury, "as it's not money. Any fellow sell me six stamps?" "Yes, for sevenpence," said Arthur. "I'm not going in, young Simson. My governor said to me the chances were some young blackleg or other would be on to me to shell out something for a swindle of the kind; and he said, `Don't you do it.' Besides, I've not got the money." "I could lend you six stamps," said Simson, who was very keen on the scheme, and failed to see any point in Arthur's other remarks. "Not good enough," said Arthur. "Not much chance of scoring, either," said Dig, "if there's about twenty go in and only one wins." "Just as likely you win it as anybody else," said Simson. "Come on, you needn't funk it. Lots of fellows are in--Felgate's in." Arthur whistled. "He's a prefect," said he. "Of course he is, and he doesn't see any harm in it." "Who else?" asked Arthur. "Rogers, and Munger, and Sherriff." "A first eleven chap," ejaculated Dig. "Lots of others. There's twelve names already out of twenty-one. No! thirteen, counting Tilbury. It'll be too late to do it to-morrow." Arthur looked at Dig and Dig looked at Arthur. Twenty-one sixpences were ten shillings and sixpence, and ten shillings and sixpence would buy a new bat,--at a cost of six stamps. His father had warned him against gambling with money, but had said nothing about postage-stamps. And the cautions Dig had received against all "evil ways" did not even specify gambling at all. Simson took out his list and wrote Tilbury's name, and then waited for Arthur's decision. "May as well," said Dig. "Wait till to-morrow," said Arthur, who still felt qualms. "You'll be too late then," said Simson. "All right--that'll settle it then," said Arthur. "Felgate said he thought you'd be sure to go in," urged the tempter. "Did he?" said Arthur, a good deal impressed. "Yes," said Dig jocularly, already fumbling the ten-and-six in anticipation in his pocket. "Any muff can get round Arthur." It was an unlucky jest, if the baronet's object was to decide his friend in favour of the proposal. For Arthur coloured up and took his hand out of his pocket. "Wait till to-morrow," said he again. "Dig, you'll give your name now, won't you?" said Simson. "Don't know," said Dig evasively; "better not stick it down, that is, not unless the list gets full up, you know." Simson treated this evasive reply as a consent, and wrote Digs name down, there and then, in his presence. "Come on, Herapath," said he, making a last appeal. "Don't desert your old friends." "I tell you I can't say anything till to-morrow," said Arthur, a little crusty. Simson gave it up and departed. "Felgate seems to be bowling wide just now," observed Dig. "I shouldn't have fancied he'd have gone in for this sort of thing." "Why shouldn't he, just as much as you?" growled Arthur. "I? I haven't gone in for it yet." "Oh yes, you have; your name's down." "Only as last man in, though, in case he should get filled up." "Doesn't matter whether you go in first or last, you're in the game." "Well," said Dig resignedly, "I don't think I am, really; but if I am, I hope I get Roaring Tommy." Simson had not much difficulty in filling up his list. The specious pretext of the postage-stamps did not delude many, but Felgate's name worked wonders. Felgate had had no intention of allowing his name to be used, and was indeed in blissful ignorance that his support was generally known. He had in a reckless way expressed his sympathy with what he chose to term a very innocent "round game," and had given practical proof of his sympathy by buying a ticket. That was yesterday, and he had since forgotten the whole affair, and was quietly looking about him for some new way of wiping off the rapidly-accumulating score against Railsford and his lieutenant Ainger. After his rebuff about the compulsory cricket--which, fortunately, no one but the captain (who was not the man to say much about it) had witnessed--Felgate had retired for a time into comparative seclusion. He believed in his lucky star, and hoped there was a good time coming. He still had his trump card in hand, but if he could win his trick without it he would be so much to the good. Arthur, when, on the day after Simson's visit, he heard that the list was closed without him, kicked Simson, and felt on the whole rather glad. He had thought the matter over, and did not like breaking his promise to the people at home. Besides, he still felt sore at the loss of his former sixpence in a similar venture, and looked upon the whole business as more or less of a "plant." Further than that, he now had a delightful opportunity of tormenting Sir Digby, who had weakly yielded to the tempter, albeit with a few qualms and prickings of conscience. "Just like you!" bragged Arthur; "anybody can do you! A precious lot of your six stamps you'll see back! _I_ know Mills--a regular shark!--and if there's a row, he'll back out and leave you and the rest of them to catch it; then who'll be Roaring Tommy, eh?" Digby did not like this sort of talk; it offended him--besides, it frightened him. "Stuff and nonsense!" said he. "Who's to care about a few postage- stamps? I wouldn't gamble with money, not if I was paid for it. Why, I should fancy if Felgate goes in for it it's not much harm." "Felgate knows what he's up to, and can look after himself," said Arthur. "You can't; you swallow everything any ass tells you!" "I don't swallow all _you_ tell me, for one!" retorted Dig. Arthur coloured; he did not like being pulled up short like that, especially when he was doing the high moral business. "All serene!" said he testily; "do as you please. I've warned you to keep out of it, young Oakshott. Don't blame me if you burn your fingers." Thus said his prigship, and undid all the credit his little act of self- denial had earned him. He is not the only boy who gets his head turned now and then by the unexpected discovery that he is virtuous. Is he, reader? But, without being a prophet, his prigship managed on the present occasion to make a pretty near prediction, for Sir Digby Oakshott did burn his fingers. He was summoned one evening to Mills's study to draw his horse. The twenty-one names were shaken up in a hat, and those present each drew out one. To Dig's disgust, he drew Blazer--a horse whom everybody jeered at as a rank outsider. Simson was the fortunate drawer of Roaring Tommy. Mills got the second favourite, and Felgate--for whom, in his absence, Mills drew--got another outsider called Polo. Dig scarcely liked to tell Arthur of his bad luck, but his chum extracted the secret from him. "I'm jolly glad!" said Arthur sententiously; "the worst thing that could happen to you would be to win. I'm glad you'll have a good lesson." "Thanks," said Dig, and went out to try to sell Blazer for three stamps. But no one would look at him, and Dig finally crushed the paper into his waistcoat-pocket in disgust, and wished he had his stamps safe there instead. A fortnight later, just as he and Arthur were marching down proudly to the cricket-field, in order to take part in a great match--the first of the season.--between an eleven of Ainger's and an eleven of Barnworth's, he was struck all of a heap by the amazing announcement, conveyed by Simson, that Blazer had won the Derby! Dig turned pale at the news, and convulsively dug his hand into his pocket to see if he had his paper safe. "Not really?" he exclaimed. "Yes, he has! Roaring Tommy was nowhere. Jolly lucky for me I sold my ticket to Tilbury for eight-and-six! I wish I'd bought yours for threepence when you asked me." Dig laughed hysterically. "Then I've got the ten-and-six?" he asked. "Rather." Dig made two duck's eggs, and missed every ball that came in his way that afternoon, and was abused and hooted all round the field. What cared he? He had Blazer burning a hole in his pocket, and ten-and-six in postage-stamps waiting for him in Mills's study. As soon as he could decently quit the scene of his inglorious exploits, he bolted off to claim his stakes. Mills was not at home, so he took a seat and waited for him, glancing round the room carefully, in case the stamps should be lying out for him somewhere. But they were not. In due time Mills returned. "Hullo, kid! what do you want?" Dig grinned and pulled out his paper. "How's that, umpire?" demanded he. Mills stared at the document. "What on earth is the row with you? What are you driving at?" "Ten-and-sixpence, please," said the beaming baronet; "I've got Blazer." Mills laughed. "You're not in much of a hurry. Has Blazer won, then?" "Yes; a rank outsider, too. Do you know, I tried all I knew to sell my ticket for threepence. Just fancy if I had." "It's a pity you didn't," said Mills, taking a chair, "The fact is, there's been a bit of a muddle about Blazer. That ass Simson, when he wrote out the tickets, wrote Blazer twice over instead of Blazer and Catterwaul. They were both such regular outsiders, it didn't seem worth correcting it at the time. I'm awfully sorry, you know, but your's-- let's see," said he, taking the cadaverous baronet's ticket and looking at it, "yours has got one of the corners torn off--yes, that's it. Yours should be Catterwaul." Dig gasped, and tried to moisten his parched lips. It was a long time before the words came. "It's a swindle!" cried he, choking. "I've won it--I--I--give me the 10 shillings 6 pence." "Don't make an ass of yourself," said Mills. "I tell you you've got the wrong paper; isn't that enough?" "No, it's not enough, you thief, you!" roared Dig, tossing his tawny mane. "Everybody said you were a blackleg--I know it's all lies you're telling, and I--I--I don't care if you do lick me." As he didn't care, of course it didn't so much matter, but Mills cut short further argument by licking him and ejecting him neck and crop from the room. In the passage he pitched head-first into the arms of Mr Railsford. "What's wrong?" asked the master, looking down at the miserable face of the small savage before him. "It's a swindle!" shouted Dig. "It's a swindle, Mr Railsford. I won it fairly--and he's a thief--he's stolen 10 shillings 6 pence of mine." "Don't make all that noise," said Railsford quietly, for the luckless baronet was almost out of his wits. "I can hear you without shouting. Who has robbed you?" "Why, that blackleg swindler in there!" said Dig, pointing at Mills's door. "Ten-and-six, ten-and-six--the thief!" "Come with me," said the master, and he led Dig back into Mills's study. "Mills," said he, "Oakshott says you have robbed him. What does it mean?" "I've not done anything of the kind," said Mills, himself rather pale and scared. "I told him--it was all a mistake. It wasn't my fault." "What was a mistake? Just tell me what it is all about." Here Dig took up the parable. "Why, he got up a sweep on the Derby, and got us each to shell out six stamps, and there were twenty-one fellows in, and I drew Blazer, the winner; and now he won't give me the stakes, and says my Blazer is a mistake for Catterwaul!" Railsford frowned. "This is a serious matter. You know the rule about gambling." "Oh, please, sir," said Mills, who had dropped all his bravado, as he realised that he stood a good chance of being expelled, "I really didn't mean it for gambling; it wasn't for money, only stamps; and I thought there was no harm. I'll never do such a thing again, sir, really." And he almost went on his knees. "The doctor must deal with this matter, Mills," said Railsford sternly. "You must go to him to-morrow evening." "Oh, Mr Railsford, he'll expel me!" howled the culprit. "Good job, too," ejaculated Dig, _sotto voce_. "Possibly," said the master. "Where is the money?" Dig's spirits rose. He knew he would get his rights! "The stamps--here, sir," said the wretched Mills, going to his desk. "And where is the list of names?" Mills produced it, tremulously. Railsford's brows knit as he glanced down it. "Each of these boys gave you six stamps?" "Twenty-one sixpences, ten-and-six," said Dig, rehearsing his mental arithmetic. "Yes, sir. I really didn't mean to cheat, sir." "Yes, you did," yapped Dig, who now that he was to finger his winnings had perked up wonderfully. "Silence, Oakshott," said Railsford angrily. "Your name is here, last on the list. Take back your six stamps, and write me out one hundred lines of Livy by Thursday morning." Poor Dig turned green, and staggered back a pace, and stared at the six stamps in his hand. "Why!" gasped he. "I had Blazer--I--" "Be silent, sir, and go to your study, and tell Tilbury to come here." In due time Tilbury came, and received back his six stamps, and a hundred lines of Livy, and an order to send the next boy on the black list to receive a similar reward for his merits. And so the tedious process went on, and that afternoon, in Mills's study, twenty boys sadly took back six stamps each, and received among them two thousand lines of Livy, to be handed in on Thursday morning. One name remained: the first on the list, and consequently the last in the order in which Railsford had taken it. "I will return these," said he, taking up the six remaining stamps, "to Felgate myself." Mills made one more appeal. "Do let me off going to the doctor, sir!" implored he. "Why, sir, I never thought it could be wrong if Felgate went in for it, and they've all got their stamps back, sir. Please let me off." "I cannot do that. If the doctor treats you less severely than you deserve, it will be because you have made this reparation, instead of carrying out the act of dishonesty you had it in your mind to perpetrate." And he left him there, and proceeded, with a heart as heavy as any he had worn since he came to Grandcourt, to Felgate's study. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE NATURALISTS' FIELD CLUB. Felgate, as we have said, had almost forgotten the existence of the sweep or the fact that he had given his name to the venture. When therefore Railsford unexpectedly walked into his study, he did not in any way connect the visit with that trivial incident. He conjured up in his mind any possible motive the master could have for this interview. He could only think of one, and perceiving a paper in Railsford's hands, concluded that he had discovered the authorship of a certain anonymous letter addressed to Mr Bickers, and had looked in for a little explanation. Felgate was quite prepared to gratify him, and promised himself a cheerful quarter of an hour over so congenial an occupation. He was, in consequence, considerably mortified when the real object of the visit unfolded itself. "Felgate," said Railsford, "I have come to you on very unpleasant business. This is not the first time I have had to caution you that your example in the house is neither worthy of a prefect nor a senior boy." "Thank you, sir," said Felgate, with ostentatious indifference. He had better have remained silent, for Railsford dismissed whatever of mildness he had come armed with, and stood on his dignity. "Don't be impertinent, Felgate; it will do you no good. I want to know how it comes that your name appears here at the head of a list of entries for a sweepstake on a horse race, when you as a prefect know that gambling in any shape or form is strictly prohibited here?" Felgate, taken back by this unexpected indictment, looked at the paper and laughed. "I really don't know how my name comes there. I can't be supposed to know why anybody who likes should write my name down on a piece of paper." "You mean to say that you never entered your name?" asked Railsford, beginning to feel a sense of relief. "Certainly not." "You were asked to do so? What did you reply?" "I haven't a notion. I probably said, don't bother me--or do anything you like, or something of that sort." "Did you point out that it was against the rules?" "No. Is it against the rules? There doesn't seem any harm in it, if fellows choose to do it. Besides, it wasn't for money." "Did you give six stamps?" "Stamps? I fancy someone came to borrow some stamps of me a week or so ago. I forget who it was." "Felgate," said the master with a tone of scorn which made the prefect wince, "it is hardly worth your while to tell lies when you can satisfy me of your guilt quite as easily by telling the truth. I won't ask you more questions, for I have no wish to give you more opportunities of falsehood. Here are your six stamps. Go to Doctor Ponsford to-morrow at 8 p.m." Felgate looked blank at this announcement. "What!" he exclaimed. "Go to the doctor? Are you going to tell him about a trifle like this?" "It is no trifle for a prefect deliberately to break the school rules and encourage others to do so. I have said the same thing to you before." "Look here, Mr Railsford," said Felgate, with a curious mixture of cringing and menace. "It's not fair to send me to the doctor about a thing like this. I know you have a spite against me; but you can take it out of me without bringing him into it. I fancy if you knew all I know, you'd think twice before you did it." Railsford looked at him curiously. "You surely forget, Felgate, that you are not speaking to a boy in the Shell." "No, I don't. I know you're a master, and head of a house, and a man who ought to be everything that's right and good--" "Come, come," interrupted Railsford, "we have had enough of this. You are excited and forget yourself to talk in this foolish way." And he quitted the study. What, he wondered, could be the meaning of all this wild outbreak on the part of the detected prefect? What did he mean by that "If you knew all I know"? It sounded like one of those vague menaces with which Arthur had been wont to garnish his utterances last term. What did Felgate know, beyond the secret of his own wrong-doings, which could possibly affect the Master of the Shell? It flashed across Railsford suddenly--suggested perhaps by the connection of two ideas--that Arthur himself might be in some peril or difficulty. It was long since the master had attempted to control the secret of his prospective relationship with the vivacious young Shell- fish. Everybody knew about it as soon as ever he set foot in Grandcourt, and Daisy's name was common property all over the house. Arthur had contrived to reap no small advantage from the connection. The prefects had pretty much left him alone, and, as a relative of the master, he had been tacitly winked at in many of his escapades, with a leniency which another boy could not have hoped for. What if now Arthur should lie under the shadow of some peril which, if it fell, must envelop him and his brother-in-law both? If, for instance, he had committed some capital offence, which if brought to light should throw on him (Railsford) the terrible duty of nipping in the bud the school career of Daisy's own brother? It seemed the only solution to Felgate's mysterious threat, and it made him profoundly uncomfortable. He felt he had not done all the might for the boy. He had been so scrupulously careful not to give any pretext for a charge of favouritism, that he had even neglected him at times. Now and then he had had a chat; but Arthur had such a painful way of getting into awkward topics that such conferences were usually short and formal. He had occasionally given an oversight to the boy's work; but Arthur so greatly preferred to "mug," as he called it, in his own study, that opportunities for serious private coaching had been quite rare. Recently, too, a difference had sprung up between Arthur and Marky about the Smileys; and Railsford felt that he had not done all he might to smooth over that bitter memory and recover the loyalty and affection of the bereaved dog-fancier. It may have been some or all of these notions which prompted the master to invite his young kinsman to accompany him on the following day--being the mid-term holiday--on an expedition into the country. The occasion had been chosen by the Grandcourt Naturalists' Field Club for their yearly picnic. This club was a very select, and, by repute, dry institution, consisting partly of scientific boys and partly of masters. Its supposed object was to explore the surrounding country for geological, botanical, and historical specimens, which were, when found, deposited in a museum which nobody in the school on any pretext ever visited. Every member had the privilege of introducing a friend, but no one took advantage of the invitation, except once a year, on the occasion of the annual picnic, when there was always a great rush, and a severe competition to be numbered among the happy participants of the club's hospitality. It was long since Arthur had given up all idea of joining these happy parties. Great therefore was his astonishment and delight when on the evening before the term holiday Railsford put his head into the study and said-- "Arthur, would you like to come to-morrow to the Field Club picnic at Wellham Abbey?" "Rather," said Arthur. "Very well; be ready at ten. I've ordered a tandem tricycle." Arthur was in ecstasy. If there was one kind of spree he liked it was a picnic at an abbey; and if there was one sort of conveyance he doated on it was a tricycle. He wiped off every score on his mental slate against Marky, and voted him the greatest brick going, and worthy to be backed up to the very end--especially if they had oysters at the picnic! "Wish _you_ could come, old man," said he to Dig, who was groaning over his 100 lines of Livy. "I wouldn't go with him if he asked me, the cad!" growled Dig. "No, he's not a cad. If it hadn't been for him you wouldn't have seen one of your stamps back; and you might have been expelled straight away into the bargain. Tell you what, Dig, you've been scouting for Stafford all the last week; he ought to do something for you. Why don't you ask him to take you? He'll do it, like a shot. He's always civil to us." Dig thought it over. "If he says Yes, will you help me polish off my lines?" "All right. I say, go soon, or somebody else may have asked him." Dig went, and to his satisfaction was informed that Stafford would take him, if he promised to be steady. Which of course he did promise. So between them the two chums polished off the Livy--never was the great historian made such mincemeat of before or after--and then gave themselves over to delightful anticipations of the Field Club picnic. One misgiving disturbed Arthur's peace of mind. Railsford might make a base use of his opportunity as partner on the tricycle to corner him about his misdeeds and generally to "jaw" him. Besides, as Dig was going too, it would be ever so much jollier if Dig and he could go to Wellham together and let the masters go by themselves. "We must work it somehow, Dig," said Arthur. "If we go we must have a high old time--and not be let in for a lot of rot about old bones and fossils and that sort of thing." "Rather not," said Dig, "though I wouldn't mind if we could get hold of a skull. It would look prime on the mantelpiece." "Gammer, who went last year, says it was an awful go-to-meeting turn- out. Top-hats, and service at the abbey, and scarcely a bit of grub; but I hear the spread's to be rather good this year, down by the river's edge." "Hooroo!" said Dig, "I guess you and I will be about when they call over for that part of the spree." The morning was dull and cloudy, and Dig and Arthur as they stood on the hall steps and looked up at the sky, debated with themselves whether the day would hold up long enough to allow of the picnic at the water's edge. To their relief, the other excursionists who gradually assembled took a hopeful view of the weather and predicted that it would be a fine afternoon, whatever the morning might be. As they were Naturalist Field Club people, our boys supposed they knew what they were saying, and dismissed their qualms in consequence. Wellham Abbey was ten miles off. Most of the party proposed to reach it on foot. Mr Roe was driving with the doctor and his niece, and one or two others, like Railsford, preferred to travel on wheels. Dig was standing somewhat lugubriously beside Arthur, inspecting the tandem, and wondering how he was to get to Wellham, when Mr Grover came up and said to Railsford-- "How are you going, Railsford? Not in that concern, are you? Come and walk with me, I've not had a chat with you for ages." Arthur felt a violent dig in his ribs from the delighted baronet. There was a chance for the "high old time" yet. "Well, the fact is, I'd promised one of my boys to give him the ride," said the Master of the Shell. "Oh, please don't mind me," said Arthur. "Oakshott and I can bring the machine for you to Wellham, if you'd sooner walk." "Is Oakshott going?" "Yes, sir. Stafford's asked him, hasn't he, Dig?" "Yes, sir. I've scouted for Stafford at cricket this term, so he's asked me to-day; and I've done my lines, sir." "Oh, very well," said Railsford, to whom the temptation of a walk with Grover was even greater than that of a _tete-a-tete_ ride with Arthur Herapath; "but can you manage it?" "Manage it?" exclaimed they, in tones as if they could scarcely believe they heard aright, "rather, sir." "Well," said the master, tickled with the evident delight of the pair to be together, "take care how you go. You had better take the Grassen Road, so as to avoid the hill. Come along, Grover." So these two artful young "naturalists" had it their own way after all. "Come on, sharp," said Arthur, "and get out of the ruck." "Jolly good joke telling us not to go by Maiden Hill," said Digby; "that'll be the best part of the lark." Luckily a tandem tricycle of the type provided for them is not a machine which requires any very specially delicate riding. Had it been, Arthur and Dig might have been some time getting out of the "ruck," as they politely termed the group of their pedestrian fellow-naturalists. For they were neither of them adepts; besides which, the tricycle being intended for a pair of full-grown men, they had some difficulty in keeping their saddles and working their treadles at one and the same time. They had to part company with the latter when they went down, and catch them flying as they came up; and the result was not always elegant or swift. However, they managed to pass muster in some sort, as they started off under the eye of their master, and as speedily as possible dodged their vehicle up a side lane, where, free from embarrassing publicity, they were at leisure to adapt their progress to their own convenience. It wasn't quite as much fun as they had expected. The machine was a heavy one, and laboured a good deal in its going. The treadles, as I have said, were very long; the brake did not always act, and the steering apparatus was stiff. Even the bell, in whose music they had promised themselves some solace, was out of tune; and the road was very like a ploughed field. The gaiety of the boys toned down into sobriety, and the sobriety into silence, and their silence into the ill-humour begotten of perspiration, dust, fatigue, and disappointment. Their high old time was not coming off! At length, by mutual consent, they got off and began viciously to shove the machine up the hill. "They'll all be there already," said Arthur, looking at his watch. "We've been two hours." "I wish I'd walked with them," said Dig. "Pity you didn't," growled Arthur, "you aren't very lively company." "Anyhow, I've done my share of the fag. You and Marky may bring the beast home." This altercation might have proceeded to painful lengths, had not a diversion occurred in their arrival at the crest of the hill. Any ordinary traveller would have stood and admired the beautiful view-- the finest, it was said, in the county. But Arthur and Dig were in no humour for artistic raptures. The sight of the abbey towers peeping cut in the valley among the trees, and of the silver river which curled past it, suggested to them no thoughts of historic grandeur--no meditations on the pathetic beauty of ruin. It made them smell oysters and hear the popping of lemonade corks, and reminded them they had still two long miles to go before lunch. "Get on, sharp," said Arthur, climbing into his saddle, "it won't take us long to go down the hill." It didn't! They did the distance, a mile and a half, in about three minutes. The brake came to grief the moment they started, and they had nothing for it but to hold on and let her fly. As to attempting to control the speed with their feet, they were thankful enough to get those members up on the rest out of reach of the treadles, which plunged up and down like the pistons of a steam-engine. Luckily there was nothing on the road; luckily, too, the ruts which had broken the ground on the other side were for the most part absent on this. Once or twice the machine lurched ominously, and they thought all was up, and once or twice a stone or obstacle ahead promised to terminate finally their headlong career. But the gallant tandem cleared them all, and her passengers clutched on to their handles like grim death; and between them they did the distance in some seconds under the record, and ran a clean half-mile on the level at the foot of the hill before they could bring one of the most famous runs of the season to a standstill. Thanks to this rapid performance they were only about a quarter of an hour after the pedestrians at the abbey. "Well, here you are," said Railsford; "you came by Grassen, I suppose? Rather rough riding, wasn't it?" "We came by Maiden Hill after all," said Arthur. "It _was_ rather rough." "Did you walk down, then?" "No, we rode it. We came down in pretty good time. There's something the matter with the brake, so we had to let her go." Possibly Railsford had a better notion of the narrow escape of the two hare-brained young guests of the club than they had themselves. They forgot all about it the moment they saw a hamper being carried in the direction of the river and heard Mr Roe announce that they might as well have lunch now, and explore the abbey afterwards. "Hear, hear," whispered Dig to his friend. "Eh?" "Rather," said Arthur. And they were invaluable in spreading the repast and hastening the moment when Mr Roe at last announced that they were all ready to begin. It was rather an imposing company. The doctor was there, and his niece, and Messrs. Roe, Grover, Railsford, and one or two other masters. Smedley also was present, very attentive to Miss Violet; and Clipstone was there, as well as our friends Ainger, Barnworth, and Stafford. And all the learned luminaries of the Fifth were there, too, and one or two scientists from the Fourth. Arthur and Dig had rarely been in such good company, and had certainly never before realised how naturalists can eat. It was a splendid spread, and the two chums, snugly entrenched behind a rampart of hampers, drowned their sorrows and laid their dust in lemonade, and recruited their minds and bodies with oysters and cold beef, and rolls and jam tarts, till the profession of a naturalist seemed to them to be one of the most glorious in all this glorious world. "Now," said Mr Roe, who was president of the club and host, "let us go and see the abbey. I have put together a few notes on its history and architecture, which I thought might be useful. Let us go first to the Saxon crypt, which is unquestionably the oldest portion of the structure." "Oh, lag all that," said Dig to his friend. "Are you going to hear all that rot?" "Not if I know it," replied Arthur. "We'd better lie low, and help wash up the plates, and when they're gone we can go for a spin up the big window." So, when Mr Roe, having collected his little audience round him, began to descant with glowing countenance on the preciousness of some fragments of a reputed Druidical font lately dug up in the crypt, two naturalists, who should have been hanging on his lips, were busy polishing up the plates and the remnants of the repast, at the water's edge, and watching their chance for a "spin" up the ruined arch of the great window. That window in its day must have been one of the finest abbey windows in England. It still stood erect, covered with ivy, while all around it walls, towers, and roof had crumbled into dust. Some of the slender stone framework still dropped gracefully from the Gothic arch, and at the apex of all there still adhered a foot or two of the sturdy masonry of the old belfry. No boy could look up to that lofty platform, standing out clear against the grey sky, without feeling his feet tingle. Certainly Arthur and Dig were not proof against its fascination. The first part of the climb, up the tumbled walls and along the ivy- covered buttresses, was easy enough. The few sparrows and swallows bustling out from the ivy at their approach had often been similarly disturbed before. But when they reached the point where the great arch, freeing itself, as it were, of its old supports, sprung in one clear sweep skyward, their difficulties began. The treacherous stones more than once crumbled under their feet, and had it not been for the sustaining ivy, they would have come down with a run too. "You see," said Mr Roe to his admiring audience below, "the work of dissolution is still rapidly going on. These stones have fallen from the great arch since we came here." "Regular jerry-builders they must have had in those days," growled Dig, scrambling up the last few yards; "did you ever see such rotten walls?" Arthur confessed he hadn't; but having gained the top, he forgave the builders. Rarely had Dig and he been so pleased with themselves and one another. It was a genuine feat of climbing, of which very few could boast; and peril and achievement bind friends together as no mortar ever binds bricks. "That window," said Mr Roe, looking up from below, "is considered inaccessible. It is said to be haunted; but the truth is, I believe, that it is infested by owls." Here a faint "boo-hoo!" from above bore sudden and striking testimony to the truth of the master's observations. "Hullo!" said Arthur, peering over, "they're going. Look sharp down, Dig, or we'll be left." Dig obeyed. It was much more difficult getting down than getting up. Still, by dint of clinging tight hold of the ivy and feeling every step, he managed to descend the perilous arch and get on to the comparatively safe footing of the buttress. "You cut on," shouted Arthur from above, "I'll be down in a second. Don't wait--I have found an owl's nest up here; and I'm going to collar a young 'un for each of us. Don't tell them. If Railsford asks where I am, tell him I'm walking home. You can go with him on the tandem. I'll be home as soon as you." At the same moment a shout from below of "Herapath!" "Oakshott!" still further hastened Dig's descent to _terra firma_. "Come on," said Railsford, who was already seated on the tricycle, "it's coming on to rain. Where's Herapath?" "Oh, he's walking home. He told me to tell you so. We've been scrambling about. Can I come in the tandem?" "If he's not coming you can. Has he gone on, then?" "No--he was just getting a--a specimen," said Dig, hopping up on the saddle, and resolving that Marky should do all the work. "He says he'd sooner walk." "Dear me! here comes the rain," said Railsford, turning up his collar, "we'd better go on. He'll get wet, whichever way he comes home." So they departed--as also did Mr Roe and the doctor and all the others. "There's an owl again," said Mr Roe, looking back at the big window. He was wrong. The shout he heard was from Arthur; not this time in sport, but in grim earnest. For, having abandoned the idea of capturing the owls, he had started to descend the arch. He had safely accomplished half the distance when a ledge of mortar gave way under him and left him hanging by his arms to the ivy. He felt in vain with his feet for some support, but could find none. Dig's previous descent had knocked away most of the little ledges by which they had come up. Finally, by a desperate effort, he pulled himself up a few inches by the ivy and managed to get a footing again. But there he stuck. He could not go down further; and to go up would bring him no nearer Grandcourt than he was at present. So it was Arthur shouted; and everyone thought him an owl, and left him there in the rain to spend a pleasant evening on the top of the great window of Wellham Abbey. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE HAUNTED WINDOW. "Let me see," said the doctor, as he and Railsford met once during the day, "I have two of your boys to see this evening. One, a prefect. Was it necessary to send him up?" "It was, sir. If I saw the slightest prospect of dealing properly with him myself I would have done so. He is an enemy to the order of our house, and, as you know, our house just now cannot afford to have more enemies than it has." "Your enemies are those of your own house," said the doctor sternly. "I had expected long before this that it would have been possible to restore it to the ordinary rights of Grandcourt. An impenetrable mystery is a bad thing for a school." "It is," said Railsford, feeling uncomfortable. And here the conservation ended. Railsford had not been long in his room that evening when Sir Digby Oakshott knocked at the door and entered with a long face. "Please, sir, have you seen anything of Herapath?" said he. "He's not turned up." "What--are you sure?" "I've asked them all. All the others have come. I expect he'll get pretty drenched if he's lost his way." "He can't have lost the way--it's too simple. What was he doing at the abbey when you last saw him?" "Going after owls," said Dig. "Where?" "On the big window. We got to the top, you know; and I came down as soon as I saw you all starting; and he shouted that he would be down in a second, and was going to walk home; and we weren't to wait. I say, I wonder if he's got stuck up there, or come a cropper?" Dig's face was pale as the thought flashed across his mind. Railsford was not a bit less concerned. "Go quickly and see if Mr Roe has sent away his trap, and, if not, keep it. If it has gone, go to Jason's and get one directly, Oakshott." In five minutes the baronet returned. "I can't get a trap anywhere," said he dismally, "but I've got Jason to send a horse." "That will do," said Railsford, hurrying down. "Will it do?" groaned Dig. "_I_ can't go too! Oh, Mr Railsford," shouted he, as the master was jumping into the saddle, "what road shall you come back by?" "Maiden Hill," said the master, digging his heels into the horse's side. With a heavy heart Digby watched him start, and then putting on his cap determinedly, followed him on foot into the night and rain. "I shall do it in two hours and a half," said he to himself, "if I trot part of the way. What a cad I was to leave him up there!" It was not till bed-time at Railsford's that fellows generally became aware that the master and two of the boys were missing. Railsford and Oakshott had both been seen in the school after their return from the picnic. Railsford had, of course, depended on the boy to explain his sudden absence, and Dig had been too miserable and excited to think of telling anybody as he started on his weary tramp. The first inquiry for the missing ones came from the doctor, who, after his interview with Felgate, sent a messenger over to the Master of the Shell to request his presence in the head-master's study at once. The messenger returned to report that Mr Railsford was not in, and no one knew where he was gone. Then, the hue and cry being once raised, it appeared that Arthur and Dig's study was also empty and that its owners were nowhere to be found. Presently the school gatekeeper reported that on coming up from the town just now he had seen Mr Railsford galloping on one of Jason's horses in the direction of the London road! And Munger, who had been out of bounds, reported in private (because the disclosure might get him into trouble if it came to the ears of the authorities) that just as he was sneaking in at the gate he met Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, sneaking out. The doctor, who might never have heard of the affair, had he not chanced to want to see Railsford particularly that evening, walked over to the house about bed-time and interviewed Ainger. "Have you the slightest idea what it all means?" asked the head-master. "Not the slightest, sir," said Ainger shortly. If he had had, he would have spoken long ago, as the doctor knew--or should have known. "No one is to stay up," said the doctor, "and I wish you to take charge of the order of the house in Mr Railsford's absence, Ainger. Circumstances have occurred which may make it necessary to remove Felgate to another house, meanwhile he has forfeited his prefecture here." And the doctor went away, leaving the captain of Railsford's with a new perplexity piled up on all the others. Whereupon Ainger sent his house to bed; and threatened them with all sorts of penalties if lights were not out and all quiet by 9.30. It was a sleepless night for a good many in Grandcourt. Mr Roe and Grover sat up together in the rooms of the former, anxious and perplexed about their missing friend. Mr Bickers walked about his room too, and wondered if his game was to slip through his fingers after all. And Felgate lay awake and laughed to himself in the conviction that to him belonged the glory of hunting the scoundrel from Grandcourt. And Maple, Simson, Tilbury, and Dimsdale, in the Shell dormitory lay awake too, and strained their ears at every sound in the court below, and wondered ruefully what had become of their two missing comrades. Dig, as he ploughed his way footsore and weary through the rain and mud of Maiden Hill, down which he had shot at such a glorious pace not twelve hours before, thought wistfully once or twice of that warm dry bed in the dormitory and the friendly voices of his allies there assembled. But he would never return there without old Arthur! In the times of their prosperity and security those two boys had often quarrelled, often neglected one another, often forgotten all about one another; and a casual onlooker might have said, "They are not friends-- they are no more to one another than any other two boys in the school." Ah, but if the critic could have looked into Dig's heavy heart as he floundered through the mud that night he would have told a different tale. Often enough our friend seems to us like an ordinary friend. We have our little tiffs and our little reconciliations; we have our mutual jokes and our time-honoured arguments. We say good-bye with unruffled spirits, and meet again with an unimpassioned nod. But now and again the testing time comes. The storm breaks over our heads, the thunder rolls round us. Then the grip of our hands tightens, we find that, we are not friends, but brothers; and the lightning flash reveals to us, what we never suspected before, that there is something in the world dearer to us even than life; and as our hearts sink we envy those happy people, who, by their simple trust in their Saviour and in the all- pervading Goodness, are able to face with courage both Life and Death. Dig stumbled on, dead beat, losing heart, at every step, and stopping sometimes to take breath with a gasp which sounded ominously like a sob. The long hill seemed interminable; there was no glimmer of a light anywhere to cheer him; no clatter of a horse's hoofs to ring hope into his heart. All was black, and wet, and dreary. What if he should find the abbey deserted, and have to walk home--alone! He had nearly reached the ruin when he stumbled against two men conversing in the middle of the road. To his inexpressible relief one of them was Railsford. "Mr Railsford!" gasped the boy, springing upon the master with a suddenness which made both men start, "is that you? Where's Arthur? Have you found him?" "He's all right--he's on the top of the window still, and we can't get him down till daylight. I'm just arranging with Farmer White to bring a ladder." Dig made a dash in the direction of the abbey gate. "Where are you going?" said Railsford. "I'm going to hop up beside him," shouted Dig, almost beside himself with relief. The master caught him firmly by the arm. "If you think of such a thing, Oakshott, I shall get Farmer White here to cart you straight back to Grandcourt." This terrible threat sobered Dig at once. He waited impatiently till the two men had made their arrangements, and then, with beating heart, accompanied the master to the ruin. "He is safe up where he is," said the latter, "and says he has room to sit down and a back of ivy to lean against. But he must be half drowned and frozen. It will do him good to know you are here. Now stay where you are, while I get on the wall and shout to him. He cannot hear us down here." Dig waited, and listened to the master scrambling up the ivy and feeling his way on his hands and knees along the wall to the bottom of the arch. Then he heard him shout-- "Arthur, are you there, all right?" And his heart leapt as a shrill reply came back from the heights. "Oakshott is here with me," shouted the master. It was all a mistake about not being able to hear from the level ground. Dig heard the "Hallo! what cheer, Dig?" as plainly as he heard Railsford himself. "What cheer?" he howled in reply. "Keep up your pecker, old man." "Rather!" yelled Arthur. Then Dig begged and besought Railsford to allow him to mount at least to where the latter stood, and the master made him happy by consenting. From this point it was easy to carry on a talk; and there in the rain through the dark watches of the night those three had one of the most profitable conversations they had ever enjoyed. A yokel who chanced to pass, hearing those weird, celestial voices, took to his heels and ran a mile straight off, and reported with ashy face and trembling lips that a ghost had appeared on the arch of the abbey as he passed, and called to him thrice, and had shrieked with demoniacal laughter as he hurried from the accursed place. Towards dawn the rain ceased, and the three watchers, despite all their efforts, became drowsy. When Farmer White and two of his men arrived on the scene with a long ladder and a rope, they had to stand and shout from below for a minute or so before Railsford started into wakefulness and remembered where he was. As for Dig, he lay with his cheek buried in the wet ivy, sleeping as soundly as if he had been in the dormitory at school. It was no easy task to get Arthur down from his dizzy perch. In the first place, he was so sound asleep that it was impossible to rouse him from below; consequently he could give no assistance in his own rescue. The ladder was far too short to reach within a quarter of the distance of where he was; and for a long time it seemed as if the ropes might as well have been left at home. At length, however, by a combined effort the ladder was hoisted on to the top of the wall, and so elevated it reached a point on the arch above the place where the stones had given way. The difficulty was to secure it on the narrow ledge in any way so that it could be ascended safely. When, finally, by dint of careful adjustment and rigid holding at the bottom, it was pronounced reasonably safe, Dig was most eager to volunteer the ascent, urging that he was the lightest weight, and that the four men could do more good in holding the ladder. "The lad's right," said the farmer; "let him go up." Railsford was forced to consent. It would have been obviously risky for a heavy man to ascend that rickety ladder. Dig rarely felt so proud and happy as when he skipped lightly up the rungs and reached the ivy- covered masonry of the arch. It was not a difficult climb to the top, and it was as well it was not, for in his eagerness he forgot the admonitions of caution he had received below, and scrambled up as recklessly as if he had been ascending a London tramcar. His heart beat as at last he came upon his dear old friend. Arthur sat sound asleep, his hands behind his head, his legs hanging over the edge of the arch, and his back propped in the angle formed by the junction of the window and the fragment of the old roof. Lucky for him was that natural armchair; for without it, at the first fall of sleep, he would undoubtedly have rolled from his perch into the depths below. Dig approached him gently and discreetly. "Nearly time to get up, old chappie," said he, laying his hand on the sleeper's arm to prevent any sudden start. That "nearly" was a stroke of genius. Had he incautiously announced that the chapel-bell had begun to ring, or that he would be late for call-over, the result might have been fatal. As it was, Arthur opened his eyes lazily and yawned-- "All serene. Why, hullo, I say! Is that you, Dig, old man?" "Yes, rather! Sit steady; we've got a ladder and ropes, and Marky's just down there. How are you?" Arthur rubbed his eyes, and his teeth chattered. "Pretty cold and stiff, old man. How jolly of you to come! You see, the mortar or something slipped, and I couldn't get up or down. I yelled, but you'd gone. At last I managed to get up again, and there I've stuck. How are we going down now?" "They've got the ladder up just below us, if you can manage to get down so far." Arthur began to move his stiff limbs one by one, by way of judging what he could do. Dig, meanwhile, shouted down that he was safe up, and Arthur was all right. "Not time for another try at the owls," said the latter, getting one foot up and trying to rise. "Owls be hanged," said Dig, helping his friend gingerly to his feet. "I feel like a poker," said Arthur. "Shouldn't care to run a mile just now." "Nobody wants you to. What you've got to do is to dig hold of the ivy with your hands and let yourself down. I'll go first and take care of your feet." "Awfully brickish of you, Dig," said Arthur. "I'm sorry I'm such a lout. I feel as if my joints want oiling." "Come on," said Dig. The descent was slow, and for poor Arthur painful; but, thanks to the ivy and Dig's steady steering, it was in due time accomplished safely, and the top of the ladder reached. "Now, then, one at a time," shouted the farmer. "He can't go alone," called Dig; "he's too stiff. Won't it bear both of us?" The unanimous opinion below was that it would not. Even Dig's weight as he went up had been as much as they could manage. Finally Railsford suggested that a rope should be thrown up, which Dig could tie round Arthur's body, and so support him from above as he came down. The plan was a good one, and Arthur contrived by its help to lower himself down the steps into the arms of his rescuers. Dig was not long in following; and five minutes later the party was standing, safe and sound and thankful, on the greensward of the abbey floor. The farmer insisted on taking them all to his house, and comforting their souls and bodies with a hot breakfast in front of a blazing fire. After which he ordered out his trap and drove them himself up to Grandcourt. The first getting-up bell was ringing as they drove into the quadrangle, and at the sound of the wheels half a dozen anxious watchers darted out to welcome their return. Still more shouted down greetings from the dormitory window, and Arthur and Dig, had they been in the mood for lionising, might have had their heads turned by the excitement which their reappearance seemed to produce. But they were neither of them in a mood for anything but going to bed. For, after the excitement of the night and morning, a reaction had set in, and their heads ached and their bodies were done out. They even resisted Railsford's recommendation of a hot bath, and took possession of the dormitory and curled themselves up to sleep, leaving Fate or anyone else to explain their absence for the next few hours to the authorities below. As for Railsford, after seeing his young charges stowed away in their berths, he shook himself together, took his cold bath, and walked over to breakfast with Grover, none the worse for the fatigues and exposure of that eventful night. "Have you seen the doctor yet?" inquired Grover, when the meal was over. "I suppose not. He was asking for you particularly last night." "What for, do you know?" "I don't. I was wondering if you did, for I imagine from his manner it is something important." "Oh, I know; I had to report one of my prefects yesterday for gambling. No doubt it is in connection with that." "Perhaps. You know it seems a great pity you and Bickers hit it so badly. Bickers seems to have a preposterous notion in his head that you are in some way responsible for what happened to him last term. He even wanted to bring the matter up in the last session of masters in your absence; and when we stopped it he promised to return to it at the next." "Oh, Bickers!" said Railsford scornfully. "I am really tired of him, Grover. It's the greatest pity he wasn't allowed to say what he had to say at that meeting. He will never be happy till he has it off his mind; and it surely wouldn't be necessary for me to take any notice of his rhodomontades." "I'm glad you are so little concerned about them. I was afraid they might be worrying you." Railsford smiled. "I've plenty in my own house to do that, thanks. No, all I ask is to keep the peace with Bickers, and have nothing to do with him. He may then say anything he likes. Well, I suppose I had better go over to the doctor's now and report myself." The doctor received Railsford coldly, and required a full account of the strange adventures of the preceding night. Railsford felt a little hurt at his evident want of sympathy in his story, and was beginning to look out for a chance of escaping, when Doctor Ponsford said-- "I wanted to see you last night about Felgate, your prefect. I had a very unsatisfactory interview with him. He appears to lack principle, and, as you said, not to recognise his responsibility in the house. He tried to shift the blame for this gambling business wholly upon Mills-- who, by the way, I flogged--and could not be brought to see that there was anything wrong in his conduct or unbecoming in a senior boy. I think it may be well to remove him next term, either into my house or Mr Roe's; meanwhile he understands that he does not retain his prefecture in yours." "I am thankful for such an arrangement," said Railsford. "That, however, is only part of what I had to say to you. Before he left he brought a most extraordinary charge against you which I should certainly have disregarded, had it not coincided strangely with a similar charge made elsewhere. I only repeat it to you in order to give you an opportunity of repudiating it. It had relation to the outrage which was committed on Mr Bickers last term, for which your house still lies in disgrace. He stated that you knew more about that mystery than anyone else at Grandcourt, and, indeed, gave me the impression, from the language he used, that he actually considers you yourself were the perpetrator of the outrage. That, of course, is the mere wild talk of a revengeful ill-doer." Railsford laughed a short uneasy laugh. Had the doctor worded the question in slightly different form, it might have been difficult to answer it as decisively as he could now. "It is; and if he were here to hear me I would say that it is as absolutely and wickedly false as emphatically as I say it to you, sir. I am sorry indeed that you should have thought it necessary to put the question." "There is never anything lost," said the doctor drily, "by giving the calumniated person an opportunity of denying a charge of this sort, however preposterous. I am myself perfectly satisfied to take your word that you neither had any part in the affair yourself nor have you any knowledge as to who the culprits are." Railsford coloured and bit his lips. The doctor had now put the question in the very form which he had dreaded. If he could only have held his peace the matter would be at an end, perhaps never to revive again. But could he, an honest man, hold his peace? "Excuse me," said he, in undisguised confusion; "what I said was that the imputation that I had anything to do with the outrage myself was utterly and entirely false." "Which," said the doctor incisively, "is tantamount to admitting that the imputation that you are sheltering the real culprits is well- founded." "At the risk of being grievously misunderstood, Doctor Ponsford," replied Railsford slowly and nervously, yet firmly, "I must decline to answer that question." "Very well, sir," said the doctor briskly; "this conversation is at an end--for the present." CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. "AFTER YOU." Thanks to youth and strong constitutions, Arthur and Dig escaped any very serious consequences from their night's exposure at Wellham Abbey. They slept like dormice from eight in the morning to six in the afternoon, and woke desperately hungry, with shocking colds in their heads, and with no inclination whatever to get up and prepare their work for the following day. The doctor came and felt their pulses, and looked at their tongues, and listened to their coughs and sneezes, and said they were well out of it. Still, as they assured him with loud catarrhic emphasis that they felt rather bad still, and very shaky, he gave them leave to remain in bed for the rest of the day, and petrified them where they lay by the suggestion of a mustard poultice a-piece. They protested solemnly that the malady from which they suffered was mental rather than physical, and required only rest and quiet to cure it. Whereat the doctor grinned, and said, "Very well." They had leave to stay as they were till the morning; then, if they were not recovered, he would try the mustard poultices. To their consternation and horror, after he had gone, they suddenly remembered that to-night was the night appointed for the first grand rehearsal of a performance proposed to be given by the Comedians of the house on the eve of speech-day at the end of the term. The Comedians were a time-honoured institution at Grandcourt. Any casual visitor to the school from about the middle of April onwards might at any time have been startled and horrified by finding himself suddenly face to face in a retired corner with some youthful form undergoing the most extraordinary contortions of voice and countenance. Railsford himself used to be fond of recounting his first experience of this phenomenon. He was going down early one morning to the fields, when on the shady side of the quadrangle he encountered a boy, whom he recognised after a little scrutiny to be Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet. The reason why he did not immediately grasp the identity of so familiar a personage was because Sir Digby's body was thrown back, his arms were behind his back, his legs were spread out, and his head was thrown into the air, with an expression which the Master of the Shell had never seen there before, and never saw again. There was but one conclusion to come to: the baronet had gone mad, or he would never be standing thus in the public quadrangle at seven o'clock in the morning. The supposition was immediately confirmed by beholding the patient's face break slowly into a horrible leer, and his mouth assume a diagonal slant, as he brought one hand in front, the index finger close to his nose, and addressed a lamp-post as follows:-- "When Abednego Jinks says a thing, Tommy, my boy, you may take your Alfred David there's more in it than there is in your head." Railsford, in alarm, was about to hasten for professional assistance for what he considered a very bad case, when Dig, catching sight of him, relieved him inexpressibly by dropping at once into his ordinary sane manner, and saying, with a blush of confusion,-- "Oh, Mr Railsford, I didn't know you were there. I was mugging up my part for the Comedians, you know. I'm Abednego Jinks, not much of a part, only you can get in a little gag now and then." Railsford, after what he had witnessed, was prepared to admit this, and left the disciple of the dramatic Muse to himself and the lamp-post, and secretly hoped when the performance of the Comedians came off he might get an "order" for the stalls. Although the Grandcourt House Comedians were an old institution, they had not always been equally flourishing. At Railsford's, for instance, in past years they had decidedly languished. The performances had possibly been comic, but that was due to the actors, not the author, for the scenes chosen were usually stock selections from the tragedies of Shakespeare; such, for instance, as the death of King Lear, the ghost scene in Hamlet, the conspirators' scene in Julius Caesar, and the banquet in Macbeth. But as soon, as the irrepressible Wake got hold of the reins, as of course he did, the old order changed with startling rapidity. The new director made a clean sweep of Shakespeare and all his works. "What's the fun of doing Roman citizens in Eton jackets and white chokers," said he, "and sending everybody to sleep? Let's give them a change, and make them laugh." As if everybody hadn't laughed for years at the Roman citizens in Eton jackets! So he hunted about and made inquiries of friends who were supposed to know, and finally submitted to the company a certain screaming farce, entitled, _After You_! with--so the description informed him--two funny old gentlemen, one low comedian, two funny old ladies, and one maid-of- all-work, besides a few walking gentlemen and others. It sounded promising, and a perusal of the piece showed that it was very amusing. I cannot describe it, but the complications were magnificent; the two old gentlemen, one very irascible the other very meek, were, of course, enamoured of the two old ladies, one very meek, and the other very irascible; the low comedian was, of course, the victim and the plague of both couples, and took his revenge by the usual expedient of siding with each against the other, and being appointed the heir to both. The walking gentlemen were--need it be said?--the disappointed heirs; and the maid-of-all-work, as is the manner of such persons, did everybody's work but her own. The parts were allotted with due care and discrimination. The two funny old gentlemen were undertaken by Sherriff and Ranger, the two funny old ladies by Dimsdale and Maple, the low comedian by Sir Digby Oakshott, and the maid-of-all-work by Arthur Herapath. As for the walking gentlemen, cabmen, detective, _et hoc genus omne_, they were doled out to anyone who chose to take them. There had been no regular rehearsals yet, but private preparation, of the hole-and-corner kind I have described, had been going on for a week or so. The actors themselves had been looking forward with eagerness--not to say trepidation--to the first rehearsal, which was appointed to take place this evening in the Fourth class-room, in the presence of Wake and Stafford, and a few other formidable critics of the upper school. Great, therefore, was the dismay when it was rumoured that the low comedian and the maid-of-all- work were on the sick list with a doctor's certificate. The first impulse was to postpone the date, but on Wake representing that there was no evening for ten days on which they could get the use of the room, it was resolved to do the best they could with the parts they had, and read the missing speeches from the book. Although the house generally was excluded from the rehearsals, the Fourth-form boys managed to scramble in on the strength of the class-room in which the performance was to take place being their own. And besides the invited guests named above, it was frequently found, at the end of a performance, when the gas was turned up, that the room was fuller of Juniors and Babies than it had been when the curtain rose. On the present occasion, not being a full-dress rehearsal, there was no curtain, nor was there anything to distinguish the actors from their hearers, save the importance of their faces and the evident nervousness with which they awaited the signal to begin. And here let me give my readers a piece of information. A screaming farce is ever so much more difficult to act than a tragedy of Shakespeare. Any--well, any duffer can act Brutus or Richard the Third or the Ghost of Banquo, but it is reserved only to a few to be able to do justice to the parts of Bartholomew Bumblebee or Miss Anastatia Acidrop. And when one comes to compare the paltry exploits and dull observations of the old tragedy heroes with the noble wit and sublime actions of their modern rivals it is not to be wondered at! So it happened on the present occasion. _After You_ was far too ambitious a flight for the Comedians at Railsford's; they had far better have stuck to _King Lear_. In the first place, none of the characters seemed to understand what was expected of them. Sherriff, the funny, irascible old gentleman, skulked about in the back of the scene, and tapped his fingers lightly on the top of his hat, and stamped his foot gently, with the most amiable of smiles on his countenance. His one idea of irascible humour seemed to be to start every few moments to leave the room, and then stop short half-way to the door, and utter a few additional remarks over his shoulder, and then to make again for the door with a noise which sounded half-way between a sneeze and the bleating of a goat. Maple also, who personated Miss Olive Omlett, the meek, elderly lady, appeared to have come with a totally erroneous conception of the _role_ of that inoffensive character. He delivered his speeches in a voice similar to that in which boys call the evening papers at a London railway station, and lost no opportunity of clutching at his heart-- which, by the way, Maple wore on his right flank--and of rising up from, and sitting down on, his chair at regular intervals while anybody else was addressing him. Then, greatly to the chagrin of the director, the jokes which seemed so good in print never came off right in the speaking. Those which were delivered right, nobody--least of all the actors--seemed to see, and the others came to grief by being mauled in the handling. When, for instance, on the meek gentleman observing, "Oh, my poor head!" Miss Acidrop ought to have made a very witty and brilliant point by retorting, "There's nothing in that!" she entirely spoiled the fun by saying, "That's nothing to do with it!" and when loud laughter should have been created by the irascible man walking off with the meek man's hat on his head, they both quitted the scene with no hats on their heads at all. This was dispiriting, and the absence of the low comedian and the maid- of-all-work tended still further to mar the success of the rehearsal. For Wake had to read these parts from the book, and at the same time coach the other actors. Thus, for instance, in the famous speech of Abednego Jinks the low comedian already cited, it rather broke up the humour of that masterpiece of declamation to hear it delivered thus:-- "When Abednego Jinks--(Oh, that won't do, Ranger! Take your hand out of your waistcoat and look more like a fool. Yes, that's better. Now, where's the place? Oh yes)--when Abednego Jinks says a thing, Tommy, my boy (Oh, no, no, no! Didn't I tell you you needn't start up from your chair as if I was going to cut your throat? Sit steady, and gape at me like an idiot! That's the style!)--Tommy, my boy, Tommy, my boy, To--(Where on earth's the place? Oh yes)--when Abednego Jinks says a thing, Tommy, my boy--" "Oughtn't you to look funnier than that, yourself?" interposed Ranger, relaxing his own expression to ask the question. "Oh, of course; only I'm reading just now. Oakshott will have to get that up, of course. Now begin again. Go on; look a fool.--That'll do.--When Abednego Jinks says a thing, Tommy, my boy--(I say, screw your chair round a bit, and face the audience)." "For mercy's sake," said Stafford, who was getting rather tired of the whole thing, "do tell us what happens when Abednego Jinks says a thing!" "Tommy, my boy, you may take your Alfred David--(Do look rather more vacant, old man)." "My dear fellow," once more interposed the prefect, "Ranger could not possibly look a more utter idiot than he looks this minute. What is he to take his affidavit about? I do so want to know." "You may take your Alfred David, Tommy, my boy (Oh no, that's wrong)-- Tommy, my boy, you may take your Alfred David." "Yes, yes--go on," urged Stafford. "There's more in it than there is in your head." "More in what? the affidavit?" asked Ranger solemnly. "No, that's not what you say; you say, `You don't say so.'" "I think," said Stafford, "that what he did say was a good deal funnier than what he ought to say. What's the good of saying, `You don't say so,' when everyone of us here can swear you did? I don't see the joke in it myself. Do any of you?" "No; was it meant for one?" asked someone gravely. "It's not written down in the book that anyone's to grin," said Maple, hastily referring to his copy. "Oh, that's all right--only I wish you'd look alive and get to some of the jokes. I thought you said it was a funny piece." "So it is," replied Wake, rather dismally; "it's full of points." "They must all be crowded up to the end, then," said Stafford. If Wake had not had a soul above difficulties he might have been tempted to abandon his labour of Hercules on the spot; and, indeed, it is probable his "troupe" would have struck, and so saved him the trouble of deciding, had not an extraordinary and dramatic change suddenly come over the aspect of affairs. The rehearsal was dragging its slow length along, and everybody, even the amiable Stafford, was losing his temper, when the door flew open, and two young persons entered and made their way boldly up to the stage. As all the room was dark except the part allotted to the actors, it was not till these intruders had mounted the platform and honoured the company with two ceremonious bows that their identity became apparent. Arthur and Dig, after twelve hours in bed, had become weary unto death; and when, presently, from the room below arose the voices and laughter of the Comedians, they kicked the clothes off them, and mutually agreed--colds or no colds--they could stand, or rather lie, it no longer. "Wouldn't they grin if we turned up?" said Arthur; "I vote we do." "All serene," said Dig; "we may as well get up." Dig meant the term "get up" in the professional sense. He accordingly arrayed himself, to the best of his lights, in the garb of a low comedian; that is, he put on a red dressing-gown, flannel drawers, and a very tall collar, made out of cardboard; and blacked a very fine moustache on his lip with a piece of coal. Arthur, meanwhile, had a more delicate task to perform in extemporising the toilet of a maid-of- all-work. An ulster belonging to Tilbury supplied him with a dress, and by turning up the sleeves, and arranging his night-dress apron-wise over the front, he managed to give a fair idea of the kind of character he aimed to personate. He then ruffled up his hair, and brought as much of it as he was able down in the front for a fringe, surmounting it all with a handkerchief shaped to represent a cap. Finally, he smudged his face over with coal dust, and secured one of Mrs Hastings's mops and a pail from the cupboard at the end of the corridor, and pronounced himself ready for the fray. It need hardly be said that the apparition of these two extraordinary figures created a sensation among the jaded Comedians and their friends. The sudden restoration to health of the two invalids was less astonishing, perhaps, than their strange get-up, or the spirit with which they proceeded to throw themselves into their respective parts. Wake, with a smile of relief, shut up his book and retired among the audience. Dig knew his part well, and acted it with such a depth of low comedy that it mattered little what mistakes or blunders the funny irascible and the funny meek gentlemen and ladies made. He uttered the greatest commonplaces a leer and a wink, which imported a vast deal of meaning into the words, and had evidently so well studied his part that he could not even sit down on the chair or walk out of the room without tumbling on all fours or upsetting one or two of the other actors. Wake suggested mildly that he was overdoing it, but was voted down by an indignant chorus of admirers, who urged the low comedian on to still further extravagance, until, had his part been that of a clown, he could scarcely have thrown more dramatic intensity into it. He was ably and gallantly backed up by the maid-of-all-work, who was evidently convinced that the main duty and occupation of such functionaries is to upset everything; to clatter up and down the rooms in hob-nail boots; to flourish her mop in her master's and mistress's faces, and otherwise assert her noble independence of the ordinary laws governing domestic servants. In these ambitions she succeeded to a moral; and when, in addition, thanks to the cold in her head, she pronounced all her m's b's and her n's d's, the result was exhilarating in the extreme. "There's dot bady bed dicer-looking that Bister Tobby and Biss Oblett," said she, flourishing her mop in Miss Omlett's face. Whereat, although the remark was a serious one, and not meant to be facetious, the audience was convulsed. The second scene was in full swing: Miss Omlett and the funny, meek old gentleman were taking refuge behind two sofas from the threatened violence of Mr Bumblebee and Miss Acidrop; the low comedian was having a kick-up all round, and the maid-of-all-work was putting her pail on the head of one of the walking gentlemen with the comment-- "Dow, thed, there's goidg to be a dice doise--" When the door of the room once more opened, and Railsford entered unobserved in the darkness. He had not come to see the performance, although he knew it was about to be held, and had indeed allowed the use of the class-room for the purpose. But feeling very dejected in the presence of the cloud which had suddenly fallen on him, he had been unable to work that evening, and had decided to pay a visit of condolence to his young kinsman and the baronet, partly in the hope of edifying them by a little quiet talk by the sick bedside, and partly to satisfy himself that no very alarming symptoms had resulted from last night's severe exposure. Picture his astonishment when he found the two beds in the dormitory empty, and the invalids flown! He made inquiries of the dame. She had taken them up two eggs a-piece and some tea and hot buttered toast at six o'clock, which they had partaken of, and then, informing her that they felt no better, they had disposed themselves, as she supposed, to sleep. He looked into their study. They were not there; nor had anyone heard of them in the preparation room. Finally, he peeped into the Fourth class-room, and beheld the two invalids masquerading on the stage, and recognised the voice and sentiments of his kinsman, albeit proceeding through the nose, as he flourished his (or rather her) mop in the air, and announced that there was going to be a "dice doise." The whole scene was so ridiculous that Railsford deemed it prudent not to discover himself, and withdrew as unobserved as he had entered. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Arthur and Dig were all right after their adventure; and that, thought he, is the main thing. Poor Railsford had plenty else to occupy his thoughts that evening. The interview with the doctor in the morning had seemed to bring him up short in his career at Grandcourt. If his enemies had tried to corner him, they could not have done it better. It was true that he knew the culprits, and by not denouncing them was, to that extent, shielding them. But he had come to that knowledge, as the reader knows, by an accident, of which, as an honourable man, he felt he had no right to take advantage, even to set right so grievous a wrong as the Bickers mystery. He might explain, without mentioning names, how he had learned the facts; but that would be as good as naming the culprit, for Branscombe had been the only case of serious illness accompanied by delirium at Grandcourt during the last two terms. He might write to Branscombe, and tell him his dilemma, and beseech him to make a confession. And yet what right had he to take advantage of the boy's unconscious confession to put pressure on him to make it public? Other persons less fastidious might do it, but Railsford could not. The alternative, of course, was that he would in all probability have to leave Grandcourt. If the matter had rested only between him and the doctor, he might have made a private communication under pledge of secrecy, and so induced his principal to let the matter drop. But the matter did not rest solely between him and the doctor. Mr Bickers and Felgate, by some means which he was unable to fathom, appeared to have learned the secret, and were not likely to let it drop. Indeed, it was evident that, so far from that, they would like if possible to fix a charge of actual complicity in the outrage on himself. Railsford laughed contemptuously at the notion, as the wild malice of a revengeful enemy. But he knew that no explanation would be likely to put them off the pursuit short of the actual naming of the culprits, which he was resolved at all risks to refuse. Was this to be the end of his brilliant school career? After two terms of hard work and honest battle, was he to be turned away, cashiered and mined, just because he had stayed to nurse a sick boy and overheard his delirious confession? It was no small temptation as he sat in his room that night, to compromise with honour. He could so easily save himself. He could, by a word, sweep away the cloud which hung over his future, and not his future only, but Daisy's. The outrage had been a cowardly one. Two of its perpetrators at least were worthless boys, and the other was away from Grandcourt, and might possibly never come back. Was it worth risking so much for so small a scruple? Did not his duty to Grandcourt demand sacrifices of him, and could he not that very night remove a dark blot from its scutcheon! So the battle went on, and Railsford fought it out, inch by inch, like a man. He was not single-handed in such matters: he had a Friend who always wins, and He helped Railsford to win that night. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A BROWN-PAPER PARCEL. Railsford was somewhat surprised at call-over on the following morning to observe that neither Arthur Herapath nor Digby Oakshott answered to their names. "Why are they not here?" he asked. "They're still on the sick list," said Ainger. "Has anyone seen them?" "Yes, sir," said Tilbury; "they were coughing a good deal in the night, and said they felt too bad to get up this morning, and had the medical doctor's leave to stay in bed till he came round." "Oh," said Railsford, and walked up-stairs to interview these two unfortunate invalids. "Well," said he, entering the room just in time to interrupt what he imagined, from the sounds heard outside, must have been a spirited bolster match, "how are you both this morning?" They both began to cough, wearily, "A little better, I think," said Arthur, with fortitude; "I think we might try to get up later on. But the medical said we'd better wait till he saw us." And he relapsed into a painful fit of coughing. "I feel very hot all over," said the baronet, who was notoriously energetic at bolster matches. "Now, you two," said Railsford sternly, "just get up at once. I shall remain in the room while you dress." They looked at him in reproachful horror, and broke into the most heart- rending paroxysm of coughing he had ever listened to. "Stop that noise," said he, "and get up at once." "Oh, please, Marky--Mr Railsford--we're so bad and--and Daisy would be so sorry if I got consumption, or anything of that sort." "We shall get into trouble, sir," added the baronet, "for getting up without the medical's leave. He told us to stay in bed, and--" Here another cough, which, however, was promptly suppressed. "You will get into no more trouble with him than you have got into already for getting up last night after he had gone, and acting in the farce in the Fourth class-room." The culprits regarded one another with looks of consternation. "Did you see us then?" asked Arthur. "You see, Marky--Mr Railsford I mean--we'd promised to--" "I want no explanations, Arthur; you had no business to get up then, and you've no business not to get up now. Shamming isn't honourable, and that ought to be reason enough why you and Oakshott should drop it." After this the delinquents dressed in silence and followed their master down to the class-room, where the ironical welcome of their fellows by no means tended to smooth their ruffled plumage. However, as they _were_ down, their colds recovered in ample time to allow of their taking part in the cricket practice in the afternoon; and the exercise had a wonderful effect in reconciling them to their compulsory convalescence. They were sitting, half working, half humbugging, in their study at preparation-time, when Railsford again looked in. "Herapath," said he, "if you bring your Cicero down to my room presently, I'll show you the passages marked for the Swift Exhibition." In due time Arthur presented himself. He and Digby between them had smelt a rat. "He's going to jaw you, you bet," said the baronet. "Looks like it. I wonder why he always picks on you and me for jawing? Why can't he give the other fellows a turn? Never mind, he was civil to us that night at the abbey--I suppose I'd better let him have his own way." So, after a fitting interval, he repaired with his books to the lion's den. These astute boys had been not quite beside the mark in their surmise that the master had ulterior reasons in inviting Arthur to his study. He did want to "jaw" him; but not in the manner they had anticipated. After going through the Cicero, and marking the portions requiring special getting up for the examination, Railsford put down his pen and sat back in his chair. "Arthur," said he, "there is something I should like to ask you." "It's coming, I knew it," said Arthur to himself. "Do you remember, Arthur, last term, you and I had some talk one evening about what happened to Mr Bickers, and the mysterious way in which that secret had been kept?" Arthur fidgeted uncomfortably. "Oh, yes," said he. "That's all done with now, though, isn't it?" "I think not. Do you remember my asking you if you knew anything about it, which I did not?" "Oh yes--I didn't. I know nothing more about it than you do." "How do you know that? What if I knew nothing about it?" Arthur looked puzzled. "I want you to be frank with me. It is a matter of great importance to us all to get this affair cleared up--more to me than you guess. All I ask you is, do you know who did it?" "Why, yes," said Arthur. "How did you discover? Did anyone tell you?" "No; I found out." "Do you consider that you have no right to tell me the name?" Arthur stared at him, and once more thought to himself what a wonderfully clever fellow this brother-in-law of his was. "It doesn't much matter if I tell _you_," said he, "only I mean to keep it dark from anybody else." "Who was it then?" inquired the master, with beating heart. "Tell me." "Why, you know!" "I wish to hear the name from you, Arthur," repeated the master. "All right! Mark Railsford, Esquire, M.A. That's the name, isn't it?" Railsford started back in his chair as if he had been shot, and stared at the boy. "What! what do you say?--I?" Arthur had never seen acting like it. "All right, I tell you, it's safe with me, I'll keep it as dark as ditch-water." "Arthur, you're either attempting a very poor joke, or you are making a most extraordinary mistake. Do you really mean to say that you believe it was I who attacked Mr Bickers?" Arthur nodded knowingly. "And that you have believed it ever since the middle of last term?" "Yes--I say, weren't you the only one in it, then?" asked the boy, who could not any longer mistake the master's bewildered and horrified manner for mere acting. Railsford felt that this was a time of all others to be explicit. "I did not do it, Arthur, and I had no more connection with the affair than--your father." Arthur was duly impressed by this asseveration. "It's a precious rum thing, then, about all those things, you know. They looked awfully fishy against you." "What things? I don't understand you." "Perhaps I'd better not tell you," said the boy, getting puzzled himself. "I can't force you to tell me; but when you know it's a matter of great importance to me to know how you or anybody came to suspect such a thing of me, I think you will do it." Arthur thereupon proceeded to narrate the history of the finding of the match-box, sack, and wedge of paper, with which the reader is already familiar, and considerably astonished his worthy listener by the business-like way in which he appeared to have put two and two together, and to have laid the crime at his, Railsford's, door. Nothing would satisfy the boy now but to go up and fetch down the incriminating articles and display them in the presence of the late criminal. To his wrath and amazement, when he went to the cupboard he found--what it had been the lot of a certain classical personage to find before him--that the "cupboard was bare." The articles were nowhere to be seen. Dig, on being charged with their abstraction, protested that he had never set eyes on them, and when Arthur told him the purpose for which they were wanted, he was scarcely less concerned at the mysterious disappearance than his friend. Arthur finally had to return to Railsford without the promised evidence. "I can't make it out," said he; "they're gone." "Did anyone know about this except yourself?" "Dig knew," said Arthur, "and _he_ must have collared them." "Who? Oakshott?" "Oh no; but I happened to say something last term, just after that trial we had, you know; I was talking about it, on the strict quiet, of course, to Felgate." "Felgate!" exclaimed the master; and the whole truth flashed upon him at once. "Yes, he promised to keep it dark. I really didn't think there was any harm, you know, as he is a prefect." "You think he has taken the things, then?" "Must have," said Arthur. "I don't know why, though; I'll go and ask him." "You had better not," said Railsford. If Felgate had taken them, he probably had some reason, and there was no occasion to involve Arthur any further in the business. "The thing is," said Arthur, still sorely puzzled, "if it wasn't you, who was it?" Railsford smiled. "That is a question a great many persons are asking. But you are the only boy I have met with who has no doubt in his mind that I was the guilty person." Arthur winced. "I'm awfully sorry, sir," said he. "I'll tell them all you had nothing to do with it." "I think you had better say nothing. How do you know I am not telling you a lie now?" Arthur winced once more. He would have preferred if Railsford had given him one hundred lines for daring to suspect him, and had done with it. "I say," said he, "you needn't tell them at home, Marky. I know I was a cad, especially when you were such a brick that night at the abbey, and I'll never do it again. They'd be awfully down on me if they knew." "My dear boy, you are not a cad, and I shall certainly not tell anyone of your little mistake. But leave me now; I have a lot of things to think about. Good-night." Arthur returned to his room in dejected spirits. He had made a fool of himself, he knew, and done his best friend an injustice; consequently he felt, for once in a way, thoroughly ashamed of himself. What irritated him most of all was the loss of the articles he had so carefully treasured up as evidence against somebody. "Felgate's collared them, that's certain," said he, "and why?" "He has a big row on with Marky," replied Dig; "I expect he means to bowl him out about this." "That's it," said Arthur, "that's what he's up to. I say, Dig, we ought to be able to pay him out, you and I; and save old Marky." "I'm game," said Dig; "but how?" "Get the things back, anyhow. Let's see, they've got something on at the Forum to-night, haven't they?" "Yes--two to one he'll be there. Why, of course he will; he's got to second the motion--something about the fine arts." Arthur laughed. "We'll try a bit of fine art on him, I vote. Come on, old man; we'll have a look round his rooms for the traps." So they sallied out, and after peeping into the Forum on their way, to ascertain that their man was safely there, they marched boldly up-stairs to his study. If it had not been for the righteousness of their cause, these boys might have thought twice before entering anyone's room in his absence. But Arthur in his present temper had cast to the winds all scruples, and regarding himself merely as a robbed lioness searching for her whelps, he would have liked to meet the man who would tell him he hadn't a perfect right to be where he was. Dig, for his part, was not prepared to raise any such awkward question. The boys' instinct had told them right. For one of the first things they beheld, on a corner of the window-sill, apparently put there hurriedly before starting for the Forum, was a brown-paper parcel, corresponding exactly with the missing bundle. It was carefully tied up, and under the string was thrust an envelope addressed to "Mr Bickers." Arthur whistled, and Dig ran forward to capture the lost property. "Steady," said the former warily. "Perhaps it's just a dodge to catch us. See how it lies, in case we have to put it back." They took the necessary bearings with all precaution, and then hurried back with their prize to their own study. "How long before the Forum's up?" demanded Arthur, depositing the parcel on the table. "Twenty minutes," said Dig. "All serene." The things had evidently been recently tied up with new string in fresh brown paper, the wedge of paper and the match-box being rolled up in the middle of the sack. "That seems all right," said Arthur, "now let's see the letter." He carefully slid a pen-holder under the fold of the envelope, so as to open it without breaking, and extracted the letter, which ran as follows:-- "Dear Sir,--I send you the three things I told you of. The sack has his initials on it; the paper belongs to him, as you will see, and he is the only man in the house who could reach up to put the match-box on the ledge. Please do not mention my name. My only reason is to get justice done. "Yours, truly, "T.F." "Oh, the cad!" was the joint exclamation of the two readers as they perused this treacherous epistle. "Look alive, now," said Arthur; "cut down as fast as ever you can and fetch one of those turfs lying on the corner of the grass, you know." "What's that for?" asked Dig, who felt quite out of the running. "Never mind. Cut away; there's no time to lose. Don't let anyone see you." Dig obeyed, and selected one of the turfs in question, which he clandestinely conveyed up to his room. "Now lend a hand to wrap it up," said Arthur. "Don't you see it'll make a parcel just about the size and weight of the sack? Mind how you tie it up--a double knot, not a bow." Dig began to perceive what the sport was at last, and grinned complacently as he tied up the new parcel into an exact counterfeit of the old. Arthur overhauled it critically, and pronounced it all right. "Now," said he, "we'll write him a letter." He sat down and dashed off the following, Dig nudging vehement approval of the contents from behind. "Sir,--I'm a cad and a liar and a thief. Don't believe a word I say. You can tell anyone you like. Most of them know already. Yours truly, "Jerry Sneak." "That's ripping!" exclaimed the admiring Dig, as this elegant epistle was carefully folded into the original envelope, and, after being gummed down, was thrust under the string of the counterfeit parcel. "Oh, I wish I could be there to see it opened!" "We may get into a row for it," said Arthur. "I don't care. It'll show him up and be a real leg-up for Marky. Look alive now, and come and put it back in his room." So they sallied up once more and carefully replaced the parcel exactly where they had found it, and then, rejoicing exceedingly, dodged down again. It seemed to them a politic thing just to look in at the Forum on their way down, to witness the end of the debate and take part in the division. They had not the slightest idea what the debate was about, but they made themselves prominent among the "Ays," and cheered loudly when the motion was declared to be carried by two votes. Felgate nodded to them as he passed out, little guessing the real meaning of the affectionate smile with which they returned the greeting. "So your cold's better, youngster?" said he to Arthur. "Looks like it," replied Arthur. Felgate's first glance as he entered the room was towards the corner in which he had left his parcel. He had just been cording it up that evening when he suddenly remembered his engagement at the Forum, and in the hurry of the discovery he had carelessly left it out, instead of, as he had intended, locking it up. "However," thought he to himself, "it's all safe as it happens. I won't send it over to Bickers till to-morrow afternoon, just before the master's session. It will be far more effective if he opens it in the brute's presence; and, after all, I don't care a twopenny-piece if he knows it comes from me or not--the cad!" He had half a mind to open the letter and tell Mr Bickers to mention his name if he chose; but just as he was about to do so Munger came in to see him. So he abandoned the idea and locked the parcel up safely in his drawer. Felgate had, as the reader may have judged, come to the conclusion that it was time to play his trump card against his enemy. Railsford's reporting of him to the doctor had been, to mix metaphors a little, the last straw which breaks the patient camel's back. He had had a very warm and uncomfortable quarter of an hour with the head-master, and, as we know, had defended himself on the plea that Railsford, being a malefactor himself, was not competent to judge of the conduct of his boys. The doctor had severely silenced this covert accusation, although taking note of it sufficiently to suggest the very awkward string of questions which he put the following morning to the unlucky Master of the Shell. Felgate, however, had an impression that his statement to the doctor had missed fire; and being determined not wholly to cast his trump card away, he had walked across and sought an interview with Mr Bickers. That estimable gentleman was considerably impressed by discovering, first of all, that this boy was the author of the mysterious letter last term, and secondly, that he possessed such satisfactory evidence of the strange story. He accepted Felgate's statement that his sole motive was the credit of Grandcourt and the relief of his own conscience, without too particularly inquiring into its value, and undertook not to mention his informer's name in any use he might have to make of the information. To that end he suggested it would be better for him to have the "evidence" to produce when required. Felgate promised to send it over to him next day, if that would suit. Mr Bickers said it would suit admirably. There was to be a master's meeting in the evening, when no doubt the question would come up, and if Felgate preferred not to appear himself, he might send Mr Bickers the things there with a letter, which the master promised to read without disclosing the name of the writer. This seemed a satisfactory plan, and Felgate hoped that in return for what he was doing Mr Bickers would intercede with the doctor to restore him to his prefecture. Which Mr Bickers said he would do, and the interview ended. Felgate had not much difficulty in possessing himself of the "articles." Arthur had himself exhibited them to him last term, and he remembered the corner of the locker in which they had lain. Probably Arthur had never looked at them since, and would be very unlikely to miss them now. Even if he did, Felgate didn't care. The securing them was easy enough, for on that particular evening Arthur and Dig were roosting on the big arch of Wellham Abbey, in no condition to interfere if all their worldly goods had been ransacked. The remainder the reader knows. That eventful evening was to witness one more solemnity before the order for "lights out" cut short its brief career. Arthur and Dig having returned to their study, held a grave consultation over the sack and match-box and wedge of paper. "We'd better hide them," said Dig, "where he can't find them again." "Not safe," said Arthur; "we'd better burn them." "Burn them!" said Dig, astounded by the audacious proposition. "Then we give up all our evidence." "Good job too; all the better for Marky. They've done us no good so far." This was true, and Dig, having turned the matter over, said he was "game." The conspirators therefore locked their door, and piled up their fire. It was long since their study had glowed with such a cheerful blaze. The resin-wheel flared, and crackled, and spat as if it was in the jest and was enjoying it, and the flames blazed up the chimney as though they were racing who should be the first to carry the joke outside. The match-box and paper wedge vanished almost instantaneously, and the old bone-dry sack itself rose grandly to the occasion, and flared away merrily inch by inch, until, a quarter of an hour after the illumination had begun, the last glowing vestige of it had skipped up after the sparks. The boys were sitting complacently contemplating this glorious _finale_ when a loud knock came at the door, and a shout in Ainger's voice of "Let me in!" "What's the row?" cried Arthur, shovelling the ashes under the grate, while Dig, with wonderful presence of mind, whipped out the toasting- fork, and stuck half a loaf on the end of it. "Open the door," cried Ainger, accompanying his demand with a kick which made the timbers creak. "Your chimney's on fire!" Arthur rushed and opened the door, while Dig, once more with wonderful presence of mind, seized up the bath bucket and emptied it on the fire. "You young idiots," shouted Ainger as he rushed in, half-blinded with the smoke raised by Dig's _coup de theatre_, "you'll have the house on fire! Bring a jug with you, both of you, up to the roof." They each snatched up a jug, and with pale countenances followed the captain up to the skylight. As they emerged on to the roof they were horrified to see the chimney belching forth sparks and smoke with unmistakable fierceness. Fortunately the roof was flat and the chimney-pot accessible. The contents of the three jugs rapidly damped the ardour of the rising flames, and in five minutes after Ainger's first knock at the door the danger was all over. "Luckily I happened to see it from Smedley's room opposite," said the captain. "Whatever had you been cooking for supper?" They laughed. It was evident the captain was not going to visit the misadventure severely on their heads. "Something good," said Arthur. "But I guess it'll be a little overdone now. Thanks awfully, Ainger, for helping us out. We might have got into a jolly row if it hadn't been for you, mightn't we, Dig?" And they departed peacefully to bed, leaving Ainger to wonder what was the use of being the captain of a house when your main occupation is to put out fires kindled by the juniors, and be patted on the back by them in return! CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. THE BLOW FALLS. "My good friend," said Monsieur Lablache, "you are in a great trouble. I am sorry for you." Monsieur had looked in as he sometimes did to breakfast in his friend's study. The two men, one strong, the other weak, still clung to one another in an odd sort of friendship. Railsford's protection had improved monsieur's position in the school not a little. The boys of his own house were more tolerant of his foreign peculiarities; and some of the other masters, taking to heart the chivalrous example of their junior colleague, had begun to think better of the unpopular detention master, and to recognise good qualities in him to which hitherto they had been blind. If monsieur could only have got it out of his head that he was a born diplomatist, there would not have been a more harmless master in Grandcourt. "I am sorry for you, my good friend," repeated he. "But you will be brave." "Really, Lablache, you don't give a man an appetite for breakfast. Things don't look very cheerful, I know; but what special cause for lamentation have we?" "Bad lies will be told of you at the masters' meeting to-night," said the Frenchman, "but take courage, _mon ami_, I shall be there." "Have you any idea what the lies are to be?" asked Railsford, who perhaps was not as jubilant as he might have been at this last cheering promise. "Meester Beekaire, so I have heard, desires to accuse you of having assaulted him. It is absurd. But no; I overhear him say to Meester Rogers in the masters' hall that he has evidence, he has evidence--ho! ho! it is absurd." Railsford had not much difficulty after his talk with Arthur last night in guessing where this evidence was likely to be, and whence it proceeded. If that was the whole of the trouble he had to face, he could have afforded to laugh with monsieur. But the doctor's question still rang in his ears. That, he could not get round or avoid. "Bickers no doubt believes he is right," said he, "but, as you say, monsieur, he is absurd--I wish he had been allowed to say what he wanted at the last meeting, when I wasn't there." "But, _mon ami_, it would be unfair. Let him say it to your face, and you stand up and say to him to his face, it is one--what you call it, one very big lie." "Well, I will do my best," said Railsford, smiling. "It is a wretched business altogether." "It is strange it is a secret still. I have my thoughts often, friend Railsford. I sometimes think of this boy, and sometimes of that boy; I have even said to myself, Why do we look only in Meester Railsford's house? Why could it not be--for I see boys of all the houses--why could it not be perhaps one of Meester Beekaire's own boys? They hate him--I wish Branscombe would come back. I think if he did, I would ask him." Railsford shifted his chair uneasily, and suddenly changed the conversation. "How are the little girls?" asked he. Poor monsieur! It was easy to turn him from any subject by a question like this. His eyes glistened at the mere mention of their names, and as he sat there and talked about them, with their portraits lying on the breakfast-table before him, Mr Bickers, Branscombe, even Railsford himself vanished out of sight, and his world held nothing but just those three little absent girls of his far away in his beloved France. Railsford was tempted more than once during the day to absent himself boldly from the masters' meeting in the evening, and allow matters to take whatever course they chose in his absence. "After all," he said to himself, "the fatal question will be put sooner or later, and then I must go down." "Probably," said the bolder spirit within him; "but keep your feet, Railsford, my brave fellow, as long as you can." So he braced himself up to the ordeal, and walked across at the appointed time, calm and collected, determined to "die game," if die he must. It was a full meeting, but, to everybody's surprise, most of all Railsford's, Dr Ponsford was not present. The head-master, as I have said, had the greatest belief in holding himself aloof from the settlement of any question which could possibly be settled without him. One might have supposed that the present question was one which would require his particular handling. Ultimately it would, no doubt; but meanwhile he would let his lieutenants sift the various issues raised, and send up to him only the last point for his adjudication. Railsford was disappointed, on the whole; for his one wish was to have the matter settled once for all, and to know the worst before he went to bed that night. Mr Roe, and Grover, and one or two more of his friends came forward to greet him as he entered, as if nothing was about to take place. But he did not feel actor enough to keep up the farce, and retired to his back seat at the first opportunity, and waited impatiently for the meeting to begin. The usual routine business seemed interminable. The little questions of procedure and discipline which were brought up and talked over had very little interest to him, and once, when he found his opinion was being directly invited on some matter, he had with confusion to admit that he had not gathered what the question was. At last Mr Roe said, turning over the agenda paper-- "That disposes of all the ordinary business. The only other matter is a personal question adjourned from our last meeting." Whereupon everyone settled himself in his place expectantly. Mr Bickers rose briskly and made his speech. "Mr Roe and gentlemen," said he, "I am sorry once again to trouble the meeting with the affairs of so very unimportant a person as myself, and I can only repeat what I have said before, and what I have a right to take credit for, that my only motive in doing so is my clear duty to Grandcourt, and the removal from a large number of innocent boys of a stigma under which they at present suffer." Here someone said, "Hear, hear," and everybody agreed that Mr Bickers had begun well. "In February last," continued he, "I was unfortunate enough to meet with some personal violence while passing the door of an adjoining house in the dark, I was seized from behind, enveloped in a sack, which was tied over my head and shoulders, in a manner which both gagged me and rendered me powerless to move my arms. My _feet_ were also tied together, and in this condition I was dragged into a cupboard under the stairs and there left for the night. My impression is that two or three strong persons were engaged in the outrage, although the pinioning was performed by only one. I was released in the morning by my colleague in whose house I had been attacked, who, with his senior boys, untied my hands, and expressed himself as greatly astonished and indignant at what had befallen me. I fully believed at the time these protestations on my colleague's part were sincere." Here Mr Bickers was beginning to get aggressive, and the backs of one or two of Railsford's friends, particularly monsieur's back, went up. "That same morning, gentlemen, the doctor came and challenged the house to produce the offender or offenders. Every boy in the house was called over and questioned separately; said each one denied not only that he had done it himself, but that he had any knowledge of who had. Every member of the house, except the master of the house, was thus questioned. The master was not challenged. "The house was disgraced by the doctor; and from that time to this the secret has been carefully kept. But capital has been made out of the supposed misfortune of the house to set on foot several ambitious schemes which depended for their success on the continued isolation of the house from the rest of the school. "The master of the house was a prime mover in these schemes, and in consequence decidedly interested in preserving the new state of affairs. "Now, gentlemen, you may ask why I make all this preamble--" "Hear, hear!" from monsieur, and "Order, order!" from the chairman. "I do so because I feel I have no right to take for granted that you all know what is nevertheless a notorious fact in Grandcourt. "Now, gentlemen, it appears that my colleague's acquiescence in the disgrace of his house was not shared by some of his boys; certainly not by one--whose name I am not at liberty to mention--but whom I can speak of honourably, as being actuated by disinterested motives in securing justice to myself--which is a matter of small moment--and in removing a slur from the good name of Grandcourt. "This boy took the trouble to make some inquiries shortly after the event, and succeeded in getting together some evidence, which, when I produce it, I think will convince you that little doubt remains as to the identity of the real culprit. I should have preferred if my informant might have been present here to state his own case, but he is naturally reluctant to come forward. He has, however, described to me what the nature of his evidence is; and I have his full authority for making use of that information now. "In the first place, he claims to have found the sack in which I was enveloped, and which was left on the floor of the cupboard where I had been imprisoned, after my release. This sack, he tells me, bears the initials M.R., which correspond with the initials of the--" "Midland Railway," dryly observed Grover amid some smiles, which roused Mr Bickers considerably. "No, sir--the initials M.R. correspond with the name of the master of the house in which I was assaulted. They belong to Mark Railsford." Railsford sat with his lips drawn contemptuously during this announcement, which failed to make the impression on the meeting generally which the speaker had expected. But he went on. "In the second place, he found that the door, which closes by itself when not propped open, had been held open by a twisted piece of paper, which, on being unrolled, was found to be part of a newspaper, addressed to Mark Railsford, Esquire, Grandcourt." This made rather more impression than the last; except on Railsford, who still faced his accuser scornfully. "In the third place, a match-box was discovered on the ledge above the door, placed there, to judge by its freedom from dust, very recently. I ask you to notice three things in connection with this, gentlemen. A match was struck while I was being dragged into the cupboard; a match found on the floor that morning corresponds exactly with the matches in the box placed up on the ledge; and finally, the height of that ledge from the ground shows that it could only have been placed there by someone over six feet high; and the only person of that height in the house is the master, Mr Mark Railsford." A dead silence followed this, and masters present wondered how Railsford could still sit so indifferent and unmoved. "Now, gentlemen," continued Mr Bickers, after having allowed a due interval for this last shot to go home, "I should not be justified in repeating these assertions unless I were also prepared to lay before you the proofs on which those assertions are based. I therefore requested my informant to let me have these. He has done this, and this parcel,"--here he took up a brown-paper parcel from the seat beside him--"containing the articles I have mentioned, was placed in my hands just as I came to this meeting. I have not even examined them myself, so that I am sure you will do me the credit of believing that when I place them just as they are in your hands, Mr Chairman, I cannot be charged with having tampered with my evidence in any way." Here he handed the parcel up to Mr Roe, amid dead silence. "Had you not better open it yourself?" asked the chairman, who evidently did not like the business. "No, sir; I request you will do so, and that Mr Railsford will confront the contents first in your hands, not mine." "There is a letter here addressed to you," said Mr Roe. "Please read that also," said Mr Bickers, declining to take it. Mr Roe knitted his brow and tore open the envelope. His brows went up with a start as his eyes fell on the opening words. He read the letter through, and then, turning to Mr Bickers, said, "This letter is not intended for reading aloud, Mr Bickers." "Yes it is. I insist on your reading it, Mr Chairman." "If you insist, I will do it; but I think you would be wiser to put it in your pocket." "Read it, Mr Chairman," repeated Mr Bickers excitedly. Mr Roe accordingly read, in a voice which betrayed some emotion:-- "`Sir,-- I'm a cad, and a liar and a thief. Don't believe a word I say. You can tell anyone you like; most of them know already. "`Yours truly, "`Jerry Sneak.'" The effect of the letter may be more easily imagined than expressed. The audience received it first with astonishment, then with consternation, and finally, as the light dawned in on their minds, with laughter. Railsford alone looked serious and bewildered. As for Mr Bickers, his face turned white, and he looked for a moment as if he would spring at Mr Roe's throat. He snatched the letter from the chairman's hand and looked at it, and then stared round him, on the amused faces of his colleagues. "You have been hoaxed, I fear," said Mr Roe. Mr Bickers said nothing, but pointed to the parcel. "Am I to open it?" asked the chairman. "Yes, yes!" said the master hoarsely. Mr Roe obeyed, and disclosed the turf amid another general laugh, in which all but Railsford and Mr Bickers joined. The latter had by this time lost his self-control. He glared round him like a baited animal, and then, rounding suddenly on Railsford, exclaimed, "This is your doing! You are at the bottom of this!" Railsford vouchsafed no reply but a contemptuous shrug. He was in no humour to see the joke. Disgust was his one sensation. "Order, please," said the chairman. "These meetings, if they are to be of any value, must be conducted without any quarrelling. Mr Bickers, may we consider this unpleasant affair now at an end?" "No!" shouted Mr Bickers. "I have been insulted! I don't care by whom! The matter is _not_ at an end--not till I have received an answer from this Railsford here to my question! Let him get up like a man and say he did not attack me like a coward last term, and allow the blame and suspicion to fall on others; let him even get up and declare that he does not know anything about the affair. I defy him to do it! He dare not!" A silence followed this violent tirade, and everyone turned to Railsford. He sat, motionless and pale, with his eyes on his accuser. "Have you anything to say, Mr Railsford, or shall we consider the matter at an end?" "I have nothing to say," said the Master of the Shell, sitting, "except that I refuse to answer these questions." "Very good! Quite right!" said monsieur, springing to his feet. "When Meester Beekaire can speak like a gentleman, he--" Here the chairman interrupted. "I addressed my question to Mr Railsford," said he. "I can understand he declines, under present circumstances, to make any reply to these accusations. But may I suggest it would be most unfortunate if we had to adjourn this disagreeable question again? (Hear, hear.) I imagine it can be very easily terminated to-night. We are all ready, I am sure, to make allowance for a gentleman who is suffering from the irritation of a practical joke. His questions were undoubtedly offensively put, and Mr Railsford, as I say, was entitled to refuse to answer them. But I ask him, in order to close this painful controversy finally, to allow me as chairman of this meeting, to repeat those questions myself, so that he may have an opportunity, as no doubt he desires, of formally placing on record his denial of the charges which have been brought against him." Railsford gasped inwardly. The long-expected blow was coming, and he felt it was no use to run from it any longer. "The questions resolve themselves to two. First. Is there any foundation for the charge that you committed or in any way participated in the assault on Mr Bickers last term? And second, Is there any truth in the statement that you know who the culprit or culprits are? Mr Bickers, have I stated your questions correctly?" "Yes," growled Mr Bickers. "Let him answer them if he can." Every one now turned to Railsford, who rose slowly to his feet and fixed his eyes full on the chairman. His friends thought they had rarely seen a finer-looking man than he appeared at that moment, and looked forward with pleasure to applauding his denial, and greeting him as finally clear of the odious suspicions under which he had laboured for so long. His reply was brief and clear:-- "Mr Roe and gentlemen,--The first question I answer with an emphatic negative. The second question I do not answer at all." A bombshell exploding in the hall could not have caused greater consternation and astonishment than this avowal. Grover, monsieur, and his other friends turned pale, and wondered if they were dreaming; others frowned; Mr Bickers smiled. "I knew it!" said he. "I knew it!" Mr Roe said,-- "You can hardly have heard the question properly, Mr Railsford; may I repeat it?" "I heard it perfectly well," said Railsford. "You are aware of the very serious nature of your reply? Do you give any reasons for your refusal?" "None at all." "I think," said Mr Grover, rising gallantly to protect his friend, "it would be well if this meeting adjourned. I submit there is no further business before us." "I oppose that," said Mr Bickers, who had recovered his calmness rapidly. "I propose, Mr Chairman, that this meeting adjourn for five minutes, while the head-master is invited to come and assist our decisions." This was seconded. "If I may be allowed," said Railsford, "I should like to support that proposal." After that, of course, it was agreed to; and for five minutes the meeting stood suspended. Railsford's friends utilised the interval by begging him to reconsider his position, and if possible put himself right by stating all he knew. He thanked them, but said it was impossible, and finally withdrew again to his own seat, and waited anxiously for the doctor's arrival. In due time the head-master arrived, with a tolerable notion of the object of this unusual summons. Mr Roe briefly explained what had taken place, and reported the circumstances under which the head-master's authority was now invited. For once the doctor looked genuinely distressed. Despite all his rebuffs, he had for some weeks looked upon the Master of the Shell as one of the most promising men on his staff; and he deplored the infatuation which now promised to bring his connection with Grandcourt to an abrupt end. But there was no alternative. "Mr Railsford," said he, "you have heard Mr Roe's statement; is it correct?" "Quite correct, sir." "And you persist in your refusal to say whether or no you have any knowledge as to who the persons were who assaulted Mr Bickers?" "I cannot answer the question." "You know that the inference from such a refusal is that you know the names and refuse to give them up--in other words, that you are shielding the evil-doers?" "I cannot answer that or any question on the subject, Doctor Ponsford. I am aware of my position, and feel that I have no course open but to place my resignation in your hands." Once more poor monsieur started up. "Oh no. He has good reasons. He is not bad. He must not leave." The doctor motioned him to be silent, and then, addressing Railsford said-- "Your resignation of course follows as a natural consequence of the position you adopt. It is better that you should offer it than that I should have to ask for it. I shall take a week to consider my duty in the matter. This meeting is now at an end." CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. THINGS GO WELL WITH MR. BICKERS. It is not to be wondered at if the proceedings at the remarkable masters' session just reported leaked out somehow, and became the talk of Grandcourt. It was rarely that anything the masters did or said in their solemn conclaves made much impression on the complacency of their boys; but on the present occasion it was other wise. Rumour had already been active as to the feud between Mr Bickers and the Master of the Shell, and not a few of the better-informed boys had heard that it was connected with the outrage last term, and that Mr Bickers's intention was to bring that crime home, in some manner best known to himself, to Mr Railsford. The idea was generally pooh-poohed as a piece of vindictive folly. For all that, there was a good deal of speculation as to the proceedings at the masters' session, and, when it was over, curiosity to learn the result. The hurried summons to the doctor during the evening had not passed unnoted; the general opinion was that the "row" had come suddenly and acutely to a head. When two superior officers fly at one another's throats the spectacle may be interesting, and even amusing, to the onlooker; but I never heard of it doing anything towards the promotion of discipline or the encouragement of good tone among the rank and file. The quarrel of the two masters at Grandcourt certainly failed to do any good to the school, and if it did less mischief than might have been expected, it was because up till now the parties principally concerned had had their own reasons for keeping it private. Felgate was naturally anxious to hear the result of an entertainment to which he had, as he imagined, made so valuable a contribution. He therefore ventured to call on Mr Bickers the following morning for a little friendly chat. His reception did not quite come up to his expectations. "So, sir," exclaimed Mr Bickers, meeting him at the door, "you have thought me a fitting subject for one of your jokes, have you? What have you to say for yourself?" Felgate looked at him in amazement. "I really don't understand," said he. "What joke?" "You wish to keep it up, do you? Very well, sir!" and Mr Bickers took down a cane. "You have thought fit to amuse yourself at my expense," said Mr Bickers. "I intend to repay myself at yours! Hold out your hand!" "You are not going to punish me for--" "Hold out your hand, sir!" "Really, I acted for the best. If it was a mistake, I--" "Do you hear me, sir? Hold out your hand at once!" Felgate sullenly obeyed, and Mr Bickers there and then discharged his little debt, adding interest. "Now go away, and don't dare to come near me again! Stay, take with you these tokens of your ill-timed humour; they may serve to amuse someone else. Begone!" and he thrust into his hands the unlucky parcel and closed the door in his face. Felgate, smarting and bewildered, walked back to his house with the parcel under his arm, furious with Mr Bickers, and as eager now for revenge on him as yesterday he had been for revenge on Railsford. What could have happened to make all his carefully laid scheme fall through, and set Mr Bickers, whom he had counted upon as an ally, thus suddenly against him? Had Railsford met him with some counter-charge, or turned the tables by some unexpected move in the face of his accusers? That could not be, for already the rumour had spread through the house that Mr Railsford had resigned his post. What did Mr Bickers mean by talking of a joke, and thrusting back upon him the very proofs which but yesterday had been objects of such anxious care and solicitude to them both? Felgate flung the unlucky parcel down on the table, and called himself a fool for ever having meddled with it. Was it possible he himself had been made a fool of, and that these precious proofs had after all been trumped up by that young scapegrace, Herapath, to hoodwink him? At any rate, Arthur might have his property back now, and much good might it do him. He should-- Felgate started as he suddenly caught sight of what looked like a blade of grass protruding from a rent in the brown paper. He looked again. It was not one blade only, but two or three. With an exclamation of consternation he tore off the covering and disclosed--the turf! A joke? No wonder Mr Bickers's manner had been a trifle stiff that morning. However had it got there? It was like a conjurer's trick. No one had seen or touched the parcel but himself. He had himself placed it in Mr Bickers's hands. Indeed, from the time he had taken the things from Herapath's cupboard till the moment of parting with them, he had scarcely had his eyes off it. Stay! That evening he was at the Forum, he had left it for an hour unguardedly in his room. Yet, even then, he could almost have sworn the parcel had been untouched in his absence. Besides, the letter was there still, directed in his own hand. He picked up the envelope, to satisfy himself it was the same. Of course it was; and he had explained in his letter what the articles were. He took out the letter and glanced at it; and as he did so the blood rushed to his face, and he knew at last that he had been made a fool of. It needed no great penetration to guess who it was to whom he owed his humiliation. So he armed himself with a ruler in one hand and the parcel in the other, and walked over to Herapath's study. The proprietors were at home, and had apparently expected the visit, for an elaborate barricade had been drawn across the door by means of the table, bedstead, and other furniture, so that Felgate, when he looked in, could barely see more than the heads of his young friends. "Let me in," he said, trying to push the door open. "Awfully sorry; can't come in," said Dig cheerfully. "Herapath and I are having a scrub up. Come again presently." "Do you hear me, you two? Let me in at once." "Don't you hear, we're doing the place up?" said Arthur. "Go to some of the other chaps if you want a job done." "I want you two; and if you don't let me in at once, I'll force my way in." "Say what you want there; we can hear," said Arthur. Felgate made a violent effort to effect an entrance, but without avail. The stout iron bedsteads held their own, and the wedge inserted under the door prevented it from opening farther than to allow the invader's head to peep in. "I shall report you for this," said Felgate. "Ha! ha! ha! you're not a monitor, my boy. Go and do it. We'll report you for invading our privacy. Say what you want there, can't you?" "You know what I want well enough," said Felgate, forced at last to recognise that entrance was hopeless. "What's the good of coming to tell us, then?" responded Dig. "What business had you to go to my room the other evening?" "Went to return your call," said Arthur. "Sorry we weren't at home when you called on us, and thought we'd do the polite and look you up. That makes us square, doesn't it?" "Do you know I could get you expelled for coming and taking things out of my room?" said Felgate. "Ha! ha! Do it! look sharp. We'll all go home together." "I want the things you took away; do you hear? One of the masters has sent for them; they are to be given up immediately." "Are they? Tell one of the masters, if he wants them he'd better go up the chimney after them." "I shan't waste my time here any more. You'll be sorry for it, both of you, when I catch you." "All right, wait till then. I say, you haven't seen a lump of turf about, have you? There's one missing." "Ha! ha!" chimed in Dig. "How did you like the writing of the letter? Jolly hand our chaps write in the Shell, don't they?" Felgate had not remained to hear these last two genial inquiries, but had returned, storming and raving, to his room. The only game left him now was revenge. He would be very much surprised if that did not come off a little better than the last! Arthur and Dig, meanwhile, were by no means in the elated spirits which their successful resistance to the siege might have warranted. Not that they were affected by the bully's retreating threat; they had heard that sort of thing from one or two fellows in their day, and their bones were still unbroken. No; what afflicted them, and plunged them into a sea of wrath and misery, was the report circulated that morning and confirmed by reliable testimony, that Marky was going to leave Grandcourt. At first they could not credit it. But when Ainger himself, with a long face, confirmed it, they were forced to believe their ears. "Why?" they asked. But Ainger had nothing to tell them on that score. They therefore took the bold step of waiting upon the Master of the Shell himself. "Marky," said Arthur, "it's not true you're leaving, is it?" The misery of the boy's tone went to Railsford's heart. "I am afraid it is true, Arthur. How did you hear?" "Everybody knows. But, I say, why?" "I have resigned." "You resigned--of your own accord? Haven't you been kicked out, then? Aren't you obliged to go?" "I am obliged to go, that's why I have resigned. You'll know all about it some day." "But, I say, can't you withdraw your resignation and stay? Oh, I say, Marky, we shall be awfully up a tree without you here. Why ever are you going? Can't it all be squared?" "No, old fellow, I fear not. But I am not going for a week yet. Let's make the most of the time, and get ahead with our work; for, remember, you've that Swift Exhibition coming near ahead." "Work!" exclaimed Arthur, in disgust. "I'll not do a stroke of work more. I tell you what, if you leave, Marky, I shall leave too, and so will Dig, there!" "My dear old fellow," said Railsford kindly, "you are talking like a little donkey. If you want to help me, you'll just determine to work all the harder now." "I say," said Dig, shirking the question, "have you got into a row, Mr Railsford? Is it anything about--you know what?" "You really mustn't ask me, boys; it's sufficient that I have to go, and I don't think you two will believe it is because I have done anything wrong." "Rather not," said Arthur warmly. "But, I say, Marky, just tell us this--it wasn't us got you into the row, was it? It was awfully low of me to let it out to Felgate; but we bowled him out in time, just when he was going to send those things to Bickers. Did you see the nice trick we played him? He won't be able to do it again, for we burned the things. Such a flare-up! It isn't our fault you're going, is it?" "No, not a bit," said Railsford. "Now you had better go." They went and proclaimed their master's wrongs through the length and breadth of the house. The Shell took up the matter specially, and convened an informal meeting to consult as to what was to be done. "Let's send him a round robin, and ask him not to go," suggested Maple. "Let's get our governors to write to the doctor," said another. "Let's all leave if he does; that's bound to make him stay," said a third. Arthur, however, had a more practical proposal. "What we'd better do is to get up a whacking petition to Pony," said he. "We've got a right to do it; and if all the fellows will sign it, he can't well let him go." The question arose, Who was to write the petition? And after some discussion it was resolved to call the amiable Stafford into their councils. He at once suggested that if the petition was to be of any weight it should come from the entire house, with the captain's name at the head of the list; and a deputation was told off forthwith to wait upon Ainger. He was not very encouraging, but said there would be no harm in trying, and undertook to draw up the petition and sign his name first underneath. The petition was short and business-like: "To Dr Ponsford. Sir,--We, the boys of Mr Railsford's house, have heard with great sorrow that he is to leave Grandcourt. We consider he has done more for our house than any other master, and feel it would be the greatest loss to all of us if he were to go. He does not know we are sending this. We hope it will have your favourable consideration, and make it possible for him to stay among us." In two days this document received the signature of every boy in the house except Felgate and Munger, who contrived to evade it. Ainger took no trouble to press them for their signatures, and indeed stated, not in a whisper, that the petition would carry more weight without these two particular names than with them. Whereat Felgate and Munger felt rather sorry they had not signed. A deputation was then appointed, consisting of the head boy in each form represented in the house, to convey the petition to the doctor. Arthur, not being the head Shell boy in the house, felt very sore to be left out, and prophesied all sorts of failure to the undertaking in consequence. However, he was consoled vastly by a fight with Tilbury that same afternoon. Tilbury, though a signatory to the petition, was unlucky enough to brag, in the hearing of his comrade, that one reason he had signed it was because he believed Railsford had had something to do with the paying-out of Mr Bickers last term, and was a friend to the house in consequence. Whereupon Arthur, crimson in the face, requested him to step outside and receive the biggest hiding he had ever had in his life. Tilbury obeyed, and although the combat was not quite so decided as Arthur had boasted, it disposed of the libel which had originated it, and made it clear to the house that those who knew best, at any rate, were now as firmly resolved to defend their master's innocence as last term they had been to glory in his guilt. The doctor received the deputation politely, and allowed Ainger to read the petition and list of names without interruption. When the ceremony was over, he said, quietly-- "The only fault I have to find with you is that you have presented your petition to me instead of to Mr Railsford. It is perfectly open for Mr Railsford to with draw his resignation. In that case it would fall to me to settle the question of his remaining here; and that would be the time for you to present your petition." This was not very consoling; and the doctor's manner discouraged any further explanation. Ainger therefore left the petition lying on the table, and withdrew his men to report the doubtful success of their mission to their comrades. The week wore on, and in two days Railsford's short reprieve would be up. He had already begun to get together some of his things preparatory to packing up, and had written out a careful paper of memoranda for the use of his successor. He had allowed the work of the house to be as little as possible disturbed by the coming event, and had even hurt monsieur's feelings by the peremptory manner in which he discouraged any representation being made by the masters with a view to avert his departure. He had of course sent a plain, unvarnished account of his position to his "special correspondent," which happily reached her at the same time as a highly-coloured and decidedly alarming communication on the same subject from Miss Daisy's brother. He received an answer full of courage, which helped him greatly. Yet as the day drew near he felt himself clinging desperately to his post, and hoping against hope, even at the eleventh hour, to see some daylight through his great difficulty. Had he known that on that very last day but one Mr Bickers had received by the post a certain letter, he might have felt tempted to delay till to-morrow the final strapping-up of his portmanteau. For Mr Bickers's letter was from Branscombe; and was as follows:-- "Sir,--I have been expecting to return to Grandcourt all this term, but I am sorry to say I have been ill again, and the doctor says I shall have to go abroad for some months. Before I go, I feel I must make a confession which will surprise you as much to read as it pains me to write it. I was the ringleader in the attack upon you last term at the door of Mr Railsford's house. I was very angry at the time at having been punished by you before all my house. But I am very sorry now for what happened, and hope you will in time forgive me. I know what trouble my conduct has caused, not only to you, but to Mr Railsford, whose house has been unjustly punished for what was my offence. There were three of us in it. One was another boy of your house, and the other was in Mr Railsford's house, only all he did was to show us the cupboard in which we put you. I should be glad to think, before I go away, that things are put right at Grandcourt by this confession. Please forgive me for my revengeful act, and, believe me, sir, yours truly,-- "S. Branscombe. "P.S.--Please show this letter to Dr Ponsford and Mr Railsford." This startling letter Mr Bickers read over several times, with great amazement and no less vexation. He was angry, not at the injury which had been done to himself, but because this letter had come just when it did. To-morrow, in all probability, his enemy would have left Grandcourt, and then it would be less matter. For even if the truth were then made known, Railsford's offence in shielding the evil-doer would remain the same. But now this letter might spoil everything. It would, at any rate, postpone Railsford's departure, and might give him an opportunity of reinstating himself for good at Grandcourt. Mr Bickers was in a quandary. He was by nature a vindictive, jealous, and fussy man, with a low opinion of everybody, and an extreme obstinacy in his own opinion. But he was not naturally a dishonest man. It was only when his other passions rushed out strongly in one direction, and his integrity stood on the other side, that his honour suffered shipwreck and went by the board. It did so now, for Mr Bickers, having thought over the situation, deliberately put the letter into his pocket, and went about his usual avocations as if nothing had happened. Any amount of excuses rushed in to his assistance. After all, there had been three culprits, and one of them belonged to the accused house. Railsford, no doubt, was shielding his own boy, and Branscombe's confession affected in no way his offence or the penalty attached to it. On the whole, there was nothing to make Mr Bickers uncomfortable, and it was observed in the masters' hall that evening that he made himself quite agreeable, and even nodded in a half-friendly way to Railsford on the occasion of his last appearance at school-dinner. After the Master of the Shell had retired to his house the doctor asked his other lieutenants to remain a few moments, as he had a statement to make to them. Every one knew what that statement was to be. "It is only right that I should inform you," said Dr Ponsford, "that I have considered it my duty to accept Mr Railsford's resignation, and that he leaves Grandcourt to-morrow. I confess that I do this with great pain and regret, for I have the highest opinion of Mr Railsford's abilities and character. But discipline must be maintained in a school like ours. I have no doubt that in acting as he has done Mr Railsford considers that he is acting honourably. I do not wish to impugn his motives, mistaken as I suppose them. But the fact remains that he virtually admits his knowledge of the offender last term, and at the same time refuses to give him up to justice. Under those circumstances I had no choice but to accept his resignation." For a moment Branscombe's letter burned uncomfortably in Mr Bickers's pocket while the doctor was speaking. But it cooled again, and when Mr Grover said,-- "I am sure, sir, you will not misunderstand me when I say that your statement has caused some of us the deepest pain," he felt himself able to join in the universal "Hear, hear," with quiet fervour. "We fully recognise," continued Mr Grover, "that under the circumstances you had only this one course left open to you. At the same time, we who know and esteem our colleague, feel that his removal will be a distinct loss to Grandcourt, and would like to add our own opinion to yours, that in the course he has considered it right to take, he has been actuated by conscientious and honourable motives." Mr Bickers having said, "Hear, hear" once, did not feel called upon to repeat it at the end of this short speech, and was, indeed, rather glad to hurry back to his own house. He had an idea that this time to-morrow he should feel considerably more comfortable. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. CLEARING UP, AND CLEARING OUT. Railsford's farewell evening in his house was not destined to be a peaceful one. He had scarcely returned from the masters' dinner, meditating a few final touches to his packing, when Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, waited upon him. The baronet was evidently agitated; and more than that, his face was one-sided, and one of his eyes glowed with all the colours of the rainbow. "Why, Oakshott," said the master, "what is the matter? You have been fighting." "That's not half of it," said Dig excitedly. "I say, Marky--I mean Mr Railsford; please Herapath wants to see you. He's in a bad way up- stairs. It's that cad Felgate. He's bashed us. He was in an awful wax about the dodge we played him over that sack, you know, and tried to pay us out the other day; but we kept him out. But he's been waiting his chance ever since; and when I was out of the study this evening, he came in, and gave it hot to Herapath. When I got back, Arthur was about done, and then Felgate turned on me. If I'd been bigger, I could have got a stroke or two in at his face; but I couldn't do it. I barked his shins though, and gave him one on the neck with my left. So he didn't get it all his own way. But, I say, can't you come up and see old Herapath? You haven't got any raw beef-steaks about, have you? He'll want a couple to set him right." Railsford hurried up-stairs. Arthur was lying on his sofa, blinking up at the ceiling with his one open eye--an eloquent testimony both to his friend's veracity and to the activity of his assailant. "You see," he began, almost before Railsford reached the patient, so anxious was he to excuse his battered appearance, "he caught me on the hop, Marky, when I never expected him, and gave me no time to square up to him. I could have made a better fight of it if he'd given me time between the rounds; but he didn't." Railsford made no remark on the unequal conflict, but did what he could to assist the sufferer, and reduce his countenance to its normal dimensions. Arthur was far less concerned at his wounds than at the moral injury which he had suffered in being so completely punished in the encounter. He feared Railsford would entertain a lower opinion of him in consequence. "If I'd have only known he was coming, I could have made it hotter for him," he said; "only he got my head in chancery early, and though I lashed out all I could, he took it out of me. Marky, do you mind feeling if my ribs are all right? I sort of fancied one of 'em had gone." His ribs, however, were all there; and badly as he was bruised, Railsford was able to pronounce that no bones were broken, which greatly relieved both the boys. The master helped the wounded warrior to undress, and then assisted him up to the dormitory, where, after carefully tucking him up, and advising Dig to turn in too, he left him and returned to his room. His impulse was immediately to summon Felgate, and mete out to him exemplary chastisement for his dastardly act. But on second thoughts he remembered that he was, or rather he would be to-morrow, no longer master of the house. Besides, much as the chastisement might have relieved his own feelings, it would leave the house and everyone in it in much the same position as heretofore. Putting everything together, he decided that his last official act should be to report the matter to the doctor next morning, and leave him to deal with it. Having come to which conclusion, he strapped up his portmanteau, and sent an order to Jason for his cab to-morrow. He was meditating an early retirement to bed, when a knock sounded at the door, and the three prefects entered. It seemed a long while since their first embarrassed meeting in that same room at the beginning of last term. Much had happened since then. The house had gone down into the depths and risen to the heights. There had come disgrace and glory, defeat and victory. The ranks of the prefects themselves had been broken, and the master himself had ended his brief career amongst his boys. But as great a change as any had been the growing respect and sympathy between Railsford and his head boys. It was long since he had learned the secret that sympathy is the golden key to a boy's heart. As long as he tried to do without it, sitting on his high horse, and regarding his pupils as mere things to be taught and ordered and punished, he had failed. But from the moment he had seized the golden opportunity presented by the misfortune of the house to throw in his lot with it, and make his interests and ambitions those of his boys, he had gained a hold which no other influence could have given him. His prefects had led the way in the reaction which had set in in his favour, and perfect confidence bound them all together in no common bond. "Do you mind our disturbing you, sir?" said Ainger. "We didn't want you to go without our telling you how awfully sorry we are. We don't know what will become of the house." "I'm not sure that I much care," said Stafford. "How good of you to come like this!" said the master. "For I wanted to talk to you. You _must_ care, Stafford, and all of you. You surely aren't going to give up all the work of these two terms just because a little misfortune has befallen us?" "It's not a little misfortune," said Ainger, "but a very great one." "All the more reason you should not be knocked over by it. Didn't we all set ourselves to work last term in the face of a big misfortune, and didn't we get some good out of it for the house? It will be my one consolation in leaving to feel sure you will not let the work of the house flag an inch. Remember, Railsford's is committed to the task of becoming cock house of the school. Our eleven is quite safe. I'm certain no team in all the rest of the houses put together can beat us. But you must see we give a good account of ourselves on prize-day too. Some of the boys have nagged a little lately in work. We must keep them up to it--not by bullying--nobody will work for that--but by working on their ambition, and making the cause of each boy the cause of the whole house." Railsford, as he uttered these words, seemed to forget how soon he would have to say "you" instead of "we." He had hardly realised yet what that meant. "We'll try hard," said Ainger. "But what we wanted to say, besides letting you know how sorry we are, was to ask if it's really necessary for you to go. Is there no way of getting out of it?" "None at all, that I can see," said Railsford. "Fellows say you know who it was assaulted Mr Bickers last term and won't tell. Perhaps it's to save some fellow in the house from being expelled. But--" "My dear fellows," said Railsford, "don't let's spoil our last evening by talking about this miserable affair. I can't tell you anything at all: I can only ask you to believe I have good reasons for what I'm doing. They ought to be good reasons, if the price I have to pay is to leave Grandcourt, and all of you." It was evidently no use trying to "draw" him further; and as the first bed bell sounded shortly afterwards, they withdrew after a cordial but dismal farewell. "I shall see you again in the morning before I go," said he. The prefects walked away abstracted and downcast. It was all very well for him to say, "Keep the work up when I am gone." But how were they to do it? He was the pivot on which all their work had been turning; and without him what chance was there of keeping the house together for a day? "Come in here a minute, you fellows," said Ainger, as they reached the captain's door. "We _must_ do something to stop it." "That's a very feeble observation to make," said Barnworth. "Is that what you want us to come in here for?" "No, hang it, Barnworth! there's no time for chaff at present. What I want to say is, have we tried every possible means of finding out who scragged Bickers last term?" "I think so," said Stafford. "Every one in the house has denied it. If it's one of our fellows, it's probably the biggest liar among us." "Which means Felgate?" said Ainger. "Or Munger," said Barnworth. "It's not Felgate," said Ainger, "for he has burnt his fingers in trying to fix it on Railsford himself; and it he was the real culprit, you may depend on it he'd have kept very quiet." "Munger _has_ kept quiet," said Barnworth. "Munger! Why, he's a fool and a coward both. He could never have done such a thing." "Let's ask him. I'll tell you why I mentioned him. I never thought of it till now. The other day I happened to be saying at dinner to somebody that that affair was going to be cleared up at last, and that the doctor had been in consultation with Bickers and Railsford about it the evening before--you know, that's what we were told--and would probably come across--this was an embellishment of my own--with a policeman, and point the fellow out. Munger was sitting opposite me, and when I began to speak he had just filled his tumbler with water, and was going to drink it. But half-way through he suddenly stopped, and put the tumbler down with such a crack on the table that he spilt half the water on to the cloth. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but it occurs to me now." "Well," said Ainger, "it's an off-chance. Staff, do you mind bringing him?" "The one thing to do," said Barnworth, while the messenger was gone, "is to frighten it out of him. Nothing else will do." "Well," said Ainger, "if you think so. You must back me up, though." After a long interval, Stafford returned to say that Munger was in bed and refused to get up. "Good," said Barnworth; "I like that. Now, Staff, you amiable old boy, will you kindly go to him again and say that the prefects are waiting for him in the captain's study, and that if he is not here in five minutes they will have to do without him. I fancy that's true, isn't it?" he added, appealing to his colleagues. "Let's see if that doesn't draw him. If it does, depend upon it there was something in that tumbler." Barnworth was right. In less than five minutes Munger appeared, half- dressed, and decidedly uneasy in his manner. "What do you want me for?" he demanded, with an attempt at bluster. "What do you mean by not coming when we sent for you, when you know perfectly well what you are wanted for?" "What am I wanted for?" asked Munger, glancing nervously round. "You know well enough, Munger." "How do I know, till you tell me?" snarled the boy. "If he doesn't know," said Barnworth to Ainger, significantly, "we must do as we proposed. I'll go and get my papers and be ready for you in a minute." This meaningless speech had a remarkable effect on Munger. He stared first at one prefect, then at the other; and when Barnworth rose as if to leave the room, he said,-- "Wait--don't do that. What is it you want to ask?" "You know that as well as we do. Are you going to say what you know, or not?" "I don't know how you got to know anything about it," began Munger; "it's a plot against me, and--" "We don't want all that," said Ainger sternly. "What we want to know is, did you do it yourself, and if not who else was in it?" "Of course I couldn't do it myself. _You_ couldn't, strong as you are." "You helped, then?" "I had nothing to do with the--the scragging," said Munger. "I--Oh, I say, Ainger, you aren't going to get me expelled, surely? Do let us off this time!" "I'm not the head-master; you'll have to ask him that. Your only chance is to make a clean breast of it at once. What was it you did?" "I only opened the door of the boot-box, and helped drag him in. I had nothing to do with the scragging. Branscombe did all that himself, and Clipstone hung to his legs." It needed all the self-control of the three prefects to refrain from an exclamation of astonishment at this wonderful disclosure. "Are you telling the truth?" demanded Ainger. "I am--I swear it--I never even knew what they meant to do till an hour before. It was Clipstone's idea, and I--owed him money for betting, and he had a pull on me, and made me do it. But I swear I never touched Bickers except to help pull him in." "Now, one question more. Was there anyone else in it, but just you three?" "Nobody, as sure as I stand here." "Very well, you can go now. We shall have to tell the doctor, of course, and there's no knowing what he will do. But it's been your best chance to make a clean breast of it while you had the opportunity." The wretched Munger departed to his bed, but not to sleep. He could not conceive how Railsford first, and then these three prefects, should have discovered his deeply hidden secret. Not a word about it had escaped his own lips. Branscombe was away, and Clipstone scarcely anyone in Railsford's house ever saw. But the secret was out, and what kept Munger awake that night was neither shame nor remorse, but fear lest he should be expelled, or, perhaps worse, arrested! The three prefects sat late, talking over their wonderful discovery. "It's good as far as it goes," said Barnworth. "But it doesn't clear up the question how Railsford got to hear of it, and what his motive has been in shielding the criminals. It can't have been on Munger's account, for the two have been at war all the term; and I don't suppose since the affair he has exchanged two words with either Branscombe or Clipstone." "Don't you think," said the captain, "that now we do know all about it, we might go and ask him?" It was a brilliant suggestion, and they went. But Railsford was in bed and asleep; and his visitors, important as was their business, had not the hardihood to arouse him, and were reluctantly obliged to postpone their explanation till the morning. Even then they seemed destined to be thwarted; for Railsford had gone for a bathe in the river, and only returned in time for call-over; when of course there was no opportunity for a private conference. But as soon as breakfast was over they determined to catch him in his room, and put an end to their suspense there and then. Alas! not five minutes before they arrived, Railsford had gone out, this time, as Cooke informed them, to the doctor's. It seemed a fatality, and who was to say whether his next move might be to quit Grandcourt without even giving them a chance? "The only thing to do is to go and catch him at the doctor's," said Ainger; "we've a right to go--at least I have--to report Munger." "All serene," said Barnworth, "better for you to go alone. It would only put Pony's back up if we all went." For once in his life Ainger felt that there were some dignities connected with the captaincy of a house; and for once in his life he would have liked to transfer those dignities to any shoulders but his own. But he put a bold face on it, and marched across to the doctor's. "Perhaps I shall only make it worse for Railsford," said he to himself. "Pony will think it precious rum of us to have let two terms go by without finding the secret out, and then, when it suits us to find it, getting hold of it in half an hour. So it is, precious rum! And if Railsford has known the names all along and kept them quiet, it's not likely to make things better for him that we have discovered them on our own account. Anyhow, I'm bound to report a thing like this at once, and it's barely possible it may turn something up for Railsford." As he crossed the quadrangle a cab drove in, and set down a tall, elderly gentleman, who, after looking about him, advanced towards the prefect, and said,-- "Can you direct me to the head-master's house?" "Yes, sir," said Ainger, "I'm going there myself. It's this way." It wasn't often strangers made so early a call at Grandcourt. "A fine old building, this," said the gentleman; "how many houses are there?" "Eight," said Ainger. "And whose do you belong to?" "Railsford's. That's his, behind us." "And which is Mr Bickers?" "This must be the father of one of Bickers' fellows," thought Ainger. "That one next to ours," he replied. The gentleman looked up at the house in an interested way, and then relapsed into silence and walked gravely with his guide to the doctor's. The doctor's waiting-room was not infrequently tenanted by more than one caller on business at that hour of the morning. For between nine and ten he was at home to masters and prefects and ill-conducted boys; and not a few of the latter knew by painful experience that a good deal of serious business was often crowded into that short space of time. This morning, however, there was only one occupant when Ainger and the gentleman were ushered in. That occupant was Railsford. "Why, Ainger," said the master, scarcely noticing the stranger, "I did not expect you here. What are you come for?" "To report a boy." "Which one, and for what? Is it a bad case?" "It's Munger, sir, for being one of the party who assaulted Bickers last term." Railsford started. And it was an odd thing that the gentleman, although his back was turned, did so too. "How did you discover that?" said the master. Ainger briefly explained, and the gentleman, evidently disturbed in his mind, walked to the window. When the conference between the other two had ended the latter turned abruptly and said,-- "Excuse me, but I accidentally overheard you just now mention a matter in which I am very much interested. In fact, it is about it that I am here to see Dr Ponsford at present." At that moment the doctor entered the room. The other two naturally gave way to the visitor, who accordingly advanced and greeted the head- master. "Allow me to introduce myself, Dr Ponsford; I dare say you do not remember me. My name is Branscombe. You know, of course, the painful business on which I have come." "I hope, Mr Branscombe, your son is no worse. We should be sorry to lose him. We looked upon him as a promising boy." The gentleman looked hard at the doctor. "You surely say this to spare my feelings. Dr Ponsford. Of course I understand my son can never return here." "Is that so? I am truly sorry." "You would be the last to wish him to return to a school in which his name has been so disgraced." It was the doctor's turn to look astonished. "Disgraced? Branscombe was always one of our model boys." "Until last term," said the father. "I don't understand you," said the doctor. "Surely, Dr Ponsford, you know by this time my son's offence. I do not attempt to excuse it. He voluntarily took the only right step to take in his position by confessing." "Pardon me," said the doctor, "but I still do not understand. What confession do you refer to?" "Has not Mr Bickers communicated the contents of my son's letter to him, written two days ago? He must have received it yesterday morning. In it my boy confessed that he, assisted by two others, had been the author of the outrage on Mr Bickers last term. He is deeply repentant, and wishes by this confession to put right all the mischief which has resulted from his act. But surely Mr Bickers has shown you the letter?" "He has neither shown me it nor mentioned it." "Is it possible? My boy was so anxious and restless about the affair that I promised him to come down and see you; fully expecting that long before now you would have been made acquainted with everything. Would it trouble you to send for Mr Bickers?" "Certainly," said the doctor. Then, turning to Ainger and Railsford, he said, "Would you two come again later on? and on your way, Ainger, will you ask Mr Bickers to come here?" "Excuse me, doctor," said Mr Branscombe, "but I should much prefer if these two gentlemen remained. I believe, in fact, that--although I do not know them--they have come to see you on this same business that I have." "Perhaps, Railsford--" began the doctor, when his visitor broke in, "Railsford! Is this Railsford? Why, to be sure, now I look at you. How ungrateful you must have thought me! but you slipped away so suddenly that day when Mrs Branscombe and I arrived, that in our excitement and anxiety we scarcely had time to look at you; much less to thank you. Indeed, it was only lately my son told me how devotedly you had tended him; and it breaks his heart now to think that you, of all persons, have suffered almost more than anybody by what he did. Surely, sir, Mr Bickers showed _you_ his letter?" "No, I have not seen or heard of it," said Railsford. "But I know what you say your son has now confessed; and have known it since the time of his illness. Dr Ponsford, I am at liberty now to explain myself; may I do so?" "Certainly," said the doctor sternly. Railsford thereupon gave an account of the boy's sudden illness, and of the accidental manner in which he had learned, from the boy's delirious talk, of his own guilt and the guilt of his confederates. "I could not but regard a secret so acquired as sacred," said he; "and even though by keeping it I was actually shielding criminals, I should have been a greater traitor to betray them than to shield them." "May I say, sir," put in Ainger at this point, "that the prefects in our house last night received a confession from Munger, which corresponds exactly with what Mr Branscombe says?" "Except that I did not mention the names of the other two culprits," said Mr Branscombe. "My son did not even name them to me." "Munger was not so particular. He says Clipstone suggested the affair, and assisted Branscombe to carry it out; while he himself held the light and helped drag Mr Bickers into the boot-box. That was what I had come to report to you now, sir," added he to the head-master. Dr Ponsford looked half stunned with this cascade of revelations and explanations. Then he went up to Railsford and took his hand. "I am thankful indeed that all this has happened now--in time. A few hours more, and it would have come too late to prevent a great injustice to you, Railsford. Ainger, go for Mr Bickers, and come back with him." Mr Bickers had a tolerable inkling of what awaited him, and when he found himself confronted with all the overwhelming evidence which was crowded that morning into the doctor's waiting-room, he hauled down his colours without even coming to close quarters. "Yes," said he sullenly, "I did keep back the letter. I considered it better for Grandcourt and everyone that Mr Railsford should go than that this old affair should be settled. After all, I was the person chiefly interested in it, and if I didn't choose to do what would vindicate myself, I had a right to do so. My opinion is that there will be no peace at Grandcourt while Mr Railsford is here. If he is now to remain, I shall consider it my duty to resign." "I hope not, Mr Bickers," said Railsford. "Now that this unhappy secret is cleared up, why shouldn't we forget the past, and work together for the future? I promise for myself and my house to do our best." "Thank you," said Mr Bickers dryly. "The offer is a tempting one, but it is not good enough. Good-morning." Late that afternoon Mr Bickers drove away in the cab which had come to take Mr Railsford. It was an occasion for rejoicing to nobody--for everybody agreed with Railsford that it would have been possible even yet to make a fresh start and work together for the good of the school. But, as Mr Bickers thought otherwise, no one complained of him for leaving. Another cab came on the following day for Clipstone, whose departure was witnessed with rather more regret, because he was a good cricketer, and not quite as bad a fellow as he often tried to make out. His expulsion was a salutary warning to one or two who had looked up to him as a model--amongst them to Munger, who, transferred, with a heavy bad mark against his name, to Mr Roe's house, thought over his former ways, and tried, as well as a cad of his temper can do, to improve them in the future. Jason surely was making his fortune fast. For the very next day yet one more cab drove into the square, and, after a brief halt, drove away with Felgate. He left Grandcourt regretted by none, least of all by Arthur Herapath, who, with a beef-steak on his cheek and linseed poultice over his temple, whooped defiantly at the retreating cab from his dormitory window, and began to feel better and better as the rumble of the wheels gradually receded and finally lost itself in the distance. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. "DULCE DOMUM." The great 20th day of July had come round at last, and Arthur Herapath was in an unwonted flutter of excitement. For was not this speech-day, and were not Mr and Mrs Herapath and Daisy due by the 9.40 train? Ever since, a week ago, Arthur had heard that he had run a dead heat for the Swift Exhibition with Smythe of the School-House, he had not known which end of him was uppermost. He envied neither Smedley his gold medal nor Barnworth his Cavendish scholarship. He condoled patronisingly with Ainger on not having quite beaten the captain of the school, and virtually hinted to Wake, who had won the first remove into the Sixth, that, if he cared to come and sit at his feet, he might be able to put him up to a thing or two for Plumtre medal next Christmas. Sir Digby was scarcely less elevated; for he had won the Shell History prize by a deal of tremendous hard work. And as he had never done such a thing in his life before, he scarcely knew what to make of it. Fellows told him there must have been an awful shady lot in against him; but that didn't satisfactorily explain the great mystery. Railsford told him it was the reward of downright work; and he inclined to think such was the case himself. Arthur of course gibed at the idea. "All gammon," said he. "It's a lucky fluke for you, and I'm glad for your _mater's_ sake. But I wouldn't say too much about it if I were you. It'll make the fellows grin." "Why should they grin at me any more than you?" "Well, you see, I was in the running for the Swift. They put it down to me last term, so I was bound to pull it off." "You only pulled off half of it, you know," said Dig. Arthur looked not quite pleased at this reference, but laughed it off. "Oh, of course, I can't object to go halves with young Smythe. If I'd known he was quite so hot on it, I might have spurted a bit more. But I'm glad I didn't, poor young beggar. He'd have been precious cut up to miss it." "What about that boat on the river?" asked Dig, who did not swallow the whole of this. "Are you going to buy the front or back half of it?" "Young Oakshott," said Arthur, with all the dignity of a Swift exhibitioner, "don't you make a bigger ass of yourself than you can help." The term had ended well for Railsford's house. Although restored to their equal rights with the rest of Grandcourt, the spirit of enterprise and achievements which had been born during the troubles of last term survived, and begot an equal spirit in the other houses, who felt their _prestige_ in danger from the bold challenge of these latest aspirants. The match of Railsford's against the School did not come off; for the Athletic Union, of which Railsford had been chosen president by acclamation, decided to limit the contests to house matches only. But though deprived of an opportunity of asserting themselves against all Grandcourt--which might have been of doubtful benefit--the house beat successively the School-house, Roe's and Grover's houses, and, as everyone had foreseen, ended the term as the crack cricket house of the school. How they would fulfil their other and more ambitious scheme of becoming the "cock house" for studies, remained much longer a doubtful question. No one of course supposed for a moment they would carry off all the prizes they entered for; and, after the removal of the ban upon the house, it was pretty generally calculated they they would do a great deal less than they would have done under the old order of things. But Railsford was not the man to allow the house to rest on their oars because of a single success. Surely, he represented, it was not to go out to all the school that Railsford's fellows could only work when they were in a bad temper? Glorious as it would have been to clear the prize list when they were isolated and sulky, it would be still more glorious to show that not less could they do it when they were in good cheer and shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the school. Besides, if they won all the athletic events and none of the scholastic, people would be sure to say any fools can excel in sports if they let all their books go by the board. Thus Railsford whipped up his house to their great effort, and the result was that to-day's prize list showed that nearly half the honours of the examinations had fallen to Railsford's boys. Not a few there were who looked gloomy that the result was no better. They grudged the school the other half. But there was no gloom on the master's face as he read the list down and saw the reward of his labours. He was proud, but his pride was not on account of Mark Railsford, as six months ago it might have been, but of every boy, senior and junior, who had put his back gallantly into the work and made a name for the good old house. But this is a tedious digression to make, while Arthur and the baronet are putting on their Sunday "togs" and brushing up their Sunday "tiles" preparatory to going down to meet the 9.40 train from London. They were up to the business; they had done it before; they knew how essential it was to engage half a dozen cabs off different parts of the rank, so as to be sure of getting one; and, not for the first time in their lives they "bagged" three or four porters in advance with a similar object. The platform, as usual, was full of Courtiers waiting for their "people," and many was the passage of arms our Shell-fish engaged in to beguile the time. "Hullo! here's a lark," said Arthur, presently, when the arrival bell had just sounded, "here's Marky--do you see him? I say! won't he blush when Daisy goes and kisses him before all the fellows!" "Look out," said the baronet, "here comes the scrimmage." The train was steaming into the station, and as usual the boys all along the platform began to run; and woe betide those who either did not run too, or were not lucky enough to get a perch on the footboard. Our young gentlemen were far too knowing to suffer disadvantage through neglect of one or another of these simple expedients. "Here they are!" yelled Arthur, waving to his chum; "spotted them first shot! Go on, Simson, cut your sticks off this step; these are all my people in here. How are you? Dig's here; we've got a cab. Fetch up some of our porters, Dig, I say." Amid such effusive greetings Mr and Mrs Herapath and Miss Daisy Herapath alighted and fell into the arms--or rather, civilly shook hands with their son. "Hullo, Daisy! Marky's here. There he comes. Here she is, Mr Railsford; here's Daisy! I say, Daisy," added he, in a confidential whisper, "you'd better not kiss him before all the fellows. Wait till you get up to our study." Railsford arrived before this piece of fraternal counsel was ended, and solved the difficulty by quietly shaking hands all round, and asking Mrs Herapath if she had had a comfortable journey. Arthur had the mortification of seeing five out of his six cabs drive gaily off under his very nose with other fellows' people inside; and his temper was also further ruffled when all his porters waited on him at the door of the sixth for their fee; however, he had the presence of mind to tell them to wait till he came back in the evening, and then, slamming the cab door, hopped up on the box beside the driver--no Grandcourt boy had ever been known to ride inside a four-wheeler with his people--and drove off. It was a gay scene in the great quadrangle that summer morning--fathers, mothers, sisters, cousins, and aunts were all mixed up in one glorious crowd, with their boys mounting guard over them and introducing them right and left to all the other boys within call. Mr and Mrs Herapath, like their son, were up to the business, and quietly led the way through the throng towards the hall where the speeches were to be delivered and where, as they knew by experience, it was better to look for a seat too early than too late. Arthur and Dig, however, were by no means disposed to waste Daisy in so unprofitable an occupation, and therefore haled her off to their study. Some of us, who know the young lady, are able to excuse the pride with which these two gallant tenders towed their prize into port--for as Dig shared Arthur's study, of course he shared his sister on this occasion. It wanted a very few dropping and facetious introductions on the way, such as, "Daisy, you know, my sister," or "What cheer, Sherry?--ever hear of Chuckey?" or, "No good, Maple, my boy, bespoke!" to set the rumour going that Daisy Herapath, Marky's "spoon," was come, and was "on show" in Herapath's study. To her credit be it said, the young lady bore her ordeal with exemplary patience and good-humour. She liked everything she saw. She admired the study so much. What a pretty look-out on the old square--what a luxurious lunch--ah! Arthur had not forgotten her weakness for marmalade--and so on. The boys voted her a brick; and Arthur went so far as to say he hoped she and Marky would fix it up in time for her to come and be dame of the house before he left. All this time--would you believe it?--the poor Master of the Shell was sitting in his study, very bashful, and wondering whether he would get a chance of speaking to Daisy during the day at all. She had been spirited away from under his very eyes, in the most truculent manner, by her graceless brother; and it seemed very doubtful whether he would be allowed-- Mrs Hastings at this moment knocked at the door and handed in a dainty little note addressed to "Mark Railsford, Esquire," from the doctor's niece. "Dear Mr Railsford," wrote Miss Violet, "will you and Miss Herapath join us at lunch before the speeches? I should so like to make her acquaintance. "Yours truly,-- "Violet Ponsford." So Railsford, armed with this authority, sallied forth boldly to recapture his Daisy. He thought he knew where to find her, and was not mistaken. The little impromptu lunch was in full swing when he entered the festive study. He had rarely felt so embarrassed, and the manifest excitement of his two pupils at his arrival did not tend to restore him to ease. And now occurred a wonderful case of presence of mind on the part of two small and tender boys. No sooner had Railsford entered, and somewhat hesitatingly advanced to the table, preparatory to stating his business, than Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, winked at Arthur Herapath, Esquire, and Arthur Herapath, Esquire, kicked Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, under the table; after which both rose abruptly to their feet and bolted from the room, making the corridor echo with their laughter! They explained afterwards that they wanted to bag front seats for the speeches; and that, no doubt, was a highly satisfactory reason. At twelve o'clock, when the Earl of Somebody, and Sir Brown Robinson, and the other local celebrities and governors of the school entered the hall, that usually dingy room was packed from end to end by a brilliant and expectant crowd. The radiant faces of the boys peeped out from among the phalanges of their no less radiant people. The prize boys on the front benches kept up a running fire of talk and cheering; the masters in their gowns beamed right and left, as if all of them put together could not give a fellow a hundred lines if he asked for it; and the college servants, grouped at the doors, smiled as if no cloud had ever ruffled their temper since last speech-day: while the doctor, as he rose, resplendent in his academical robes, and called for silence, looked as if no more solemn question had engaged his attention all the term than the arrangement of his strings and the droop of the scarlet hood on his back. Then speech-day began. My readers hardly want me to describe so familiar a scene. They will be able to picture to themselves, better than I can picture it for them, how Smedley was cheered when he got up to deliver the English Oration in honour of the old school; and how he blushed and ran short of breath when he came to the quotation from Milton at the end, which had something about a Violet in it!--how, when Ainger rose to give the Greek Speech, his own fellows rose at him amid cries of "Well run, sir!" "Well hit!" "Well fielded!" and cheered every sentence of the Greek, though they had not an idea what it was about--how Barnworth was similarly encouraged through his Latin Oration with cries of "Jump it out!" "One inch more!" mingled sometimes with "False quantity!" "Speak up, prompter!"--how, after the speechifying was done, the examiners rose and made their reports, which nobody listened to and everyone voted a bore. How, next, Dr Ponsford rose with a rustle of his silk gown, which was heard all over the hall in the dead silence, and proceeded to tell the Earl of Somebody and the other distinguished guests what everybody knew, namely, that the school had now come to the end of another year's work, and etcetera, etcetera. But how, when he took up his list, and the tables containing the prizes were wheeled forward and uncovered, attention once more awoke, the boys on the prize benches settled their cravats, and felt if their hair-partings were all right, and then sat back in their places with a delightful simulation of indifference-- The reader knows all about it; he has been through it. He knows the cheers which hailed the announcement that Smedley was going up to Oxford with a Balliol scholarship in his pocket, and that Ainger had won one of the minor scholarships at George's. He does not need to be told of the shouts which greeted the appearance of boy after boy from Railsford's house on the platform steps to receive his prize; or of the grim smile on the doctor's face as a youthful voice from the prize benches, forgetting the solemnity of the occasion, shouted, "Marky again, bravo us!" Nor when presently Arthur Herapath was called up to receive a piece of paper informing him that he was the winner of half the Swift Exhibition, or when, close behind, Digby Oakshott--the doctor scurrilously omitted his full title--trotted up to accept the Shell History prize--can anyone who has been in such a scene before fail to imagine the cheers and laughter and chaff which the public appearance of these two notorious characters evoked? So the ceremony went on--and the reader, I think, can bear me out when I say that, after an hour of it, I distinctly saw--for I was there, near the front--several ladies yawn behind their fans, and otherwise show signs of fatigue, so that when the poor little Babies, who had done as honest work as anybody, toddled up to get their little prizes, scarcely anybody looked at them, and were glad when they were polished off. Which I thought a shame; and resolved, whenever I am head-master of a public school, I shall turn my prize list upside down and call the Babies up first. It was all over at last; and then followed that wonderful event, the speech-day dinner, when boys and visitors all sat down promiscuously to the festive board and celebrated the glories of the day with a still more glorious spread. Arthur and Dig were in high feather. They had, I am sorry to say, "shunted" their progenitors up to the doctor's table, and, in the congenial society of some of their own "lot," were jammed in at one of the side tables, with just elbow-room enough to do execution. Arthur was comfortably packed between Sherriff's sister and Maple's second cousin, and cheered by game pie and mellowed by ginger ale, made himself vastly agreeable. "See that chap with the sandy wig!" said he to Miss Sherriff, "he's a baronet--Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, A.S.S., P.I.G., and nobody knows what else--he's my chum; aren't you, Dig? Sherriff's sister, you know, make yourself civil, can't you? Dig can make you laugh sometimes," added he, aside, to his fair neighbour. Then his genial eye roamed up and down the room and lit up suddenly as he perceived, with their backs to him, Railsford and Daisy dining happily at the next table. He gave a whistle to Dig, and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. Dig, who was in the middle of a pull at the ginger ale, put down his tankard suddenly and crammed his handkerchief into his mouth. "Such a game!" said Arthur to Maple's second cousin on his right. "Look round, behind you. Do you see them?" "See whom?" asked the young lady. "Those two. Regular pair of spoons; look at him helping her to raspberry pie. Oh, my word!" "Who are they?" asked his neighbour, laughing. But Arthur was at that moment busy attracting the attention of all his friends within call, and indicating to them in pantomimic gesture what was going on. "Oh," said he, hearing the question at last, "that's Marky, our house- master, you know; and he's spoons on my sister Daisy--just see how they're going it. Do you want to be introduced to my sister? I say, I'll--" "Oh, no indeed, not yet," said the young lady in alarm, "presently, please." "All right. Dig, I say, pass the word down to those fellows to fill up their mugs, do you hear? And fill up Sherriff's sister's mug too, and all those girls' down there. Look out now, and keep your eye on me." Whereupon he rose and made a little speech, partially audible to those immediately round him, but supremely inaudible to the two parties specially concerned behind. "We're going to drink a toast," said Arthur. "I vote we drink the health of jolly old Marky and my sister Daisy; there they are behind, going the pace like a house on fire. Gentlemen and ladies, I vote we drink their very good health, and the sooner Daisy's the dame of Railsford's the better larks for us." The toast was honoured with much enthusiasm; and there were loud cries for a speech in return. But the Master of the Shell was making speeches of quite another kind, and utterly unconscious of the flattering little demonstration which was taking place behind him; he was telling Daisy in whispers the story of the term, and feeling himself rewarded for all he had gone through by her sympathetic smile. The dinner ended at last, and but one more ceremony remained. This was the time-honoured cheering with which speech-day at Grandcourt always came to an end. Smedley and the prefects walked in procession to the head table and ranged themselves behind the head governor's chair, while everyone stood up. "Three cheers for Grandcourt!" called the captain. And you may fancy the earthquake that ensued. Then in regular order followed-- "Three cheers for the doctor!" "Three cheers for Miss Violet!" "Three cheers for the governors!" Then again, in regular order, the captain of each house stepped forward and called for three cheers for his own house, all of which were vigorously given--each house being on its mettle to drown all the others. Last in the list Ainger stepped forward and called for "Three cheers for Railsford's!" Then Arthur and Dig and the rest of the house got upon their chairs and put their backs into the shout; and everyone allowed that, whatever else Railsford's wasn't first in, it could carry off the palm for noise. At the end of the third cheer a voice called out,-- "One more for the cock house!" Whereat Arthur and Dig and the rest of them got on their chairs again and yelled till the roof rang. Then amid a multitude of promiscuous cheers for "the captain," "the prefects," "the cook," "Jason," "the school cat," "Thucydides!" and finally for "Dulce Domum!" Grandcourt broke up for the holidays. Let you and me, friendly reader, say good-bye here amid all the cheery bustle and excitement of the crowded quadrangle. It is better to part so than to linger about talking morality till the great square is empty--till the last of the cabs has rumbled away out of hearing--till the echoes of our own voices come back and startle us from behind the chapel buttresses. If we wait till then, we part sadly and miss the promise of a meeting again. But if we part now, while Arthur, on the box of his cab, with his "people" safely stowed inside, is whooping his noisy farewells right and left--while Smedley, with his Balliol scholarship in his pocket, is leaving Grandcourt for good, and casting his last shy look up at the doctor's window--while Messrs. Roe, Grover, and Railsford are talking cheerfully of their Highland trip in August-- while monsieur, humming _Partant pour la Syrie_, is hurrying away to his own dear France and his still dearer little girls--while Ainger and Barnworth, the old and the new captains of Railsford's, are grasping hands at the door--if we part now, we part not as those who bid a long farewell, but as those who think and talk of meeting again. 
42403	----	Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). [oe] represents the oe-ligature. [Illustration: THE FINISH LINE WAS BUT A HUNDRED FEET AWAY.] THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS A Story of College Water Sports by LESTER CHADWICK Author of "The Rival Pitchers," "A Quarter-Back's Pluck," "The Winning Touchdown," "Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars," "Baseball Joe at Yale," etc. Illustrated New York Cupples & Leon Company * * * * * =BOOKS BY LESTER CHADWICK= =THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES= 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. THE RIVAL PITCHERS A QUARTER-BACK'S PLUCK BATTING TO WIN THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS =THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES= 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS Or, The Rivals of Riverside BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE Or, Pitching for the Blue Banner BASEBALL JOE AT YALE Or, Pitching for the College Championship (Other volumes in preparation) _Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York_ * * * * * Copyright, 1913, by Cupples & Leon Company THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS Printed in U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I GREAT NEWS 1 II THE FLOOD 15 III THE MISSING TROPHIES 24 IV IMPLIED ACCUSATION 32 V THE CLUE 45 VI THE PRACTICE SHELL 53 VII THE FIRST TRIAL 62 VIII RUTH'S LOSS 72 IX ON CREST ISLAND 81 X THE GAY HANDKERCHIEF 90 XI THE FIRST BREAK 101 XII A FRIENDLY BRUSH 112 XIII THE LONG VACATION 118 XIV OFF FOR CAMP 126 XV THE OLD GRADUATE 132 XVI THE GIRLS 141 XVII AT PRACTICE 147 XVIII "SENOR BOSWELL" 156 XIX JEALOUSY 162 XX A STRANGE CONFERENCE 174 XXI IN THE SHACK 181 XXII THE PAWN TICKETS 188 XXIII TWO MISSING MEN 194 XXIV BACK AT RANDALL 203 XXV THE NEW SHELLS 209 XXVI "ROW HARD!" 216 XXVII A BRUSH WITH BOXER 242 XXVIII FAINT HEARTS 247 XXIX THE REGATTA 253 XXX A CLOSE FINISH 266 XXXI THE TUB RACE 273 XXXII BOSWELL'S CHANCE 279 XXXIII MENDEZ EXPLAINS 289 XXXIV THE GREAT RACE 297 XXXV THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS 302 THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS CHAPTER I GREAT NEWS "And after this--the deluge, I suppose," quoted Tom Parsons as he gazed moodily out of the window of his study, and watched the raindrops splashing on the ledge, running down the pipe, and forming one of many streams that trickled over the green college campus. "Is it never going to stop?" he went on, turning toward his three chums. "It's rained now----" "Oh, for the love of differential calculus!" cried Phil Clinton, "can't you talk of anything but the weather, Tom? I'm sick of hearing it discussed." "No sicker than I am of hearing it pour," retorted the first speaker. "The rain certainly does seem to stick around," added Sid Henderson, as he endeavored to arise from a decrepit armchair--one of the twins--that added comfort to the college study. "I'm so damp, and altogether gluey, that it's all I can do to get up. Lend me a hand somebody!" he appealed. "'Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears!'" recited Tom in the best schoolboy style. "Can't you manage to assist yourself, Sid; or are you getting too fat?" "Fat! Huh! I guess if you'd trained the way I did for those track games you wouldn't be fat!" was shot out in protest. "Train! Listen to him, Phil. Just because he won his big jump he thinks that's all there is. Why----" "Hold on," put in Phil, quietly. "You fellows will get on each other's nerves if you continue. And you're certainly getting on mine. How do you expect me to bone away if you're going on like this? That fussy alarm clock is bad enough--I don't know why we tolerate the old thing anyhow--but when you two get to scrapping, and this confounded rain never lets up, why it's the extreme edge, so to speak." "It is the rain, I guess," spoke Tom Parsons, in a low voice. "It's enough to get on anyone's nerves. A straight week now," and he drummed on the wet window-pane, while Phil turned over on an old sofa, that creaked dismally, and tried to get a better light on his book. But the gloom outside seemed to have found a place in the study room. "Easy on that ancient and honorable piece of furniture!" cautioned Tom, as he looked anxiously at the sofa, which seemed to groan in protest at Phil's weight. "It won't stand much more mending, and that's no idle dream." "Don't worry," said Phil, easily. "I think as much of this sofa as any of you." "Um!" grunted Tom moodily, as he crossed over to the other armchair and threw himself into it at no small risk of going through the seat. "What's a fellow to do?" he asked. Neither of his chums answered him. Sid had managed to rise without anyone's aid, and was examining a pile of books, as though trying to pick out the one containing the easiest lessons. "Where's Frank?" asked Tom, after a silence. "I saw the Big Californian crossing the campus awhile ago," replied Phil, closing his book and yawning. "He was bundled up in a raincoat, and seemed as chipper as a clam at high tide." "Wish I had the spunk to go out," commented Sid. "The river must be nearly flood-high by this time, with all the water that's fallen." "Water! Ugh! Don't mention it," begged Tom. Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the ticking of the fussy little alarm clock. There was the rustle of the pages, as the two lads, studying, turned to various lessons. Tom got up with an impatient exclamation, and passed into one of the four small bedrooms that opened out of the main study. "I think I'll take a chance and go out!" he announced. "It's as dull as ditchwater in here. You fellows are about as cheerful as a wake." "Um!" grunted Phil. Sid did not take the trouble to reply. "That's right. Be grumpy!" said Tom, sarcastically. Clearly the weather was getting on the nerves of all of them. And small wonder, for it had rained almost steadily for a week, and the stone piles that made up Randall College seemed soaked through to the very wall paper. The campus was like a sponge, and the walks, where they were not gravel, were ribbons of mud. "Lucky we got our Spring games over with, before this flood set in," went on Tom. There was no answer. "What's the matter; have you fellows lost your tongues?" he demanded, sharply. He paused in the act of slipping off a lounging coat preparatory to putting on an outdoor garment. Sid and Phil avoided his glance. At that moment the door into the hall opened and there stepped into the study a big lad, attired in a raincoat, that dripped moisture at every seam. "Hello, Duck!" greeted Sid with a cheerful grin. "Where have you been, Frank?" asked Tom. "I was just coming out to join you." Evidently this was Frank Simpson, the "Big Californian," the reason for the nickname being obvious. "Come ahead--all of you," invited Frank. "It isn't so bad, and I guess it's going to clear up." "I believe you're right!" agreed Tom, and there was an instant change in his voice. "It has almost stopped. Come on!" he cried. "You fellows stop boning, and we'll make a party of it. It's early yet, only the clouds make it seem dark." "Wait a minute," suggested Frank, as he saw that the others were likely to fall in with Tom's idea. "Have you fellows heard the news?" "Has Moses granted a Roman holiday?" asked Sid. "Or has Pitchfork consented to resign?" added Phil. "Neither one. This is the greatest news ever. And it's just the kind of a day to impart it, for it has to do with water. Fellows, do you think Randall could get into the rowing game--I mean as it ought to be gotten into? Do you think we could make up a crew--or two crews for that matter--an eight and four--that could put it all over Boxer Hall and Fairview Academy? Do you think we could turn out some four-and-eight-oared victors?" Frank paused in his enthusiastic questions, and gazed at his chums through a mist of moisture that seemed to emanate from his damp person. "Do you?" he repeated, for they were silent. "What does he mean?" asked Tom. "He speaketh in riddles," added Phil. "Mayhap he but jesteth," came from Sid. "No joke at all," said Frank with a smiling good nature. "This is the very latest news, and I think I'm one of the first fellows to hear it. Listen and I will a tale unfold." "Well, as long as it's only a tale you're going to unfold, and not that wet raincoat, proceed, most noble Brutus," begged Tom. "Oh, let up with the jollying, and let's hear the news," suggested Phil. "In brief, then, it's this," went on Frank. "A number of old grads, who, it seems, used to be fonder of rowing and sculling than anything else when they were at Randall, have had a meeting, and they decided to subscribe ten thousand dollars to fit us up with a dandy boathouse and shells--that is if we'll consent to accept----" "Accept! I guess yes, with running shoes on!" cried Phil. "There's a sort of a string attached to it," went on Frank. "What is it? Do we have to raise an additional ten thousand dollars?" asked Tom, suspiciously. "No, nothing as hard as that. But we have to form a regular rowing association, and promise to work our level best to be the champions of the river and lake. Shall we do it?" For a moment there was silence. And then Tom cried: "Of course we will!" "Why shouldn't we?" demanded Phil. "Say, this is great!" came from Sid. "Randall going to have a crew at last! It's about time. But I say," he went on, "it's too late this term to think of it. Why we only have a few more weeks before the Summer vacation." "I know it," replied Frank, "and the idea is to get things in shape the remainder of this term, and have a regatta early in the Fall, before the football season opens. I think we can induce Boxer Hall and Fairview to enter into that sort of agreement, even if those two colleges do row each other every Spring." "Good idea," commented Tom. "Say, Frank, how comes it that you know all this?" asked Sid. "Merely by accident," answered the Big Californian. "I was coming across the campus just now, plowing along through the water with my head down, and I ran plump into Moses and Dr. Marshall. I begged their pardons, of course, and was about to go on when Moses, looking at the doctor, said: "'Perhaps we had better tell him, and have him sound some of the others.'" "I began to pick up my ears at that and wonder what was in the wind. And when Dr. Marshall came back with: 'It wouldn't be a bad idea,' I knew something was up. The upshot of it was that Moses took me into his confidence. Ahem!" and Frank swelled up his chest. "Go on, you rooster!" commanded Tom. "Tell us about the crew," begged Sid. "Well, that's it. Dr. Churchill said he had just received the offer from a number of the wealthy old grads. who, it seems, got together, had a sort of meeting, and voted that the decline of water activity at Randall College was a shame. "It seems that they used to be regular sharks at rowing in their day, and they passed a resolution that, whereas Randall had done well at baseball, football and in track athletics, nevertheless she was a back number when it came to rowing. "Therefore, 'be it resolved, and it is hereby resolved,' and all that sort of thing, you know. Then they subscribed the ten thousand dollars, and the only condition is that we promise to do our best to become champions." "Which we'll do without question," said Tom. "Of course," added Phil. "But it's going to take a lot of work," commented Sid. "We'll need all the time between now and Fall to get in shape. But what can we practice in? We haven't any decent shells." "We can get some second-hand ones for practice," said Frank, "and I understand the old grads will have the new ones ready for us in the Fall, together with the new boathouse. We can also practice during our vacation." "Good!" cried Tom. "It makes me feel better already. I want to get out on the water right now." "And a little while ago you thought there was altogether too much water," commented Phil, drily. "Oh, well," excused Tom, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I say, it is clearing!" he cried. "Come on down and get into a boat. Even one of the old tubs will answer, and we can talk this thing over." "That's what I came in to propose," said Frank. "As we are among the older students here, it will be sort of up to us to spread the idea. I think everybody will take to it, though." "It's about time we took a fall out of Boxer Hall on the water," declared Sid. "Fairview isn't in it so much, though she came mighty near beating Boxer in the eight one year." The rain had ceased, there probably being no more water left in the sky, as Sid remarked. The four chums--the "Inseparables," as they were called, slipped off their lounging jackets--at least Sid and Phil did, for Tom already had done so--and soon all were on their way to Sunny River, on the bank of which the various buildings of Randall College were situated. Over the soggy campus they took their way, meeting no one, for no one else seemed to have the courage to venture out. Though the institution had not boasted of a rowing association, or crew, in some years, there was a boathouse, and a number of craft owned by the students, and it was toward this structure that our friends betook themselves. "Let's take the big barge," suggested Tom. "Then we can all get in it and talk." "It's as heavy as lead," complained Phil. "It will be all right rowing down stream, but coming back we'll have a hard pull." "What of it?" demanded Frank. "It will be good practice for us if we're going to try for the crew." "That's right, we will have to make tries to see who are the best oarsmen," remarked Tom. "I wonder if Mr. Lighton is a good coach when it comes to rowing? I know he's all right at football and baseball, but----" "I believe Dr. Churchill mentioned that if we took up this offer, one of the old grads, who was a crackerjack oarsman in his day, might come and give us some pointers," put in Frank. "Well, let's get out. Say, but the river is high, though," Tom exclaimed, as they came in sight of the stream. The rain of the past week had raised it considerably, and it was now rushing swiftly along, a muddy stream, far from bearing out its name--Sunny. "The barge is as safe as a ferry-boat," commented Sid. "It can't upset." "All right, I'm game," declared Tom. "Let's row down to Tonoka Lake, and see what's going on there." This lake was a large body of water into which the river emptied--in fact it was more like the widening of the stream than a real lake, but a lake it was called in spite of that. In its centre was Crest Island, of good size. Soon the four students were in the barge, a four-oared craft, with enough seats so that the quartette could row with an oar each, after the manner of those in a shell. "Take out the rudder," directed Frank. "We'll have to make our own course, for it can't be worked by one's feet as in a four-oared shell." Phil unshipped the rudder, and they rowed out into the middle of the stream. It was easy going down with the current, but they realized that it would be harder coming back. However, they were out for practice as much as anything else, and did not mind a stiff pull. "I wonder what sort of a stroke we pull?" said Tom, as they rowed on. "Oh, we probably have lots of faults," admitted Frank. "But they can be corrected." "It's a pretty big chunk to bite off--to think of beating Boxer Hall, where the fellows have been rowing for years, and we just starting in," commented Sid. "Oh, stranger things have happened," declared Tom. "We can do it." Then began a spirited discussion of the splendid offer that had been made to Randall, and a talk as to what the other students would think of it. The four chums were enthusiastic over the prospect. "Say," called Tom, after a bit. "This is all right, and lots of fun, but we've come down quite a way, and we've got to think of going back. This current is fierce." "Quitter!" called Phil. "Nothing of the sort--I've got common-sense," was the retort. "Tom is right," said Frank Simpson, in a quiet voice. "We mustn't overdo the thing. It is going to be a stiffish pull back, and we don't want to be late for dinner--I don't anyhow." They had rowed down to where the river widened into the lake. There was a Summer picnic ground near here, and on the higher slopes of land, back from the water, were a number of fine residences, the estates running down to the shore edge. Many of the places had boathouses. As the boys came opposite one of these they saw a small motor-boat turn in toward a shelter, the doors of which were open. There was a lone man in the boat, and he skillfully directed her course across the current. "Let's pull over there and rest before going back," suggested Sid, and the others agreed. They reached the boathouse and dock in time to see the man in the motor-boat close and lock the door, with his craft inside. Apparently he did not notice the boys, who were working to get in on the downstream side of the float, so they could be out of the current for a little while. "There," remarked the man from the motor-boat, as he walked out of the shore-door of the house, also locking that after him, "I guess things will be safe in there until I come back. I won't be gone long. Maybe I ought to take them with me but they're heavy, and I've got to go up hill--I guess I'll leave them," and he started up the slope from the river, toward a fine residence on the hill. "He must have money in the bank--talking to himself that way," remarked Tom, in a low voice. "I wonder what it is he's leaving in his boat?" spoke Phil. "He trusts us, anyhow," laughed Frank. "He didn't see us," came from Sid. "Anyhow the place is locked." The boys rested there by the boathouse for several minutes. Tom was about to propose that they start back, for it looked cloudy again, as if the rain would begin once more. But before he could mention this fact Sid exclaimed: "Here comes the Boxer Hall shell! Say, look at those fellows row!" "They are hitting up the pace!" agreed Frank. All looked to see a fine eight-oared shell fairly scudding over the water under the impulse of the sixteen sturdy arms of the rowers. "We'll soon be doing that," said Phil, in a low voice. And then some of the lads in the shell looked over and saw our friends. CHAPTER II THE FLOOD "Hello, you fellows!" called Dave Ogden, who was acting as the coxswain of the shell, waving his megaphone at them. "Out for practice?" and he grinned as he looked at the heavy barge. "Yes, we're getting ready to order a new shell," answered Tom. "Ha! Ha! That's pretty good. Maybe you think you can beat us rowing!" and Dave looked not a little proudly at the eight lads whose efforts he had been directing. They had been out for a spin on the lake, and were now coming back rather leisurely. "We will beat you--some day!" declared Frank. "Maybe you'd better not tell them about our shell until we get it," suggested Tom, in a low voice. "Oh, they'll have to know it some time or other," declared Frank. "It will be all over the college in a day or so, and Boxer Hall is sure to learn of it. Besides, I want to get things stirred up a bit. But they'll only think we're joking, so far." The eight-oared shell passed on with a sweep, the rowers making good time against the current. But then the craft was so much like a knife that it offered scarcely any resistance to the water. "Row easy, all!" came the command from Dave Ogden, and the rowers reduced the number of their strokes per minute. They were closer to shore now, and out of the worst grip of the current. The coxswain waved his megaphone at our friends in a friendly fashion, and then gave his attention to his crew. Though there was rivalry--sometimes bitter--between Randall and Boxer Hall, the students were, for the most part, very friendly. "Jove! It will be great to get in that game!" exclaimed Tom with a sigh, as he watched the rival's shell. "And we'll do it, too!" declared Frank, earnestly. "Well, let's be getting back," suggested Sid; and the others agreed that this might be a wise thing to do. And while they are returning to college I will, in order that my new readers may have a better understanding of the characters, tell something of the books that precede this in the "College Sports Series." Our first volume was called "The Rival Pitchers," and told how Tom Parsons, then a raw country lad, came to Randall College, with the idea of getting on the baseball nine. He succeeded, but it was only after a hard struggle and bitter rivalry. Tom made good against heavy odds. The second volume had to deal with college football, under the title, "A Quarter-back's Pluck," and in that I related how Phil Clinton, under trying circumstances, won the championship gridiron battle for his eleven. "Batting to Win," the third book of the series, was, as the title indicates, a baseball story. Besides the accounts of the diamond contests, there was related the manner in which was solved a queer mystery surrounding Sid Henderson. Going back to football interests, in the fourth book, "The Winning Touchdown," there will be found many accounts of pigskin matters. Also how Tom Parsons, and his chums, saved the college from ruin in a strange manner. The book immediately preceding this volume was "For the Honor of Randall," and while it was, in the main, a story of various college athletics, there is detailed how a certain charge, involving the honor of Frank Simpson, and incidentally his college, was disproved. My old readers know much about Randall, but I might mention, for the benefit of my new friends, that the college was located on the outskirts of the town of Haddonfield, in the middle west. Near the institution ran Sunny River, as I have said, and it was on this stream, and the connecting lake, that it was proposed to have Randall enter into aquatic sports. Randall, Boxer Hall and Fairview Institute--the latter a co-educational college--had formed the Tonoka Lake League in athletics, though in rowing only the two latter colleges had competed. But this was soon to be changed. At the head of Randall was Dr. Albertus Churchill, dubbed Moses, in affectionate terms. Dr. Emerson Tines, alias "Pitchfork," was head Latin instructor, and Mr. Andrew Zane was proctor. Dr. Marshall was a physician in residence, and also gave instruction in various lines. Tom, Phil, Sid and Frank roomed together. Formerly they had had a large single dormitory to themselves, doing their studying there, and going from there to classes, lectures or chapel--but not the latter when it could conveniently be "cut." In the book just before this I told of the Spring track games in which Randall had managed to come out the victor. These had been past a week or two when the present story opens. Just after the games there had been thrown open to the use of the students a new dormitory, and study-building, with rooms arranged _en suite_, and the four chums had taken a large central apartment, with bedrooms opening from it. This gave them a much more convenient place than formerly. But, if they changed their room, they did not change the furniture--at least they kept all the old, though getting some new. Among the former, were the two ancient armchairs, known to my readers, and the decrepit sofa, which had been mended until it seemed that nothing of the original was there. And then there was the alarm clock, which served to awaken the lads--that is, when they did not stop it from ticking by jabbing a toothpick somewhere up in the interior mechanism. As for the friends of our heroes they were many, and their enemies few. You will meet them, old as well as new, as the story progresses. "There sure is some water!" exclaimed Tom, as he gazed from shore to shore of the turbulent stream. "And it's getting higher," added Phil. "And going to rain more," came from Sid. "Oh, there'll be a flood sure, if you calamity-howlers have your way," remarked Frank. "Give way there! What are you doing, Phil--stalling on me?" "Say, who made you the coxswain, anyhow?" demanded the aggrieved one. The boys reached Randall just as the downpour began again, but their spirits had been raised by the row, and by the good news which Frank had heard. It was confirmed a little later by an announcement on the bulletin board, calling for a meeting of the athletic committee, within a few days, to consider the matter. "Say, this is going to be great!" cried Holly Cross, one of the football squad. "Rowing is something Randall always needed." "And she needs rowers, too, don't forget that, Holly, me lad!" exclaimed Bricktop Molloy, a genial Irish lad who was taking a post-graduate course, after an absence of some time at Columbia and with a mining concern. Some said he came back to Randall merely because he loved her athletics so, but Bricktop, with a ruffling up of his red hair would say, half-savagely: "I deny the allegation, sir, and I defy the alligator!" an old joke but a good one. "Oh, we'll get the rowers," was the confident declaration of many, and then the lads, gathering in the gymnasium, or in the rooms of one and another, talked over the coming rowing contests. It rained all night, and part of the next day, and then seemed to clear off for good. "What about another spin on the river?" asked Tom, after his last lecture. "I'm ready for it." "So am I," declared Sid, and the remaining two fell into line. Several other lads agreed to accompany the four inseparables, and soon quite a group was headed for the river. "Say, look at that; would you!" cried Phil, as they came in sight of the stream. "That's a flood all right!" "I should say so!" remarked Tom. "Why, it's almost up to the doors of the boathouse, and it hasn't been that high in years!" "Some water," agreed Frank. "I wonder if it's safe to go out? Look at that current!" "Safe! Of course it's safe!" exclaimed Phil. "I've seen it worse." "But not with so much wreckage in the river," added Tom. "Look at those big logs. If one of them even hit the barge it would smash a hole in it." "There's part of a chicken-coop!" cried Sid, pointing to the object floating down the river. "Yes, and there's half a cow-shed, if I'm any judge," went on Frank. "The river sure is high," conceded Phil. "I did want to take a run down to Fairview, and see Sis, but----" "See your sister!" jeered Sid. "I know who you want to see down there all right," for while Phil's sister, Ruth, attended the co-educational institution, so did Madge Tyler, of whom Phil was very fond, and also Mabel Harrison, in whom Sid was more than ordinarily interested. Besides, there were "others." "I was going to row down," declared Phil, stoutly. "But I can go by trolley." "Oh, let's try a little row," suggested Tom. "If we find the current is too strong, we can come back and take a car. I'd like to see the girls." "Brave youth! To admit that!" exclaimed Frank. "I fancy we all would. Well, let's get out the boat." But they found the flood too much for them. Venturing only a little way out from shore they were gripped in the current with such force that they saw it would be folly to proceed. Accordingly, they put back, as did their companions in other boats. As they were tying up at the boathouse, Wallops, one of the college messengers, came in. "Did you hear about it?" he demanded, apparently much excited. "About what?" he was asked. "A lot of boathouses down the river have been washed away in the flood," he went on. "The small one at Boxer Hall came near going, but they anchored it with ropes. One of their small shells was smashed. Oh, it's a bad flood all right!" "Well, we can't help it," said Tom. "I guess the trolley cars are still running. Come on, fellows, if we're going to Fairview Institute." So, leaving the boathouse, they started for the trolley line. "We'll take a row down the river to-morrow, and see what damage the flood did," called Sid to Wallops, as they moved away. They little realized what they would find, or what part it would play in the history of Randall. CHAPTER III THE MISSING TROPHIES "Boys, you really must go!" "Oh, can't we stay just a bit longer?" "No, not another minute. Miss Philock has sent up twice to say that you've stayed long enough." "I think her clock is wrong." "We haven't been here ten minutes." "Oh, Sid Henderson! Why, it's over half an hour!" exclaimed Mabel Harrison. "And he's the fellow who didn't use to like the girls!" said Tom, with conviction. "Oh, Rome, how art thou fallen!" "Cut it out!" growled Sid, under his breath. The four chums had called on their friends and Phil's sister at Fairview Institute, and the result can easily be imagined by the foregoing conversation. There had been jolly talk, a telling of the new chance that had unexpectedly come to Randall, and then the appeal of the girls that the boys must go--not because the girls wanted them to--but because Miss Philock, the head of the co-educational institution, deemed it necessary. "But we can come again; can't we?" asked Frank, as they paused at the door. Somewhere down the corridor a thin lady, with thin lips, was narrowly watching the group of young people. "Sure we can come again!" declared Phil. "They can't stop me from seeing my sister." "Or someone else's," put in Tom, mischievously. "Tom! Stop it!" cried Madge Tyler. "She'll hear you." "But we will come!" declared Frank. "I don't see how we poor girls can prevent you," said Helen Newton, with a mischievous glance of her eyes. "Young ladies!" came a warning voice from down the corridor. "Oh, you really must go!" exclaimed Ruth Clinton. "All right," agreed Tom. "We'll be back soon. When is the next dance?" "We'll send you cards," replied Madge Tyler. "Good-bye!" And the boys moved off, with many backward glances, while the girls lingered in the doorway of the reception hall until Miss Philock advanced to garner them into her charge. "Young ladies!" she began severely, "if your friends overstay their time again I shall not permit them to see you--even if they are _brothers_!" and she looked at Ruth. "Horrid thing!" murmured Madge. "I'll be glad when vacation comes." "Are your folks going to camp on Crest Island again?" asked Ruth, naming the resort in Tonoka Lake. "I think so. Papa sent a man up to look over the cottage this week, to see if it needed any repairs. And, girls, if we do go, I want you all to spend several weeks with me!" cried Madge Tyler. "We will have a scrumptious time!" When the boys got back to Randall they found some mild excitement there. Further word had come from the committee of old graduates that they had perfected their arrangements in the matter of supplying Randall with all that was necessary to enter into aquatic sports, and there was a request that the students at once hold a meeting, and decide whether or not they would accept the offer. Of course it is not necessary to say that the boys did accept. A meeting was called for that same evening, and it was enthusiastically voted to accept the generous offer, with thanks. It was voted to have an eight-oared crew, as well as a four, while as many singles as could be arranged, with possibly a double. A committee was appointed to secure some second-hand shells for practice, pending the arrival of the new ones in the Fall. Another committee was named to negotiate with Boxer Hall and Fairview Institute, looking to planning for the races in the Fall. "If they won't meet us then, we'll have to wait until next Spring," said Frank Simpson. "Oh, I guess they're sports enough to give us a race this Fall," declared Tom. "We'll try, anyhow." It was now June and the weather, after the long rain, was perfect. Within a few days Boxer Hall and Fairview would meet in their annual water carnival, swimming as well as boat races, and, as some of the Randall boys had entered in the swimming contests, it was planned to send a big delegation from that college to the meet. "We can get a line on their rowing that way," said Sid, and the others agreed with him. Meanwhile the flooded river was subsiding, and a few days after their visit to the girls, our four friends went out for a row again. In the meanwhile they had secured some books on the subject of sculling, and, as they went down stream, they endeavored to correct their faults. But, as is always the case when you try to do something opposite to the way you have learned it, whether that way be good or bad, there was trouble. "I can't row for a cent the way the book says it ought to be done," declared Tom. "Me either," came from Sid. "And yet that's the right way," said Frank. "I guess we'll get on to it after a bit. But let's row our old way now, and go down to Crest Island. That will make a good distance, and test our wind. Later we can row right. Anyhow, if we have a coach he'll show us the ropes. Give way now, everybody!" They made good speed, and, a little later, were nearing the island, the largest one of three or four that dotted the lake. Crest Island was the home of several cottagers in Summer. "Look! What's that!" cried Tom, as they neared the upper point of the bit of water-surrounded land. "Looks like a boat wrecked there!" said Phil. "It is," declared Sid. "It's smashed on the rocks." "Let's take a look," suggested Frank. "Maybe it's worth saving." "It's a motor-boat," said Tom, as they came nearer. "But I guess there isn't much left of it." "And there's part of the boathouse it was evidently in," came from Phil. "Probably it was carried away by the flood--boat, boathouse and all, and smashed on these rocks." By this time they had brought their boat to the island shore, and, getting out, they examined the wreck. Truly it had been a bad smash. The hull itself could never be used again, and it was a question whether the engine could, as one of the cylinders was badly cracked. The seat lockers had been broken open, and nothing seemed to remain in them. "Say, this is the same boat that fellow locked in the boathouse, the time we were out rowing when we met the Boxer Hall shell!" cried Tom, as he saw the name on the bow. "That's right!" agreed Frank. "The very same. Wallops said some boathouses had been carried away. This must have been one of them." "I wonder who owns this boat?" ventured Sid, but no one answered him. They looked at the wreck for some little time longer, and then started back up the river. They had not gone far from the island before they met a man rowing down in a small boat. He had an anxious look on his face as he hailed them. "I say, boys," he called, "have you seen anything of a wrecked motor-boat about here?" "There's one down on the point of that island," said Tom. "The _Sylph_." "That's mine!" exclaimed the man. "Is there anything left of her?" "Not much," replied Frank. "Wait, we'll show you where she is. We were just looking at her." "You were?" exclaimed the man, and there was something in the sharp way he said it, and in his tone, that caused the boys to glance at him curiously. "Yes, saw it by accident," went on Phil. "Did you--er--find--that is--Oh, never mind, I can soon tell when I look at her," the man said, rather confusedly, as he rowed on. The four lads turned their craft and accompanied him. "There she is!" cried Frank, pointing out the wrecked craft amid some rocks and bushes. "You can see for yourself there's not much left of her." Without a word the man sprang ashore from his boat, while the college lads kept their craft off the rocks. Rapidly rummaging through the broken-open lockers, the man, muttering to himself, suddenly stood up. As he did so, Tom said in a low voice: "That's the same chap who locked the boat up. I wonder what is missing?" "Did you--excuse me for asking--but did you boys take anything from my boat?" asked the man, in rather hard tones. [Illustration: "DID YOU BOYS TAKE ANYTHING FROM MY BOAT?" ASKED THE MAN.] "Take anything? What do you mean?" demanded Sid, sharply. "Something is missing from one of the lockers." "We certainly took nothing from your boat," said Tom, stiffly. "What is missing?" "Many things," was the answer. "Among others, a number of trophy cups belonging to Boxer Hall College. I had them to repair, polish and engrave, and now they are gone from my boat. Someone must have taken them!" and he looked at the boys. The four chums felt their anger rising. CHAPTER IV IMPLIED ACCUSATION Frank Simpson was the first to take definite action. He looked sharply at the man, as the latter gave the surprising information about trophies, and then, in a low voice, said to his companions in the barge: "Let's go ashore, fellows." "What for; to be insulted again?" asked Tom. "I'm not going to stand for that fellow's insinuations. Who is he, anyhow?" "I don't know," answered Frank, "and for the very same reason that I, neither, do not intend to stand for any imputation, I want to go ashore. Give way!" They urged their heavy craft shoreward. "They are certainly gone," went on the man, as he continued to rummage about in the wreckage of his boat. "And it means a big loss to me. If you boys were here----" "Say, just hold on a minute, my friend," interrupted Frank, in that cool way of his. "Just go a bit slow about making cracks. It might not be altogether healthy!" and the eyes of the Big Californian glowed. "But I tell you it's a big loss!" went on the man. "I must find the things--money won't pay for them!" "Now suppose we go at this thing systematically," suggested Frank, his chums, by common consent, letting him assume the leadership. "We don't any of us know you, except that we all recall seeing you land on the main shore in your motor-boat a day or so ago. It was this same boat, I take it." "The same," answered the man. "And now----" "Wait," suggested Frank, holding up his hand. "As for us, we're Randall College students, as you can easily verify. We'll give you our names--fellows, cards," and Frank handed over one of his own, the others doing the same. "That's all right," spoke the man, in half-sullen tones; "but that isn't going to bring back my stuff." "Do you think we took it?" snapped Frank, and there was a warning glint in his eyes. "No--not exactly--but you lads were at my boat, you say, and this is the first time I've seen it since I left it with those cups and other valuables in." "Well, that's a long way from proving that we took anything," went on Frank. "It's laughable, or, it would be if it wasn't so serious." "Who are you, anyhow?" burst out Tom Parsons, unable to restrain his curiosity longer. "This thing is getting too deep for me. How did you come to have the Boxer Hall trophy cups?" "Perhaps I had better explain," went on the man. "I am Edward Farson, and I'm in the jewelry business in Haddonfield. I've only recently started up, and I'm working a new line of trade. I am an expert repairer and mender of old jewelry, and I find that many residents along the river here, as well as out in the country, have old jewelry they want made into modern forms. "As I happened to own a motor-boat I decided to use that in making calls along the river, and I have been quite successful. Then learning that the colleges hereabouts had many cups and trophies that grew tarnished, or were broken, I solicited orders in that line. I also do engraving, putting the names of the winners and all that on the cups. "The other day--the time I remember now when I saw you at Mr. Borden's dock--I had collected quite a few pieces of jewelry, some from customers, some from the students at Fairview Institute, and a number of trophy cups from Boxer Hall. "I had a call to make at Mr. Borden's, and, leaving the jewelry and cups in a box in one of the lockers of the boat, I ran my craft in the boathouse, as you saw, locked it up, and went up the hill to call on Mrs. Borden. As the box of valuables was rather heavy I did not want to carry it with me. I thought it would be safe." "We heard you remark as much," interpolated Sid. "Yes? Well, I expected to be back right away, but when I got to the house I found unexpected news awaiting me. There had come a telephone message from the clerk in my store, who knew that I was to be at Mrs. Borden's at a certain time. I had told him to that effect, as my elderly mother is very ill, and I wanted to be kept informed of her condition. The doctor communicated by wire with my clerk, and the latter left with Mrs. Borden a message to the effect that my mother was sinking, and that I was to hasten if I wanted to see her alive. "That, as you may suppose, drove from my mind all thoughts of the valuables left in my boat. Or, if I did think of them at all, it must have been to hope that they would be safe, locked in the boathouse as they were, and with no one but myself--as I supposed--knowing of them. "Mrs. Borden, whom I have known for some time, as soon as she had given me the message about my mother, offered me the use of a horse and carriage to get to my mother's house, which is quite a way back from the river, off in the country. "I accepted and drove away, never even mentioning to Mrs. Borden about the jewelry in the locker of my boat. I said I would, on my return, collect the things she wanted repaired. Then I hastened to my mother. "I found the dear old lady quite ill, and for a time her life was despaired of. But she rallied, and when my sister came to take charge of matters, I decided to come back to my business. But, in the meanwhile, as you know, there was the flood. "When I went back to the Bordens, it was to find that their boathouse had been washed away by the high water, carrying my craft with it down to the lake. I was nearly crazy, not only at my own loss, but over the missing valuables, which I knew I could never replace. I borrowed a small boat to-day, and set off in search of my launch. I looked in several places where it might have lodged, and when I saw you boys--well, you know the rest," and the jeweler concluded with a pathetic air, as though his troubles was too much for him. "It's rather a queer story," commented Frank. "As for our part in it, it is just as we told you. We landed here by accident, and saw the wreck of the boat. We assumed what had happened, but we saw nothing of any box of cups and jewelry. Then we rowed away and met you." "I'm much obliged to you for the information," said Mr. Farson, "and I--of course--I'm bound to believe you," he went on, a bit awkwardly. "Then you didn't see a trace of them?" "Of course not!" cried Phil. "Don't you believe us?" "Oh, yes--yes, of course. I only thought that maybe, as my boat is so broken up, and the parts scattered about, that you might have looked farther along the shores of the island. The box may have held together, and be lodged somewhere." "Perhaps it has," said Frank, calmly. "I'd advise you to look thoroughly. You might find it. Come on, fellows," and he led the way back to the boat. Tom Parsons acted as though he intended to speak, but Sid nudged him in the ribs, and the youth kept quiet. Mr. Farson stared after the boys as though much disappointed at their desertion, and then, looking to the fastening of the rowing craft in which he had come ashore, he began walking along the edge of the island, where many signs of the high water still remained. "What did you want to come away for in such a hurry?" asked Tom, in a low voice, when they were some distance out. "You were on your high-horse for fair, Frank." "And why shouldn't I be? Do you think I was going to stay there, and help him hunt, after he practically insulted us the way he did? As if we knew anything about his musty old jewelry!" "That's right!" broke in Phil. "I wouldn't lift my hand to help him, after he made that implied accusation. We didn't see any of his stuff!" "Oh, so that's the reason," replied Tom. "Well, I guess it was a good one, Frank." "Those Boxer Hall lads will be up in the air all right when they learn that their trophies are gone," suggested Sid. "I wonder if there were any of the ones they won in the last meet?" "They didn't get many," chuckled Frank. "But it will be quite a loss to them. However, it's none of our funeral. I wouldn't trust any of my jewelry to a man who would go off and leave it in a motor-boat for a night and a day." "Oh, well, he didn't mean to. When he got that message about his mother, I suppose it flustered him," said Tom, in extenuation. "It's hard to blame him," commented Frank. "But he's in a pickle all right. Now let's do some fast rowing." They hit up the pace, but they did not have enough practice to maintain it, especially in the heavy barge, and soon they were all panting, while the oars took the water raggedly, and Sid caught a crab that nearly sent him overboard. "I guess we need some coaching," admitted that lad, when he had recovered himself. "We're not racers yet, by a long shot. Slow down a bit, fellows." "Oh, we're too soft!" complained Frank. "We'll never amount to anything in a shell if we can't stand this. Think of a four-mile row at top speed." "But we'll be in better shape for it after a course of training and some coaching," declared Phil. "Then, too, we'll have this Summer vacation to practice in." At slower speed they rowed up to their boathouse dock, and were soon strolling across the campus to their room, discussing the events of the last few hours. "I can't get over the nerve of that jeweler!" exclaimed the Big Californian. "He nearly got me going." "I could see that," commented Tom. "It was a good thing we came away when we did." "Oh, well, he wasn't exactly responsible for what he said. Be a bit charitable," advised Sid. "Well, how's the racing game progressing?" asked Holly Cross, as he met our friends. "When is that second-hand shell coming so we can practice?" "That's up to Dan Woodhouse," explained Tom. "Kindlings is chairman of that committee. Let's look him up." "I wonder if Boxer Hall will row us in the Fall?" asked Bricktop Molloy, strolling up. "It will make a double season for them." "I don't believe they'll dare refuse when we've beaten them at almost everything else," spoke Frank. "But we'll soon know about that. Dutch Housenlager said he had written to their crew captain and coach, and expected an answer soon." "They ought to be glad to row us," commented Tom. "It will give them a chance to get more cups to replace those they lost." "How lost?" asked Holly Cross. "What do you mean?" "Oh, it's a great story!" cried Sid, and he proceeded to relate, aided by his chums, the incident of the smashed motor-boat. "Too bad," commented Bricktop. "I know how we'd feel if such a thing happened here. But that fellow may find his stuff. Here comes Pete Backus. Hi, Grasshopper!" he called, to a long lad who imagined he was a champion jumper, "are you going to try for the crew?" "I sure am," was the confident answer. "I used to row a lot when a kid, and I guess I haven't forgotten." "He's too light by fifteen pounds," declared Frank, in a low voice. "About one hundred and sixty is a good average." "Thank goodness we're all of us that," said Tom, looking at the chums gathered about him. "Are there going to be single races?" asked a lad, stepping up to join the group. He was a well dressed chap, reputed to be wealthy in his own right. His name was Reginald Boswell. "Why, yes, Reggie," said Tom, in the drawling tones affected by the other, "we count on having single shells. Are you going to compete?" "Aw, say, I wish you wouldn't call me Reggie. I hate that name!" exclaimed the lad, who was completing his Freshman year. "Cawn't you call me just--er--Boswell?" "How would Bossy do for short, me lad?" asked Bricktop. "Not that you're a calf, you know; but Bossy has a sweet sound, thinkest thou not so, my comrades?" and he appealed to his chums with accompanying winks. "Aw, I say now, quit spoofing me, cawn't you?" appealed the rich lad. "Bossy is too rotten silly, you know," and he drew a scented handkerchief from the pocket of his rather loud, and swagger clothes, which, as he always took the trouble to inform all who appeared interested, were made in "Lunnon." Mr. Reginald Boswell had traveled abroad, it seemed. "You ought to be thankful for any nickname, Bossy," put in Holly Cross. "It isn't every Freshman who is thus honored. It's going to be Bossy or nothing." "Oh, but I say, Reggie isn't as bad as that!" "Bossy or nothing!" insisted Bricktop. "Well, then, tell me about the single shells," went on the rich student, evidently deciding to accept the less of two evils. "I'd like to row in those contests." "Well, I guess you can--if you can make good," said Frank. "Come on, fellows," and he linked his arms in those of Sid and Tom, and walked them off toward their dormitory, followed by others of the chums, leaving Bossy, as he was generally called after that christening, to contemplate them with mingled feelings. "Silly rotters!" he murmured after the manner of some of his English acquaintances. "I'll show them I can row, though!" The news of the loss of the Boxer Hall cups was soon known all over Randall, and, in the next day or so, it was generally talked of, for there was a reward offered by the distracted jeweler, an article appearing in the local paper about it. "I guess he didn't find any trace of them on the island," commented Sid. "The box is probably at the bottom of the lake," was Tom's opinion. It was several days after this that the four chums were in Haddonfield, partaking of a little supper after a vaudeville entertainment. There strolled into the restaurant some lads from Boxer Hall, among them one or two members of the eight-oared crew. "Hello, Dave!" greeted Tom and the others. "Too bad about your trophies; wasn't it," added Phil. "Rotten!" conceded Dave. "Some of them were old timers, too." "I--er--I understand that you lads were the _first_ to discover the loss," put in Harry Cedstrom, one of the new students at Boxer Hall, and a member of the crew. There was a strange emphasis on the word "first." "The _first_ to discover it--what do you mean?" asked Frank Simpson, bristling up. "I mean that you were first at the wrecked boat that had held the box of jewelry," went on Harry, while some of his companions nudged him to keep him quiet. "We happened to be there," admitted Frank, in a quiet voice that, to his friends, always presaged an outburst of righteous indignation. "We saw the wrecked boat, and called the attention of the owner to it. We went back with him, and then he told us his loss. That's how we happened to be the first, after Mr. Farson himself." "Oh, I see," spoke Harry. "Then you were at the boat _before_ he was?" "Cut it out; can't you?" demanded Dave of his friend, in a hoarse whisper. "Yes," said Frank quietly, "we were there before Mr. Farson," and he looked the other student straight in the eyes. "And you didn't see anything of our cups?" "Just what do you mean?" demanded Frank quietly, half rising in his chair, while Tom laid a hand on him in restraint. "Oh," went on Harry easily, "I thought maybe you fellows might have taken our trophies----" "Hold on!" cried Frank, and he arose with such suddenness that his chair overturned. Tom arose also, and clung to the arm of the Big Californian, whispering rapidly: "Quiet, Frank. Keep quiet! Don't have a row here!" "In a joke!" finished Harry Cedstrom with an attempt at a smile. There was a dead silence in the groups of students. CHAPTER V THE CLUE Frank Simpson stared at the Boxer Hall lad for a moment, and then sank back in the chair which Sid Henderson had replaced for him. Harry seemed to breathe easier, and certainly there were looks of relief on the faces of his companions. "A joke?" repeated Frank, grimly. "Well, if that is your idea of a joke, all I have to say is that your early education was sadly neglected. Fellows, I guess it's my treat. Some more of those seltzer lemonades, waiter," and turning his back, with studied indifference, on the Boxer Hall lads, Frank began to chat with his friends. There was an uneasy movement among the students from Boxer Hall. "I tell you he insulted me!" Harry could be heard to fiercely whisper, as he made an effort to rise. "Now you sit right still!" said Dave Ogden, firmly. "If there was any insulting done, it was on your part first. I tell you to drop it. Randall is our rival, in more ways than one, but no one ever yet accused her of unfair tactics--least of all any of those fellows. You cut it out, Cedstrom, or you won't know what happened to you!" "That's right," chimed in Pinky Davenport, another Boxer lad. "That was a raw thing for you to say, Cedstrom, and it might make trouble for us." "I don't care!" exclaimed the other, defiantly. "I wanted to take those fellows down a peg. The idea of them thinking they can row us!" "Well, we'll give them all the chance in the world," declared Dave, good-naturedly; "but I think they'll never see the bow of our shell in an eight-oared race. It takes more than one season to turn out champions." "That's right," agreed Pinky. "But you go a bit slow, Cedstrom. Those fellows are good friends of ours, even if they are rivals." "All right--no harm intended," said the other, seeing that he had gone too far. Aside from uneasy glances from time to time toward their rivals, our friends showed no further interest in the unpleasant incident. It had not come to the notice of others in the restaurant, for the students were in a room that, by custom, was set aside for their exclusive use. "You got his number all right, Frank," commented Phil. "That's what," chimed in Sid. "Well, I wasn't going to stand for any crack like that," declared Frank. "Especially from a Freshman. He may have meant it, and he may not, but the time to put the screws on is in the beginning." The two parties broke up soon after that, most of the Boxer Hall boys nodding friendly good-nights to their rivals as they passed out. "What's the matter, Frank?" asked Tom, a little later, as they gathered in their common study, and the tall pitcher "flopped" down beside his chum on the old sofa. At once there was a cracking, splintering sound, and Sid cried out in alarm. "Cheese it, you fellows! Do you want to spoil that completely? Remember it's an invalid." "I should say so!" cried Tom, getting off as carefully as a skater goes over thin ice, while Frank held his breath. "I didn't mean to come down so hard." "Oh, student spare that couch, Touch not a single spring. In sleep it resteth me, As nice as anything!" Thus Phil misquoted, adapting it to suit his needs. "Punk!" commented Tom. "Fierce!" cried Sid. "That's an old one." "Say, you fellows don't know good poetry when it comes up and shakes hands with you," declared Phil, in disgusted tones. "I'm going to frame that." "We'll have to have a new frame for the couch if Tom does any more of his gymnastic stunts," declared Frank, as he looked to see what damage had been done. "The back's nearly broken again," he added. "Kindly forgive me," spoke the pitcher, in contrite tones. "But those two hulks have the armchairs, and I wanted some place to rest. I guess we'll have to invest in another chair, if that couch is only going to hold one." "We will not, you vandal!" exclaimed Phil. "Sit on the alarm clock, if you want to, or flop down on the floor, or to go to bed; but you don't go getting any new, modern, ugly, incongruous furniture into this den." "Oh, I didn't mean that," Tom hastened to explain. "I meant pick up a second-hand one somewhere." "That mightn't be so bad," admitted Frank. "But say, what ails you, anyhow?" went on Tom, turning to the Big Californian, as though to change the subject. "I was asking you that when they raised this row about the old couch." "Don't you call that an 'old couch' unless in terms of the deepest respect!" cried Phil. "I meant it strictly in the Pickwickian sense," Tom hastened to explain. "But, Frank, is there anything up?" "Well, yes, there is," admitted the other. His chums looked at him curiously. "I hope you didn't take that Boxer Hall puppy's remarks seriously," went on Tom. "Not seriously, no; and yet what he said has set me to thinking." "Hurray! Frank's thinking at last!" cried Sid. "Send word to Pitchfork, and he'll give you a double stunt in Latin." "No, but seriously," went on the Big Californian, "you heard what he said. In a joking way, as I really think he meant it, he suggested that we might know something of the missing cups and jewelry, seeing that we were first on the scene--or, at least, as far as is known. Now if he thought that--even in a joke--and the jeweler thought it seriously--as I am convinced he did--though he soon passed it up--why shouldn't other people?" "Do you think they do?" asked Sid. "They might, and what I've been thinking is that we can't afford to have even the slightest suspicion hanging over us." "But does there?" demanded Tom. "I don't know--there's a possibility that there might. You see, fellows, we _could_ have taken those things!" "We could!" cried Phil. "Certainly. Just figure it out for a moment," went on Frank. "We might as well look at this thing fairly and squarely. Say that box of jewelry was in the wrecked boat when we found it on the point of Crest Island. Say we found it to contain the Boxer Hall trophies. We could have taken them even for a joke; couldn't we?" "Yes, but we didn't," declared Phil. "No, but that won't stop people from thinking so. They may set it down as a college prank, but, even so, they'll think it just the same." "Well?" asked Sid, as Frank paused. "Well, that's what I was thinking of when Tom plumped down, and broke the sofa." "I didn't break it." "You came mighty near it," went on Frank. "I was turning that over in my mind after what happened in the restaurant, and I've got something to propose." "What is it?" demanded Phil, leaning forward so interestedly and suddenly that the old armchair creaked and groaned dismally, and a cloud of dust arose from its ancient upholstery. "I think we ought to go back to Crest Island, and make a search. We may find that box of cups and jewelry caught in some cleft of the rocks, or we may find----" Again Frank paused. "What?" asked Tom. "A clue to who did take it--if it was taken." There was a moment of silence, and then Sid exclaimed: "Frank's dead right! We'll go to Crest Island to-morrow and hunt for clues." Eagerly the matter was discussed, and in the end all four agreed that they would make the search. Then came an hour of studying, and the lights went out. "Oh, for the love of baked beans!" exclaimed Tom, as they were all settled comfortable in bed. "Somebody stop that clock, will you? I'll furnish the toothpick." "Get up and do it yourself," directed Frank. "I'm too comfortable." "So am I," said Sid. "Same here," came from Phil. "Then I suppose I've got to," groaned Tom, and in the end he did. Then, with the fussy, little alarmer quiet, the chums dropped off, their thoughts lasting longest on the prospective races, and on the queer muddle of the lost trophies. "Well, here's where the boat was," said Tom, as they landed on Crest Island the next afternoon. "But it's gone now," added Phil. "Yes, probably Mr. Farson had it towed away on a barge to see if he could save any of it. My opinion is that it wasn't worth it," said Sid. "Well, let's scatter, two going down one shore of the island, and two on the other," suggested Frank. "When the boat struck on the rocks, and split, the things in the lockers may have floated one way or the other." "If they didn't sink," put in Tom. "A box of jewelry would be pretty heavy." "If it sank, so much the better," declared the Big Californian. "Then it would lodge, and when the waters went down, as they did after the flood, it would still stay there. Scatter and hunt." They took his advice, and for an hour or more searched. Then Tom, who was with Frank, on the eastern shore, sprang toward a clump of bushes in which was caught some driftwood. "I've found something!" he cried. "It looks like the seat lockers of a motor-boat." "It is," declared his chum, as he hurried to Tom's side. There, in the debris that had settled around the roots of the bush when the waters had subsided, was part of a boat locker. It was split and broken, but the cover was still on it. Eagerly Tom lifted it and, as he did so he uttered a cry of delight. "Here it is!" he shouted. "The jeweler's box! It has his name on it!" "Open it!" exclaimed Frank, as Sid and Phil came hurrying to join their two chums. Tom lifted the cover. "Empty!" he cried, blankly. CHAPTER VI THE PRACTICE SHELL The four chums stared, almost uncomprehendingly, into the open box. It was of good size, capable of holding several trophy cups, with compartments, velvet lined, for smaller pieces of jewelry. "The things all fell out!" cried Tom. "They must be scattered around here somewhere. Let's look," and he started off. "No use," said Frank, quietly. "Why not?" asked Tom, in wonder. "Because those things never fell out of that box," went on the Big Californian. "Why didn't they?" demanded Phil. "When the box was knocked around in the water, or even inside the locker, why wouldn't it be split open and the things fall out?" "It wasn't split, as you can easily see," went on Frank, calmly, "and the cover wasn't forced open by banging against the rocks. It was opened by some slender instrument being shoved under the catch, and then pried upon. See, there are the marks. No rocks ever made those," and he showed several scratches in the shiny surface of the box, near the clasp. The scratches went entirely under the broad brass fastener, showing that something thin enough to have been employed in this way was used. As Frank had said, no rock against which the case might have been tossed by the storm-waters, could have done it. "Well, let's take it to Mr. Farson," went on Sid. "We'll tell him how we found it, and he can then see that we had nothing to do with taking the things--even in a joke. Let's hurry back to town." "Let's do nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Frank quickly. "Why not?" demanded his chums in chorus. "If you want tongues to wag any more--if you want a real suspicion to be cast on us, where there's only the faintest one now--if you want to make real trouble, take that box to Mr. Farson. If you don't, and if you want to get at the real facts in this case, just keep quiet about it." For a moment there was silence, and then Tom objected: "Well, maybe it's clear to you, Frank, but I can't see it that way." "Me either," declared Phil. "Why, it's as simple as anything," declared the Big Californian. "Well, maybe it is," admitted Sid, "but kindly translate. It's too deep for us." "Look here," went on Frank. "That jeweler saw us at the wreck; didn't he?" "No question about that," admitted Tom. "And we helped him look around. We were here first; and we said we didn't see anything of the stuff." "No question about that," admitted Sid, following Tom's lead. "And now here we go and find the empty box--it has every appearance of having been forced open by human hands. We take it to Mr. Farson, and say--'Here's your box, Mr. Jeweler; but it's empty--that's just how we found it, honest it is!' Say, wouldn't he smell a rat right away, and think we had the stuff?" "No question about that," declared Phil. "That ends it! Frank is right, we'll have to keep mum about this for our own sakes, though I don't like it. It makes us look guilty." "Not a bit of it," declared Frank, stoutly. "It gives us a chance to find out who the guilty party is." "Who do you suppose it is?" asked Tom. "I haven't the least idea," answered the California lad, quickly. "Someone may have been on the island before we were, and found, and rifled, the box; or that person may have come after we did. That's one thing we've got to find out--and it isn't going to be any cinch, take it from me!" They all examined the box, and then looked about the place where it had been found, for other clues. But they found none--no other parts of the wrecked boat seemed to be there. As they were coming away, to get to their boat and row to Randall, Tom stooped and picked from the ground a bit of gaudily-colored silk, a plaid of many colors, in a sort of ribbon. "What's that?" asked Sid. "Looks like part of a Scotch necktie," replied the tall pitcher. "Let's have a look," suggested Frank, as he closely examined the piece of silk. "That's no part of a necktie!" he exclaimed. "It's a piece of a Mexican silk handkerchief of all the colors of the rainbow. I've seen 'em on sale out in my state. The Mexicans and some other folks are fond of sporting them, but they were always too rich for my blood. But, fellows, do you notice one thing about this?" and he held it up for inspection. "Do you mean it might have been worn by the jeweler, and dropped in his motor-boat?" asked Tom. "It _might_ have been worn by the jeweler, but not very likely," said Frank. "In the first place, notice that it shows no signs of having been wet, except by the dew. It was never in the flood, or it would have mud on it. And I don't believe it was worn by the jeweler, and dropped here; otherwise, having good eyesight, as all jewelers and watch repairers have, he would have seen his box." "Then you think----," began Sid. "That it was dropped here by someone who was on this island either before, or after, we were here the first time; by someone who found the box, opened it, and took the stuff away," finished Frank. "And who that person was it's up to us to find out," declared Tom. "Exactly. And here's another thing," went on Frank, "this piece of silk is torn off in a long strip, cleanly, and it looks to me as if it might have been one of several so torn, or ripped, to make a bundle of the cups and jewelry. If we can find a handkerchief like this, with a strip torn off, we'll come pretty close to the person who has the Boxer Hall cups," finished the Big Californian. "Maybe the fellow tore off a couple of strips, used the main part of his handkerchief in which to wrap his stuff, and left one strip here by mistake," suggested Phil. "Maybe," admitted Frank. "Well, we've got about all we can find here, I guess. I vote we get back, and talk this matter over among ourselves. And, mind, not a word to a soul!" All promised and then, carefully concealing in their boat the jewelry box, with the piece of silk inside, they rowed back to college. But the discussion they brought to bear on the matter in their room later, failed to throw any light on the subject. All the conclusion they could come to was that if they found the owner of the gaudy handkerchief they might find the possessor of the jewelry. In the days that followed rowing matters occupied much of the attention and the talk of the Randall students. The chairmen of the various committees called meetings, and made reports of progress to the general athletic body. The offer of the alumni to provide a fine boathouse, and a rowing equipment, was formally accepted, and the required promise made. There was no lack of material for an eight-oared shell--two in fact--several fours, a couple of doubles, and one or two singles. In response to a request for a list of what was needed, it was decided to ask for one first-class eight-oared shell, for two fours, two doubles, and three singles, though the gift committee, naturally, would do as they thought best. This would give plenty of craft in which to practice. In view of the expense of the eight-oared shell it was decided that the students themselves would subscribe enough to purchase a second-hand eight for practice. They learned of one in good condition, that could be had at a bargain, also a single and a four, and, as it would take some time for the generous old graduates to provide their equipment, it was voted to buy the second-hand ones for use the remainder of that Spring. "That will give us a little time for practice," decided Kindlings, who had the matter in charge. He had been elected temporary captain of a tentative eight crew; a temporary arrangement, as it would not be known, until the coach had selected the crew, who would row in the different craft. There would be try-outs as soon as possible. The old boathouse would have to answer until the new one was built, but, to accommodate the many students who now thronged it, a temporary addition was built, the coming warm weather making it unnecessary to have it very substantial. The interest in rowing increased every day. Our four chums and their friends were perhaps the foremost in showing their delight in the coming events. Boxer Hall had been communicated with, as had Fairview Institute, and both had agreed to enter into triangular-league contests that Fall, the details to be arranged later. The second-hand shells had been ordered, and Mr. Lighton agreed to do the water coaching, in addition to looking after the baseball lads, for the affairs of the diamond were beginning to hold the attention of many. Of course our friends did not lose interest in baseball because of the coming water sports. Meanwhile no further trace of the missing cups or jewelry had been found. No one claimed the reward offered by Mr. Farson, to which the Boxer Hall Athletic Association added a substantial sum for the recovery of their trophies. Our friends said nothing of their find, and, though there was hardly a breath of suspicion against them, even in Boxer Hall, still they fretted. "We've just got to find out who took those things!" cried Tom, one afternoon, coming back from a row on the river. "That's right!" agreed his chums. A number of the ordinary rowing boats had been secured, and Mr. Lighton spent some time giving the lads an idea of the rudiments of getting down to the right stroke. Of course with toe stretchers, and sliding seats, there would come a vast change, so he did not want to go too deeply into the matter until the right craft were at hand. "Well, what shall we do this afternoon?" asked Sid, as he yawningly tossed aside a book that he had dipped into on coming to his room after a lecture. "I'm for a row!" exclaimed Tom. "We ought to do some baseball practice," suggested Phil. "We've sort of been letting that slide." "Let's do a little of----" began Frank, when the door flew open, and in came Kindlings, all excited. "It's come!" he cried. "What?" chorused the others. "The new shell--I mean the second-hand eight--the boat we're going to do our practice in! I just got word from the freight office that it's there. Let's get a truck, and have it carted to the river. I'm crazy to get in and go for a row!" "Hurray! That's the stuff!" cried Tom. "Come on, everybody!" and he led the way, the others following. CHAPTER VII THE FIRST TRIAL "Well, now we have it, what shall we do with it?" "Say, but it's a frail thing all right!" "Looks as if one good stroke would split it in two." "And that will hold eight men!" "Nine, counting the coxswain, you gump! Didn't you ever see an eight-oared shell before?" "Not so close at hand! Say, but it's flimsy all right." "Oh, I guess we'll find it stiff enough for us." These were only a few of the comments, and questions, propounded by the students of Randall as they gathered about the new shell--or, rather, the second-hand one--that had been purchased in order to give them practice while the new outfit was being made. Following the enthusiastic announcement of Kindlings, as detailed in the last chapter, the more eager of the rowing contingent, including our four heroes, had gone to the freight depot, and, procuring a truck had, with great care and patience, transported the boat, well swathed in burlap, to the river. Later, under the direction of Coach Lighton, they had attached the outriggers, gotten out the oars, given the boat another coat of varnish, oiled it well, and now it rested in the water alongside the dock, as lightly as a swan, if not as gracefully. "It looks more like a water-spider than anything else," commented Jerry Jackson, one of the Jersey twins. "Here! Can that!" cried Tom. "No finding fault with our boat, or we'll duck you." "That's what!" declared Dutch Housenlager. "Let's get in and take a try!" he proposed, starting toward the frail craft, and preparing to step in it. "Here! Hold on!" cried Mr. Lighton, in accents of alarm. "That's no way to get into a shell. Now you fellows just hold your breaths until I give you a few points." The lads--a score or more--all of whom hoped to make the eight, while others felt that they would be satisfied in the fours, or singles, had gathered around. They had all helped to get the shell into shape, pending the arrival of some more of the second-hand craft. Now they were eager to try their skill. "It is too early to pick out the crew yet," said Mr. Lighton, "as I don't know what any of you can do. So I suggest that you all have a try, and those that develop the most aptitude will come in for more consideration. Have you thought of anyone for permanent captain? Wait, though, I guess you'd better let that go until you see how you make out in rowing. And, as for the coxswain--who wants to be coxswain?" he asked. "Don't all speak at once," he added whimsically. "Remember that, while it's a post of honor, the coxswain doesn't row, though by steering he assumes almost as much responsibility as all the rest put together, for a well-steered boat often means a winning one. We want a light weight for coxswain," and he looked over the assembled group. No one volunteered and the coach went on: "Well, at the risk of seeming egotistical, I'll assume that post myself, for the time being, though I'm a bit heavy. I think I can coach you better from that position--at least at the start. Now then, I guess we're ready. Whom shall we try first?" Once more he looked around. "Holly Cross," he called, and that lad stepped forward, then: "Kindlings, Phil Clinton, Tom Parsons, Frank, Sid," went on the coach. A pause. "Yes, come ahead, Housenlager," said the coach, as Dutch made an eager move. "Let's see, that's seven. Where's Bricktop. Not here. Joe Jackson." "I'm afraid I'm a bit light," said the Jersey twin. "Well, perhaps you are. You may fill in later, though, as coxswain, or row in one of the other boats. I guess----" "I'd like to row!" exclaimed someone. Reginald Boswell stepped forward, a smile of confidence on his face. "I've done considerable of it," he added, with an air of assurance. To do him justice he was a well-built lad, and those who had seen him out on the river knew he could pull a good oar. Whether he had racing qualities in him remained to be seen. "Very well," said the coach, quietly. "We'll give you a trial. That makes the eight. Now then, who'll be for stroke? Simpson, I think I'll try you. You look as though you could set the pace. For number seven--um! Parsons, you try that, though we may change later. Remember that number seven, who sits directly behind stroke, has almost as important a position, for he has to pick up the stroke promptly, and the rest of the crew is dependent, in a great measure, on what number seven does. "Now, let me see. Boswell, you'll be bow oar. Phil Clinton number two, Sid Henderson at three, Housenlager at four, Woodhouse number five, and Cross at six. Now I guess we're all ready. Steady the boat there, some of you, while the crew gets in." Dutch Housenlager once more eagerly started for the boat, and extended his foot to step down into it at his designated seat. "Wait! Wait!" cried the coach. "Don't get into a shell that way. Remember that it's almost as thin as its name indicates. Put your foot lengthwise of the keelson, not athwart, or you may force your heel or toe through the sides. Have all of you your rubber-soled shoes on?" "Sure," replied Dutch, a bit abashed. A glance showed that all were in sufficiently regular rowing costume. "Now, while we're at it, I might as well tell you how properly to get in a shell," went on the coach. "You may all listen, as you can't tell whom it may fit. "In the first place take your oar, and, if you're to row on the side of the shell that happens to be nearest the float at the time, lay your blade on the platform. If you're on the water side, lay the blade flat on the surface of the water. "Now get in, facing the stern, being careful to step lengthways, as I told Housenlager. Stoop down, with a hand on either gunwale, and lower yourself into your seat. You will of course notice the seats slide back and forth, that you have outriggers instead of gunwale oarlocks, and that there are stretchers, or loops under which to thrust your toes. "Once in your seat, ship your oar by thrusting the handle in through the outrigger oarlock from outside. Sit straight, not to one side, and squarely face the handle of your oar, have your shoulders a bit back, and your elbows close to your flanks. I'll give you more points as we go along. "Hold your oar with the outside hand close to the end of the handle, but not over the edge of it. You get more power from your outside hand, remember. The 'outside' hand, strange as it may seem, is the one nearest the centre of the boat, and the inside one, that nearest the 'loom,' spoon, body or blade of the oar. Put the other hand not more than two and a half inches from the outside hand. Thumbs underneath, or toward the bottom of the boat, of course; though some men row with the thumb of one hand in the same position as the fingers. "And now then, to give you brief instructions in how to row. First give a full, fair reach out over your toes, with both arms perfectly straight, dip your oar in the water--plunge it in with force. Get a good hold on the water with the blade, and the instant it is immersed, pull with all your might, and then follow through, as we say, with a long, firm stroke without vibration or wavering. "Then, with a light finish, get your oar blade clear of the water cleanly, feather light, low and quick--into the water again all together with a 'chug'--another pull and--there you are--you're rowing!" There was silence for a moment, and then Tom remarked: "Sounds easy; doesn't it?" "Yes, and some of you will find it easy," remarked Mr. Lighton, with a smile. "Others will not. But we can tell soon who the rowers are going to be, though that is not saying that, with practice, some of those who seem the least fitted may not become very proficient." "I once belonged to a swell New York club," remarked Reginald Boswell. "Why did they put you out, Bossy?" asked Kindlings, with a wink at Sid. "They didn't--I resigned," and the rich lad shot an indignant glance at his tormentor. "Same thing," remarked Kindlings. "Now then, get into the shell, and we'll try a little spin," called the coach, and he watched carefully as each of the eight lads followed his instructions more or less accurately. Some were a bit awkward, but all were careful to at least step into the shell properly. "Push off," commanded the coxswain-coach, as he took his seat in the stern, with the tiller ropes in his hands. "You will notice that some of you are on what is called the stroke side--that is, with your oars on the same side as Frank Simpson, who faces me. So when I say 'stroke side pull,' it means that only those on that side, or at my right hand, are to row. "Oppositely, some of you are on what is known as the bow side, or with your oars on the side on which sits Boswell, the bow oar. That is on my left. Though, of course, you all sit in the middle of the boat. So when I give orders for the stroke oars to do certain things I mean for those on Frank's side to obey. Now then, row, stroke oars!" Four blades shot back and took the water, not all at once, as they should have done, but fairly well for the first time. As the craft was heading down stream, with the stroke oars nearest the float, this man[oe]uver tended to swing the craft farther out into the river to clear the dock. "Row, bows!" came the order, and the others, dipping their blades, slewed the craft around until she was straight again, and far enough out to enable a good start to be made. "Very good!" complimented the coach. "Now then, row all!" The frail shell, like some grotesque water spider, darted ahead, the water swirling under the broad blades. "Hurray!" yelled the crowd along the bank and on the dock. "They're off!" shouted Jerry Jackson. "The first spin!" added his brother. "I wonder if we can turn out a winning crew?" "Of course we can, Joe me lad!" cried Bricktop Molloy, coming up at that moment. "Of course that's not sayin' it wouldn't be much better with me in the boat, but it can't be helped now. I'm a bit late," he added. "Ten thousand maledictions on Pitchfork for detainin' me. But who's that at bow?" "Bossy," some one told him. "That calf! Sure he can row though!" the Irish student added, half-admiringly, as he watched the efforts of the rich lad. The shell was well out in the river now, spinning along at a rapid pace. Of course it was far from being at racing speed, but even a little power sent the knife-like boat along at a great rate, so little resistance was there. "Steady all!" called Mr. Lighton, in a low voice, as he noticed a tendency to splash on the part of some. "Get your oars in the water with force. Get hold of the water all together. When you do, it will sound like a stone falling in--a chug--a noise like a 'rotten egg', as it is called. Try for that. The eight oars ought to sound like a single pair when you learn to row in unison. "Pick it up a little faster, bow!" he called to Boswell. "This is the way I learned to row," came the retort from the bow oar. "Well, you'll have to unlearn some things," retorted the coach, grimly. "Don't look so worried, Tom," he went on a little later. "You're picking up your stroke fairly well. Frank, a little more forward--reach out well over your toes. That's better. Now let's hit it up a little." They had been rowing about twenty strokes per minute--rather slow, and, as Mr. Lighton indicated an increase, Frank followed, until they were doing twenty-four, a substantial advance. As they rowed along, Tom glanced away from Frank's rising and falling back, and said in a low voice: "Here comes Boxer Hall!" CHAPTER VIII RUTH'S LOSS "Silence number seven--eyes in the boat--on the man in front of you!" Thus the coach called to Tom, but there was no sting in his words, and the tall baseball pitcher of Randall knew that it was for the good of himself and the crew. Nothing is so important in a race as to save one's wind, and to keep one's eyes fairly glued on the back of the man in front of one. For on unison, and in rowing exactly in time with every other man in the shell, does the race depend. "Never mind Boxer Hall," went on Mr. Lighton. "We're going to beat her, but we won't unless we learn how to keep our eyes in our own boat. Steady there, Sid!" On came the Boxer Hall eight. They were rowing down the stream, as were our friends, but the rival college shell was in the rear, having gone up stream earlier in the day, being now on the return trip. "Don't try to race them when they pass us," cautioned Mr. Lighton, who had not even turned his head to see the approaching shell behind him. "It will be a temptation, I know, but we are not ready for a spurt yet." "Are we going to let them pass us?" demanded the rich lad, almost forgetting to row. "Don't talk!" came sharply from the coxswain. "It's your business to row, Boswell, if you want to be in this eight. You almost lost a stroke then, and see how the boat slews! I have to shift the rudder to correct it, and in a race that might mean the loss of considerable distance. Pick up your stroke, and don't race!" The face of the rich lad expressed disappointment, and his was not the only one. Certainly it was a bit galling to let Boxer Hall--their ancient rival--pass them, and the first time Randall was out in her eight, too! But afterward all admitted the wisdom of the course taken by the coach. They were in no condition to race, and, green as most of them were as to how to behave in a tricky shell, they might have had an upset. Not they would have minded that, but they would have been the laughing-stock of Boxer Hall. On came the rivals, the oars being feathered beautifully. They took the water with that peculiar chugging sound that always denotes a well-trained crew. "Listen, all of you," advised Mr. Lighton in a low voice. "That's what I mean by the 'rotten-egg' sound. It's when the oar blade is plunged under water as you begin your stroke. Try to attain it--after they pass." The Boxer Hall lads, rowing perhaps a trifle faster than they had been doing, sitting perhaps a trifle straighter, and pulling a bit harder--a natural showing off--came opposite the shell containing our friends of Randall. "Want to try a little spurt?" called Dave Ogden, from the coxswain's seat. "No, thank you--we're just out for practice. It's our first spin," replied Mr. Lighton. "Some other time." "Why not now?" murmured Boswell. "Silence in the bow!" exclaimed the coach, sharply. "You're a martinet!" retorted the rich lad, but in so low a voice that only Phil, sitting in front of him, heard. Not a lad in the Boxer Hall shell spoke, though several nodded in friendly fashion at their acquaintances in the Randall boat. They were evidently well trained, and were saving their wind. On they rowed, passing those who hoped to prove themselves formidable rivals by the following Fall. And in spite of the command of Mr. Lighton for all eyes to be in the boat, hardly a lad of the eight but glanced enviously at the smoothly-swinging shell, that looked so trim and so neat. For, in spite of the work expended on the second-hand craft, it showed what it was. "But it won't be long before we have a better one," thought Tom. "Row easy, all," came the command from the coach, when the Boxer Hall boat had passed around a bend of the stream. The stroke was slackened, to the relief of all, for, though they were sturdy lads, rowing was a form of exercise to which they were not much accustomed, especially in a shell. The strangeness of the seats, the toe stretchers, and the outriggers added to their confusion, so that the fatigue was almost as much one of attention and brain power as of muscle. "Now for a turn against the current," remarked the coach, when they had gone on a mile or two more. "This will give you some resistance to work against." The shell was turned, after a fashion, Mr. Lighton being anxious not to bring too much strain on the outriggers, the turning action always involving this. "Give way!" came the command, and the shell started back up stream. This was harder work, but the coach, desiring to know if he had any members on the crew who were likely to prove of less service than the others, kept them all up to a good stroke. There was some panting when the float was reached, a larger crowd than before being there to welcome the first tentative crew. But, to do the lads justice, not one but had stood the strain well, even the fault-finding Boswell. "Well rowed for the first time!" complimented Mr. Lighton. "Now, then, a good shower bath and a rub-down, and then some light exercise to keep from getting stiff, for you have used muscles to-day that seldom came into play before. Now who's for another crew?" and he picked out eight more lads, who went off in the shell. "That was great!" cried Tom, as, with his three particular chums he started for the gymnasium. "It sure was," agreed Sid. "I never thought I could do so well." "And I never knew I could do so rotten!" came from Frank. "I used to think I was some pumpkins with an oar, but this has taken all the conceit out of me." "Same here," agreed Phil. "But I think we're on the right road." "Boxer Hall did fine," went on Tom. "I give them credit for that. I wish we'd started at rowing years ago. It's a shame it was so neglected at Randall." "It was dandy of those old grads to think to put us in the way of it once more," went on Sid. "We'll have to pass them a vote of thanks." Thus talking the boys went into the gymnasium, whence they emerged a little later, glowing, and feeling the spring and buoyancy of youth. "Hello, what's this?" asked Phil, as they entered their room, and saw some letters on the table. "From the girls!" cried Tom, as he saw a certain hand-writing. "Here, you've got mine!" declared Frank, making a grab for the epistle in Sid's hand. "Beg your pardon old man--so I have. I'll trade," and soon the four lads were busy perusing four notes. "They're going to have a dance," spoke Tom. "A week from to-night. Will we go? I guess yes! That is, I don't think we have any date for that evening." "If I have I'll break it," said Sid, quickly. "Listen to the old misogynist--him as wouldn't used to speak to a girl!" cried Phil. "Oh, what a change! What a change!" "Dry up!" commanded Sid, making a reach for his chum, who nimbly escaped by leaping behind the sofa. "Say, this is pretty indefinite," went on Tom. "They just ask us to come, and don't say who's to take who, or anything like that." "And there are a new lot of fellows at Fairview," said Frank. "I move that we go over and make sure of our girls. I don't want to get left." "I should have thought Ruth would be more definite," put in Phil. "But say, we've got time to run over and back before grub. Come on." Regardless of the fact that they had just come in from a hard row, they soon got into their "semi-best suits," as Sid called them, and hurried to the trolley that would land them at the co-educational institution. "There are the girls!" exclaimed Tom, who, being in the lead, as he and his chums crossed the campus a little later, saw the four; Ruth, Madge Tyler, Mabel Harrison and Helen Newton. They paired off--as they always did--and soon were walking in different directions. Tom was with Ruth Clinton, and after the matter of the dance had been settled, and she had agreed to accompany him, as doubtless the other girls had done for the other lads, the tall pitcher, with a glance at his pretty companion remarked: "New pin, Ruth? Where did you get it?" and he looked at her collar-fastening. "Hush!" she exclaimed, looking quickly around. "Don't tell Phil!" "Why not?" Tom wanted to know. "Doesn't he want you to have jewelry?" "Yes, but listen, you remember that dear old-fashioned brooch I used to wear? The one with the secret spring in the back, that, when you pressed on it, showed a little picture of me. Do you remember that?" "Do I? I should say I did! And how you dropped it at a dance once, and I had to crawl down under the palms in the conservatory to get it." "And you in your dress suit, poor boy!" and Ruth laughed. "I should say you might well remember it. But, Tom, this is serious," and she grew grave at once. "I've lost that brooch!" "Lost it--how?" "Or, rather, it's been stolen, and I don't dare tell Phil. You know the clasp was broken, or something was the matter with it. That's the reason it fell off that time you had to hunt for it." "And did it drop again? Tell me where, and I'll search until----" "No, Tom, it wouldn't do any good," and Ruth sighed. "Why not?" "Because it's been stolen!" "Stolen!" "Yes. Listen. I feel dreadfully about it. You know it was a gift from my grandmother. She is a dear, old-fashioned lady, and she has lots of lovely old-fashioned jewelry. She always said she disliked the present styles, and when she gave me that pin she made me promise to wear it, and never be ashamed of it, even if it was a century old. "Of course I promised, for the pin _was_ a beauty. And grandmother always said that if I took good care of it, and wore it whenever I went out, she would leave me her lovely string of pearls. Of course I would have worn the pin without that. And now it's been taken!" "Taken! By someone here at college?" "Hush, not so loud! I gave it to a jeweler, a Mr. Farson, in Haddonfield, to repair the clasp, and I just got word from him to-day that it was taken. So I had to buy another pin to fasten my collar with, and I'm so afraid Phil will notice it; or that grandmother may hear about it! She'll say I'm careless." "Did Farson have your brooch?" cried Tom. "Yes. Why?" "And did he tell you how it was taken?" "Well, he said it was taken with a lot of other things that he had collected from his customers to repair. He offered to get me another, but of course I never can get one like that." "Say!" exclaimed Tom, greatly excited. "Your pin must have been in that box he left in his motor-boat, when the craft was wrecked on Crest Island and when the Boxer Hall cups were taken. By Jove! This brings that robbery home to me all right!" and Tom looked strangely at Ruth. CHAPTER IX ON CREST ISLAND "What do you mean?" cried the girl, impressed by Tom's strange manner. "Why, didn't you hear? This jeweler had been going about collecting work for repairing, and left a lot of it in a box in his boat. Then he was called away suddenly, and remained away over night. A flood came up, swept his boat away, wrecked it on Crest Island, and we four fellows found it there. But the jewelry case was empty. Didn't you hear that--and about the Boxer Hall cups?" "I believe I did," answered Ruth, slowly. "But I did not know then, that my brooch was in that box. Oh, Tom, do you suppose it could be on Crest Island?" "I don't know, Ruth. The box was empty when we found it, and we think someone located it before we did, and rifled it." "Oh, Tom, my dear pin! If grandmother hears I've lost it she'll never forgive me--and then her pearls, too; not that I care so much about them, but this pin was given her by her husband, when they were courting, and she thought the world of it. It was made abroad, of a peculiar pattern, and never could be replaced. It was an heirloom, and she must have thought a lot of me to let me take it. "Oh, I just can't bear to tell her it is gone! Maybe we can find it. Perhaps it is on the island yet. Maybe it dropped from the box. Tell me; was Phil along when you found the box?" "Yes, but of course he didn't know that anything of yours was in it." "Then please don't tell him. He might think I ought to tell grandmother about it--he's so peculiar. And I _will_ tell her, if worse comes to worst, and I can't get it back. But, oh, Tom! do you suppose it could be on the island?" and she looked eagerly at him. "If it's there I'll find it!" declared the tall pitcher, perhaps with more zeal than discretion. "And don't you tell a soul!" "I won't," he promised. "Could you take me with you, Tom? I'd like to help you hunt for it." "Of course," he said, promptly. "The weather is getting fine now. We'll row over to the island some day, and make a search. But that pin isn't going to be easy to find." "No, I realize that, Tom. But it will make me feel better to help look for it. Oh, how careless of that jeweler to leave his things in the boat!" "It was, in a way, but he could not tell he was going to be summoned away, nor that the flood would come. I feel sorry for him." "So do I, but--I want my brooch back," and Ruth smiled at Tom. "Now don't say anything, and don't notice my new pin--at least in front of Phil," she stipulated. "If I can get the old one back, then it will be time enough to tell him. Oh, here he comes now, with Madge. Yes, I think the dance will be perfectly fine!" exclaimed Ruth, in loud tones, to change the conversation for the benefit of her brother and Madge. Tom took his cue instantly, and the four were soon engaged in a lively conversation, Ruth, meanwhile, telegraphing signals to Tom with her eyes, while she arranged a bit of her lace collar over the new pin, so that her brother would not notice it. Plans for the dance being duly made, the boys took a regretful departure. But it was high time, for Miss Philock sent one of the teachers to Ruth and the girls, to tell them that visiting hours were over. "Until the next time!" called the girls, as the boys walked off. "And, Tom," whispered Ruth, "don't forget." "I'll not!" he promised. "Hello, what's up between you and Sis?" asked Phil, quickly. "Oh, we're just arranging a little expedition," was the answer of his chum. But Tom could not carry out his plan of taking the girl to Crest Island the next day. It rained, and baseball practice was ordered in the cage at the gymnasium. As I do not, in this book, intend to devote much space to baseball at Randall (seeing that I have fully discussed several games in other books of this series), it is sufficient to say that all of our friends played on the varsity nine, together with some new students, and that Randall bade fair to win the championship at this time. Which she later did, though not without hard work. Then came several days of practice in the eight-oared shell, and in the four, the double, and singles, which had, in the meanwhile, been received. There was much enthusiasm, and Mr. Lighton had to press in as coaches some post-graduate students who knew rowing fairly well. But he himself gave his time to the eight. A number of other lads had been tried in it, and among those who had taken the first practice spin several shifts in position were made. But at last a fine, warm, sunny Spring day came, and Tom, after an early lecture one afternoon, arrayed himself in a costume suitable for rowing, and, with some cushions under his arm, set off for the boathouse. "Whither away?" asked Phil, as he surveyed his chum. "Oh, out for a row," and Tom strove to make his voice indifferent. "With cushions; eh? Want any company?" "No, thanks, old man. No offense, of course," he hastened to add, "but----" "None taken!" exclaimed Phil. "Guess I'll go get a girl myself." As Tom neared the boathouse he met Sid and Frank. "Want me to pull an oar?" asked the former, as he saw the tall pitcher. "No. I can manage," and Tom proceeded to get out a light boat. "I say, old man," put in Frank, with a wink at Sid. "Lend me one of those cushions; will you. I'm going----" "You're going to get one of your own!" interrupted Tom. "I need these." "You mean the lady does," added Sid, with a laugh. "Go on, you old deserter. We'll be going out in the shell, later." "Will you?" exclaimed Tom. "I wonder if I'd better--Oh, go and be hanged to you!" he added. "I'll get practice enough," and he got into the boat and rowed away. "Wonder where he's going?" spoke Frank. "Give it up," replied Sid. "Let's find Phil, and get ready for a spin." Meanwhile Tom made good time to Fairview, and found Ruth awaiting him, he having previously telephoned to her to be in readiness. "Oh, Tom, I wonder if we will have any luck?" she exclaimed, as they set off, her three girl chums watching her curiously. "I hope so," he answered, "but, really, I can't hold out much. A brooch is so small, and Crest Island is rather large. But we'll look near the place where the box lodged. The pin may still be there." It was not a short row to Crest Island, but Tom did not mind it. Indeed he was rather sorry when the place was reached. He lost no time in proceeding to the spot where he and his chums had picked up the jewelry box. The place seemed just the same, with no evidence of any other visitors. It was rather early for the Summer crowds to come, and none of the several cottages had opened. The two spent some time in making a careful search, beginning at the point where the wrecked boat had been found, and working along both shores--that is, after a search at the spot where the box had been picked up. But no brooch rewarded their efforts. "I guess you'll have to wait until the other things are located," said Tom. "Your pin may be among them." "Let's walk on a little farther," proposed Ruth. "I want to look at Madge Tyler's cottage." "Has Madge a cottage here?" asked the lad, in surprise. "Her people have taken one for the Summer. Madge has invited us girls to spend several weeks with her. Where are you boys going this vacation?" "To Crest Island!" replied Tom promptly, though, a moment before, he had had not the slightest idea. "Oh, you're just _saying_ that!" challenged Ruth. "No, really I'm not!" he insisted. "If you girls are going to cottage here, I don't see why we can't camp. Other fellows do." "Oh, it would be nice, of course," she admitted, as they strolled along. "There's the Tyler place," called Ruth a little later. "I recognize the description. Isn't it lovely?" "Fine!" agreed Tom. "And that looks like a good camping place," and he indicated a spot not far off. They soon gave up looking for the lost brooch, which, as Ruth said, was like searching for a needle in a haystack. They strolled some distance on the island, admiring the Summer cottages that would soon be open, and then turned back. Not far from the spot where Tom and his chums had found the rifled jewelry box Tom saw a sort of shack, or small hut, off between the trees. "I wonder whose that is?" he ventured. "Let's go take a look." "It doesn't seem very inviting," returned Ruth. "Perhaps some boatmen live there." The shack was deserted, but a look through the grimy windows showed that it probably had an occupant, for there were some dishes on a table, some pans on a rusty stove, and, in through another room, could be seen some bunks. "Probably a caretaker for the cottages," suggested Ruth, as she rested her hand on a window-sill, and idly pulled out some threads that had caught in a splinter. "Rather a strange sort of caretaker," she went on, "who wears silk--see, these are silk threads," and she held up a number, brightly colored. "Where did you get those?" asked Tom, and the girl started at the strange note in his voice. "On the window sill," she explained. "Why?" "Oh--nothing," was his answer, but she noted that he took the threads from her, and carefully put them in a card case. "They might do to make a fishing fly with," he explained, after a pause. "Oh," she said. They strolled around to the front door of the building to find it locked. "There's someone's card," remarked Ruth, as she touched a bit of pasteboard with the toe of her shoe. "Maybe it was on the door, telling at what hour the person who lives here would return." "Maybe," agreed Tom, stooping to pick it up. "I'll fasten it back again. I wonder who does live here?" Idly he turned the card over. Then he started in surprise, for the name that met his eyes was: _Reginald Boswell_ "Who is it?" asked Ruth. "Anyone I know?" "I--I fancy not," answered Tom, still staring at the card. "I wonder how that got here?" he mused. "And I wonder who lives in this shack?" and putting the bit of pasteboard in his pocket, he swung around. "I guess we'd better be getting back," he said to Ruth. "It's getting late, and it's a bit of a pull. I'm sorry we couldn't find your brooch." "So am I," she admitted, with a sigh. "But it can't be helped. Oh, _how_ can I tell grandmother?" She took Tom's arm, as the way was rough. They had not gone many feet before they heard someone approaching, tramping through the underbrush. "Who can that be?" asked the girl. "I don't know--we'll look," whispered Tom. CHAPTER X THE GAY HANDKERCHIEF "Who are you--what you do here?" The question was snapped out at Tom and Ruth as they stood near the shack. A man had come to an abrupt halt as he emerged from the bushes and faced them; something of fear, Tom thought, mingled with anger showing on his face. It was this man whom they had heard approaching, a man clad in ordinary garments, yet with an indefinable foreign air about him--an air that was accentuated by his words and inflection. He was dark of skin, swarthy, and when he smiled, which he did a moment after his rather harsh words of greeting, his very white teeth showed beneath a small black moustache. A Spaniard Tom put him down for, or a Mexican. The latter guess proved correct, as the lad learned afterward. "You come here to--to--pardon, senor, I am forgetting my manners," went on the fellow with a bow, and a sharp glance at Ruth. "You are here perhaps to look at cottages--you and your charming bride." Ruth drew in her breath sharply, and a rosy glow suffused her face. She did not look at Tom, who chuckled audibly. "I--I'll never speak to you if you do that again," said the girl, in a low voice. "Do what?" asked Tom, innocently enough. "Laugh at--at what he said," and she still blushed, and refused to look up. "Pardon, senor," went on the man. "No offense, but----" "That's all right," said Tom easily, master of himself now, but wondering much who the man might be. "We were just looking around. Some friends of ours have a cottage here--the Tylers----" "Oh, yes. Then you are very welcome. In fact you would be welcome anyhow, as this island is more or less of the public--what you say, I have not the very good English?" and he looked questioningly at them. "Oh, you mean that it is open to the public." "That is so, yes, senor, and senorita. You are interested in my poor abode here--yes?" "Oh, we were just looking around," explained Tom. "We did peep in. No harm, I hope." "None at all, senor." "I'm from Randall," the pitcher went on. "Miss Clinton is from Fairview." "Oh, you are fellow students then?" "Not exactly--say, rather--rivals," and Tom looked at Ruth and laughed. The blush had somewhat subsided. "Ah, I comprehend. I am Rafello Mendez, at your service, senor." "My name is Parsons," went on Tom. "Sorry I haven't a card," and he thought of the one he had picked up, which he had quickly thrust into his pocket at the sound of approaching footsteps. "I am what you call the take-care man around here," went on Mendez. "I am the take-care man of the cottages--not all--some." "The 'take-care' man," murmured Tom. "It sounds like the bugaboo-man." "Oh, he means the care-taker," exclaimed Ruth. "I understand. You look after the property while the cottagers are away; isn't that it?" and she smiled at the man, who bowed low and answered: "The senorita has said it. I am the take-care man." "But I thought old Jake Blasdell had that job," said Tom. "I know he used to be here. But I never knew he had this shack, though I haven't been much on this part of the island." "Senor Blasdell did was the take-care man," explained Mendez. "But he was took sick, and had to leave, and a friend got me the place. Me, I used to be of the sheep take-care in my country--Mexico, but I long for this country and I come. I do what you call a business on the edge." "On the edge?" murmured Tom. "Yes, senor, on the edge. Or maybe you say on the point. You see he is like this: I am the take-care man for the cottages in place of Senor Blasdell in Winter. In Summer I am the cut-the-grass-man or the garden-man, what you like. Then, besides, in addition, on the edge I sell things in my store which it is unfortunately not open now, or I should show the senorita some pretty things. The store I do on the edge--or maybe on the point, I know not how you say," and he shrugged his shoulders expressively. "Oh, he means on the side!" cried Ruth. "Don't you understand, Tom? He is a caretaker, and at odd times he sells things to the Summer cottagers." "The senorita has said it," went on Mendez. "It is on the side, not on the edge--pardon!" "What do you sell?" asked Tom, curiously. "Everything. Things from the country. Of a specialty I have the beautiful Mexican push-work, senorita." "Push-work, that's another new one," said Tom. "I guess he means Mexican drawn-work," explained Ruth with a smile. "Some of it is very beautiful. He ought to do a good business here in the Summer." "I should, if I had all customers like the senorita," said the man with a bow to Ruth, again showing his white teeth in an expansive smile. "I am covered with confusion that I can show her none now. But it is all put away. Perhaps, though, if you wait----" "No, we must be moving on!" interrupted Tom. "It is getting late. And so you live here all Winter?" "Yes, senor. This little hut was part of the place where Senor Blasdell used to stay. It was donated to me. I moved it here when I succeeded Senor Blasdell, and added to it. It is very comfortable. I have been over to the main land for some supplies, and when I come back I see you. At first I am suspicious, for which I ask your pardon. You are always welcome, the senor and senorita," and again he bowed. "Thanks, Mr. Mendez," said Tom, rather carelessly, for somehow he did not like the fellow. "We may see you this Summer. Some of us fellows may camp here." "Then I shall be pleased to show you some fine Mexican leather work. Perhaps a lariat, spurs, bridles, and some fine silver work for the pretty senoritas, is it not?" and the fellow smiled genially. "Good-bye!" called Tom. "Come along, Ruth. I'll have to hit up the oars going home or I'll have you so late that you'll get on the bad books of the Ogress." "Oh, I'm there already," she replied, as she nodded to the Mexican, who bowed low in farewell. "All our crowd is, but we don't mind. Now, Tom, did you really mean what you said about going to camp on Crest Island this Summer?" "I do, if I can get the other fellows to do it. I know they will, too, for we'll be near our rowing shells, and we can have the best kind of practice." "Oh, is _that_ the only reason you want to come here?" and she looked archly at him. "Why, isn't that----" he began and then a light dawned on him. "I guess we wouldn't come if you girls weren't to be here," he added, quickly. "When I tell the fellows that, I know it will cinch matters. Oh, we'll come all right." They reached their boat, embarked, and Tom was soon sculling away from the island. "Queer chap--that Mendez," remarked the youth after a bit. "Isn't he?" agreed Ruth. "I didn't know those Mexicans were so thrifty," the rower went on. "Being a 'care-take' man and doing Mexican 'push-work' on the 'edge'. Pretty good; eh?" "Yes," laughed Ruth. "I can see where we girls will spend a great deal of our time this Summer." "So can I," declared her companion, boldly. "With us fellows." "Oh, you're not at all conceited; are you?" "I didn't know it," went on Tom, tantalizingly. "But say, do you know I didn't much like that fellow, for all his fine airs." "Why not, pray? I thought him quite polite." "He was--altogether too polite," murmured the lad, with a little more force than seemed necessary. "I don't like foreigners, anyhow." "Well, I could forgive anyone, even a foreigner, if I could get back my brooch," sighed Ruth. "I don't know what I'm going to do about it." "It is too bad," agreed Tom. "Now, Ruth, we won't say anything about what happened to-day, and if you promise not to tell, I'll whisper a secret." "Oh, Tom, of course I won't tell--you know that!" and she looked reproachfully at him. "Of course--I was only joking. Well, we four fellows are trying to do a little detective work, and recover the stolen jewelry." "You are?" "Yes, and if we do we may get back your brooch." "Oh, I hope you do!" and she clapped her hands in spontaneous delight. "Do you think you will, Tom?" "Hard to tell, Ruth. There aren't many clues to work on. At least there weren't until to-day----" "Oh, did you find some to-day, Tom? Tell me, I'm so fascinated with detective work! Did you really see some clue that escaped me?" "Ahem! Detectives never talk about their cases, or tell about their clues!" he exclaimed, with exaggerated gravity. "Tom Parsons!" "Well, really, I don't know whether I did find a clue or not, Ruth. I'm going to think about it over night. If you can help me I won't hesitate to call on you." "Will you, really, Tom? That's good of you. And now I'm afraid you'll have to row a little faster. It _is_ getting quite late." "All right," agreed the lad, as he bent to the oars. As he rowed his thoughts went to the card in his pocket and to the strands of silk from the gay handkerchief. Fortunately Ruth was not so late that Miss Philock found fault. Tom proved himself a good rower, though after he had said good-bye he took the course easy on the way to Randall. "Some sculling," he told himself, as he tied up the boat and, in the dusk of the late Spring evening, walked toward his room. "This ought to stand me in good stead for the eight. My muscles are hardening," and he felt of his biceps. He was in extraordinarily good training from his baseball work. As he was about to enter the building where he and his chums had their rooms, he saw Boswell approaching. Tom's mind flashed to the card he had picked up at the shack. "I wonder what he could have been doing there?" the tall pitcher mused. "If Mendez didn't have his store open and his stock ready for sale, how could Bossy have bought any? And, if he didn't go there to buy anything, why did he go at all? I give it up." There was no time for further speculation just then, as the rich lad, with a nod, addressed Tom. "Where were you?" he asked with an air of familiarity that Tom rather resented in a Freshman. "We had a fine row in the eight. I'm almost sure of bow, and Lighton may shift me to stroke, or number seven." "Yes?" questioned Tom indifferently, yet resolving to make a brave struggle not to let this usurper put him out of his place in the boat. "Sure thing. I'm coming on fine, and I've got a dandy scheme for keeping in trim this Summer." "Yes?" "Yes. Our folks are going to take a cottage on Crest Island, and----" "You are?" and Tom fairly exploded the words. "Surest thing you know, though it's a beastly slow and unfashionable place. We usually go to the shore. We have one cottage there, and another in the White Mountains, but I persuaded dad to take one at Crest for the Summer, just so I could be near the water here and get familiar with the course we'll row next Fall. Nothing like knowing the course, old man, really." "No, I suppose not," and Tom's mind was busy with many things. With Boswell on the island, matters might not be so pleasant as he had anticipated. "That's right. I'm going to get a professional coach, too." "You are?" Tom's voice was still indifferent, but Boswell did not notice it. "Sure thing. When I go in for a thing I go in hard, and I'm going into this rowing game for keeps." "Well, I hope we all do," and Tom tried to be pleasant as he turned away. "See you later," murmured the Freshman, in a patronizing tone, and, as he turned aside he drew from his pocket a gaudy handkerchief. At the sight of it Tom stared, for it was the same pattern as the strip of silk found near the looted jewelry box. Tom stared at it intently as the rich lad flourished it. "By Jove!" suddenly exclaimed Boswell, "I've got that torn handkerchief again," and he held it up, showing where a strip had evidently been ripped from it. "I've got two," he explained, "and this one got torn the other day. I thought I laid it aside, but, in my hurry, I must have grabbed it up." "How--how'd you tear it?" asked Tom, when he could trust his voice. "Oh, it caught on a nail down at the boathouse, and a piece was ripped off." "Why--why couldn't you have it sewed on?" asked Tom. "What? Carry a mended handkerchief? I guess not. Anyhow the piece fell in the water and floated away. Hope you'll be in the eight next time we practice, though I may get your place." "Maybe," answered Tom, and he did not take the trouble to designate which clause the word modified. CHAPTER XI THE FIRST BREAK "Say, where in the name of Diogenes's lantern have you been, Tom?" "Yes, come in you musty old deserter, and give an account of yourself. You've been away so long that you must have forgotten the counter-sign." "It was a girl, fellows--I can smell the perfumery!" Thus Sid, Phil and Frank greeted the advent of our hero into the common room, soon after he had left Boswell. Tom's brain had been so busy with so many thoughts, after the sight of that torn handkerchief, that he had eaten scarcely any supper, though his appetite just before that had been of the best. "Shove over; can't you?" was all Tom said to Phil, who was stretched out on the old sofa. "Sure I can. What's the matter? Got a grouch!" "No, but I'm dead tired." "Be careful how you flop," warned Sid, as he watched with anxiety Tom's preparations to sit down. "That sofa doesn't gain strength with age--it isn't like cheese in that respect." "Where were you?" asked Phil, as Tom managed to find a resting place without bringing forth from the sofa more than a protesting groan, and a series of squeaks. "Ruth and I were out for a row," said Tom shortly, knowing that the truth would out sooner or later, and having nothing to conceal. "Oh, ho!" exclaimed Sid. "Where'd you go?" asked Phil, with brotherly interest. "Crest Island. That's what kept me so long. I got her home in good season though, and rowed slow the rest of the way." "Crest Island!" exclaimed Frank. "Did you find any more clues, Tom?" The tall pitcher hesitated. He was in two minds about what had taken place that afternoon. Should he tell his chums the secret he thought he had discovered, and get their opinions in working it out? Or should he play a lone hand? A moment's thought convinced him. He would tell all--that is, all save Ruth's secret. That he had no right to divulge. "Well?" asked Frank, as his chum hesitated. "Did you find anything, Tom?" "I sure did, fellows," and he tossed on the table the card of Boswell, and the strands of silk. For a moment no one spoke, and then Sid, picking up the card remarked: "This looks suspicious, Tom. Did you and Bossy quarrel over a girl, and go to Crest Island to have a duel? It begins to look that way--exchanging cards and all that." "We didn't exchange cards," said Tom shortly. "I found that card near a shack where a caretaker lives. And, by the way, fellows, we're going to camp on Crest Island this Summer." "We are?" cried Phil. "I like the nice, easy way he has of laying out our vacation plans for us," remarked Sid. "Just as if he was our manager," added Frank. "Well, I only thought it would be handy if we want to practice rowing," went on Tom, holding back the other reason. "We could get a boat, and drop down to college here every day or so, take out the shell and have a spin. If we want to beat Boxer Hall we've got to do some tall hustling, and practice like all get-out!" "Oh, I fancy I can practice rowing on Crystal Lake, where our folks intend taking a cottage," said Sid. "No Crest Island for mine!" "The girls are going to cottage there," went on Tom, with a fine appearance of indifference. "Madge Tyler's folks have a neat little shack there, and Ruth, Helen and Mabel are going to spend some time with her." "They are!" cried Frank. "Why didn't you say so at first?" asked Sid, indignantly. "I--er--I guess I can fix it to camp there," spoke Phil, just as if he had never intended spending his vacation at any other place. "Oh, you fellows were so sure you knew your own business that I didn't want to butt in," went on the pitcher. "But, boys, what do you think of that?" and he indicated the card and silk. "It's the same material," spoke Frank after a bit, as he compared the shreds Tom had pulled from the window-sill of the shack on the island, with the torn strip found near the looted jewelry box. "And what would you say if I told you that Bossy had a handkerchief of that same pattern, with a strip torn off?" asked Tom, slowly. "Has he?" asked Frank, looking sharply at his chum. "He has." "Then, by crimps! He's the fellow who has the cups and jewelry!" cried Sid. "Go easy," advised Phil. "That's the worst of you--always jumping to conclusions." "And why shouldn't I, when I can land on 'em as easily as I can on this one? Isn't it as plain as can be?" "Not altogether. We'd make fine specimens of ourselves if we went and accused him on this evidence. You say, Tom, that you found this card near the Mexican's shack?" "Yes. And the shreds of silk there, too. It looks to me as if Bossy had been there to buy a handkerchief. Two of 'em, if we're to believe him. The Mexican probably has them as well as his 'push-work' as he calls it," and he told all the circumstances of the visit to the island, omitting only the search for Ruth's brooch. "I guess that part is right," admitted Frank. "I mean about Bossy going there to buy one of these gay handkerchiefs. But just because he did doesn't make him guilty. In fact, what object would he have in taking some trophy cups that he could get very little for if they were melted up, and nothing for, if he tried to sell them as they were? No one would buy them, for on the face of them they show what they are. Some were engraved with the Boxer Hall fellows' names. And the other jewelry wasn't so very valuable. Bossy wouldn't have any object in taking that. He's got more money now, than is good for him." "He might have been gambling, and gotten short of cash, and been afraid of asking his folks," suggested Sid, remembering an ordeal he had gone through in having a relative under similar circumstances, as I related in "Batting to Win." "I don't believe it," declared Frank. "To my mind I'd sooner suspect this Mendez. He seems a fishy sort of character." "Oh, I think he's straight," declared Tom. "I made some inquiries about him while I was having grub. It seems some of the fellows here have been buying stuff of him--last year when he was traveling around the country. He bears a good reputation, and Hendell's father, who owns part of Crest Island, was telling me that the property owners looked up his record well before they let him succeed old Jake Blasdell as caretaker." "Hum!" mused Frank. "It doesn't look as easy as it did at first, in spite of these clues, Tom." "That's right. Say, I'm not as much of a detective as I thought. I wonder if that jeweler could be double-crossing us?" "What do you mean?" asked Sid. "I mean could he have lost the box of jewelry overboard before his boat was carried away by the flood? If he did, he could make up the story that he left it in the locker, and that someone else got it when the boat was wrecked." "That's possible, though not probable," admitted Frank. "Fellows, my advice is that we put these things away, and forget all about them to-night. In the morning we may see matters clearer. I've got to do some boning anyhow. Put 'em away, Tom." Soon only the ticking of the fussy, little alarm clock was heard, mingled with the rattle of paper as books were leafed or as the lads wrote out their lessons. Even the clock stopped after a bit, and the sudden silence was so startling that Phil exclaimed: "She's run down! Hope nothing's the matter with her," and he picked up the timepiece with an anxious face. "Probably got toothpickitis," suggested Tom. "Give it a shake." Phil did so, with the result that a piece of toothpick did fall out, and then the clock went on ticking again. "That's better," sighed Phil, though often he had objected to the incessant noise. "It would be like losing an old friend if that went back on us." He settled into the depths of one of the old armchairs, Sid being in another, while Frank, who had succeeded to the sofa stretched out luxuriously on that, having ousted Tom, who, on a stool drawn up to the table, was making an ancient war map that was to be used in class the next day. Morning brought no clearer view to the puzzling problem of the clues to the missing jewelry, and, having all agreed to keep silent about the matter, the lads laid aside the articles and hurried to chapel. In the several days that followed nothing new in that line developed. There came several baseball contests, in which Tom and his chums distinguished themselves. The long vacation was approaching, and more or less "boning" had to be done if the lads intended to pass their examinations. All these things, with the rowing practice, kept them busy so that Tom, as was the case with the others, had little chance to see the girls. The other second-hand rowing craft were made good use of, and those who were to go in the four were practically picked. So were the singles and doubles, though of course a change might be made in the Fall, when new material would come to Randall. All eyes, and most of the interest, however, was on and in the eight. On this Randall built her hopes of becoming champion of the river and lake league. Though when word came of the fast time made by Boxer Hall and Fairview in their practice spins, there were doubtful shakes of the head, for Randall was nowhere near as good. Then came the annual Boxer Hall-Fairview races. It was about an even thing between the two colleges, until it came time for the eight-oared contest. There was even a tub race, and the boys at Randall decided to have one when it came time for them to take part in the regatta. But Boxer won the eight with ease over Fairview, and when Mr. Lighton, who with most of those who had practiced in Randall's big shell, witnessed the exciting finish, he shook his head. "We've got to do some tall hustling," he remarked, "and make some changes. I'll start in on them to-morrow." There was a larger number than usual at practice on Sunny River the next day. All Randall seemed to be at the boathouse. Adjoining the old one a start had already been made on erecting the new structure, presented by the alumni. Word had been received that the new shells would be ready in ample time for the Fall races. "Young men!" exclaimed Coach Lighton, as the eight was slipped into the water, "I'm going to make some radical changes in the crew, and I want none of you to feel sore, because, you know, it is for the good of the college. We have not been rowing well, of late, and there are several faults to correct. The boat hangs a bit, and is a trifle heavy by the stern. She drags. I know one reason for this, it is my own weight, and so I am going to suggest that you now try one of yourselves as coxswain. I am a little too 'beefy' for the place. "Jerry Jackson, you take the tiller ropes. You've had more practice than any of the others, and you're too light to hope to be at the oars." "All right," agreed Jerry, cheerfully. After all it was an honor to steer the eight. "Simpson, you'll stay at stroke, and, Parsons, I'm going to send you back a bit. No offense, but you're not quite quick enough in picking up the stroke. I think it's your baseball arm that's at fault. Molloy, you take Parsons' place, and Tom will go number three. From three, Henderson will go to bow. He's about the right weight for there when we get Jackson in as coxswain. And, Jerry, you'll want to shift your seat a bit aft, to make up for the extra weight they've been carrying in me. That will make a good change, I think." There was some murmuring over the changes, and obviously nearly all were pleased. Molloy especially, for he had been fretting lest he be kept out of the eight. As for Tom he was rather glad, on the whole, that he did not have the responsibility of picking up Frank's stroke, for it was a responsibility, and it was telling on him. He had begun to realize that his baseball pitching had made him a bit awkward in one arm. "Say, where do I come in?" suddenly asked Boswell. "I was at bow, and now--I'm nowhere, Mr. Lighton." "I'll work you in another crew, Boswell," said the coach, sharply. "But I want to be in the varsity." "This isn't the varsity any more than any other collection of eight rowers is. The varsity isn't picked yet, and won't be until the Fall." "Well, this looks very much like the varsity to me," sneered Boswell. "All the fellows in it are on the varsity nine----" "That'll do you!" said the coach, snappily. "Then I'm not to row at bow?" "Not in this eight." "Then I don't row at all!" and, with a fierce glance at the selected rowers, the rich lad turned sharply and walked off to the dressing rooms. "The first break," murmured Tom. "Take your places," spoke the coach, quietly. "I'm going to follow you in the launch. Jackson, make 'em do as you tell 'em!" CHAPTER XII A FRIENDLY BRUSH There was a small motor-boat, the property of the rowing association at Randall, having been acquired since the new interest in racing, and several times Mr. Lighton had used it to coach the lads in the fours, singles or doubles, running alongside of them. He now proposed to make use of it to coach the eight, since this was the first time (save for a few practice runs of short length) that he had not acted as coxswain. In the latter tries Jerry Jackson had steered, and, as he owned a motor-boat of his own, which he ran every Summer, he was an apt pupil. Little was said of the changes made, until the shell was well out in the river, and then Phil, who was, in the new arrangement, next to Tom, remarked: "How do you like it, and what do you think of it?" "I think Bossy was a calf to show his temper that way, and I like it here better than in the stern. I can row better when I don't have to worry about picking up Frank's stroke." "Say, but he's a peach at it!" exclaimed Sid, admiringly, from his place at bow oar. "Silence in the bows!" came the sharp command of Jerry Jackson. "Listen to him," spoke Bricktop, who was at number seven. "That won't do, boys!" came the sharp voice of the coach, as he ran his little launch up alongside. "If you're not going to accord to Jackson, while he is in the position of coxswain, the same respect you gave me, you might as well give up rowing now and for all. You can't talk and row. You need too much breath for the latter. So if you want to talk, and gibe the coxswain, then the place for you is on shore." "Right!" exclaimed Sid. "I'll be good." "Same here," came from Tom. "I beg your pardon, coxswain," said Phil. Bricktop Molloy, grinning while the sweat ran down from his forehead, outlined in red hair, into his eyes, whispered: "What you say, goes!" And then Bricktop, being as loyal a Randallite as there was, proceeded to row as he had never before, while Frank set a killing stroke. The little lesson was not wasted. Running along in the launch, by means of which he could keep close to the shell, Mr. Lighton gave valuable advice. He could do it to better advantage now that he was not in the boat. "Cut 'em down some," advised the coach, after Frank's little spurt. "About twenty-eight a minute will do now. We'll try a ten-mile bit to-day." Some of the lads felt their hearts sink at this. Eight had been the limit so far, but they realized that they were in for a grilling, and they stiffened their backs to it. "Row out your strokes," went on the coach. "Use every ounce of strength you have, and remember that your muscular force, applied at the beginning, does ten times the work as if you put it in at the end. Keep together. Get the oars in the water at the same time, and out together. "Feather a bit higher--the water is rough to-day and you don't want to splash. Try to imagine you are all a part of one man rowing in a small boat. Make your oars rise and fall together. They're a bit ragged now." With such good advice did the coach urge on the lads, and they responded nobly. In a short time, though the rowing had gone a bit awkwardly at first, there was a noticeable improvement. As Mr. Lighton had said, the boat had been a bit heavy aft, and had dragged. With his weight gone, and with a lighter coxswain, and with the other changes, there was great improvement. Instead of hanging in the water the shell seemed to glide through it at a steady rate. There was no jerking progress, but a steady onward movement, the perfection of rowing. "Get a little more into the finish of the stroke!" called the coach at one point. "You must get the beginning of the stroke with the body only, but finish with the arms and shoulders. Send your elbows past your sides. Drop your shoulders, but keep up your heads and chests." Thus he corrected fault after fault, until on the return from that row not a lad but felt he had made great improvement. They were all grateful for the change, even Tom, who had been shifted from the post of most honor, next to the stroke. Of course, Boswell, who, like Achilles, sulked in his room, could not be expected to be happy. "It wasn't a fair thing," he declared to his chum, Elwood Pierce. "I ought to have been kept at bow, or they might have made me stroke." "That's right, old chap," agreed Elwood. "But what can you expect of such beastly rotters? It wouldn't be that way over in Oxford." Rumor had it that Pierce had tried to enter Oxford, but had failed miserably. He always declared that the English climate did not agree with him. The Randall eight was within a few miles of their boathouse when the rowers saw approaching around the bend of the stream the Fairview eight, swinging along at a good pace. Instantly there came into the minds of all the same thought. Mr. Lighton who was alongside, must have realized it, for he called out: "I won't mind if you have a brush with them, if they're willing. But don't get too excited or anxious over it." "Ready!" called Jerry Jackson. Not get excited! As well tell a racehorse not to gallop when he hears the pit-pat of hoofs behind him. The hearts of all quickened. On came the Fairview eight out for a final practice spin. Their season was over, but they were keeping in training for the races in the Fall. "Want a brush?" asked Jerry of Roger Barns, who was coxswain. "Sure!" came the reply. "And we'll give you a start." "We don't want it!" snapped Tom. "Even terms or nothing!" "That's right!" murmured Frank, as he took a tighter grip on his oar. The two eights were now on even terms. Mr. Lighton, with a final nod of encouragement, steered his craft out of the way. "Give way, boys!" cried Jerry, as he grasped the tiller lines. "Show 'em how we row, even if Boxer Hall did beat us!" called Roger. With eager strokes the lads took up the race, and, though it was but a friendly brush it meant more to Randall than any realized, save those thinly-clad lads in the shell. It was their first chance to see what they could do against a formidable rival. CHAPTER XIII THE LONG VACATION "Come on now, fellows! Hit her up!" exclaimed Jerry Jackson, in a low voice. "No, not yet!" whispered Frank, as he bent forward in his place at stroke until he was nearer the lad at the tiller ropes. "Feel 'em out first, Jerry. Don't go breaking our hearts in the first mile. We've got a good ways to go in this little race, and the spurt will come toward the end, if I'm not mistaken. It would be pie for them if we rowed ourselves out, and then they would simply spurt past us. They're older hands at it than we are." "I guess you're right, Frank," admitted Jerry, who took the advice in good part. He had not been acting as coxswain long enough to feel resentment that his orders were not obeyed. He realized, also, that the lads at the oars had all the work to do, and, as it was not a regular race, when the coxswain had to be the general, it was no more than fair that the ones who had to do the labor should have a voice in saying how it was to be done. "Wait until we--get into a--good swing. Let us pull at--this stroke--for a while," went on Frank, speaking rather jerkily, and whispering every time his head came close to Jerry, in leaning forward to make his stroke. "Watch 'em, and when--you think we can spurt--then give--the word." "All right," assented the coxswain. He looked over at the Fairview shell, and noted that Roger Barns, the coxswain, was closely regarding the Randall eight. "They're sizing us up," thought Jerry. "Well, we may not be such a muchness now, but by Hector! When we start in regular training this Fall, if we don't make 'em sit up and notice which side their tea is 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 the tiller lines, shifting the rudder slightly to learn that the shell was in good control. She responded to the lightest touch, being indeed a well-built craft and as light as a feather, though with sufficient stiffness--that quality always hard to get in a frail shell. The two racing machines were now moving swiftly along, being about on even terms. Now and then, seemingly in response to a signal from their coxswain, the Fairview lads would hang back a bit, allowing the Randall shell to creep up. Evidently it was a little trick, played with the hope that Randall would spurt, and give her rivals an opportunity to sweep 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 a quicker stroke. "Say, is this a race or a crocheting party?" grumbled big Dutch Housenlager. "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're coming to a good stretch and I think they'll hit it up there. Be ready for the word, fellows." "Say, boys, he talks; but he won't let us!" complained Bricktop, winking at Jerry. "That means you!" insisted the coxswain. He glanced ahead. The launch with 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, for sounds carry wonderfully clear over water, and the lads, realizing this, 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 some uneven 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 sting from 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 Barns straighten up slightly in his coxswain seat, and take a fresh grip on the 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 the water, for the oars caught evenly and every man fairly lifted himself from 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 was pleased 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 stole one look over to the Fairview eight, and noted that he had not been mistaken. They, too, had spurted at the same time. Randall had not been caught napping. For several minutes this kept up, and Fairview could not seem to shake off her rival, and shoot ahead. Then a command could be heard given in that shell. What it was Jerry could not catch, but he saw the time of the 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 breath of his companions, was all needed for the work. "A little livelier," ordered Jerry, and he added two more strokes to the minute. Of course the effect was not so great as before, but it told, and Fairview, which had begun creeping ahead, was held in check by Randall. Another minute passed, and then the superior training and practice of Fairview told. Slowly she forged ahead, and nothing the Randall lads could do could prevent it. They were at their limit now, or at least the limit to which Jerry dared push them. With straining eyes he shot a quick glance across, and noted with despair that Fairview was a good quarter 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 with cross currents. "Easy all!" called Roger Barns, and his crew ceased rowing. It was a signal that the impromptu race was over. "Easy all!" commanded Jerry, with a sigh that they had not won. But at that Fairview was only a scant quarter of a length in advance. Randall had been beaten, but not by much. "Congratulations!" called Roger to his rival steersman. "You're coming on, 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 the season," declared Hadfield Spencer, the Fairview stroke. "We're not in training." "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 of a crew that had given Boxer Hall, the river champions, a hard race. "Well done, boys! Well done!" exclaimed Coach Lighton, as he came puffing 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 the Fairview shell pulled off. "I was afraid you would spurt too soon, but you 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 the eight. "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 of gratification to the alumni who have so generously provided for the racing material. And you say our boys nearly won from Fairview? How many innings 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 the coach, delicately. "Oh, yes, so we were," admitted the good doctor, in some confusion. "I was thinking of football, was I not? And so we have a good crew. Hum! Very well. I am so occupied with my translations of those Assyrian tablets that I fear my mind wanders at times." At times! Ah, Dr. Churchill, more often than "at times" did your mind wander! But what of that? It was keen enough on all occasions, though running in various channels, as many an old graduate will testify. The practice at Randall went on. There were sore hearts, but it could not be helped when the lads who thought they should be picked for the tentative crews, or for the singles, were passed by. For Mr. Lighton was impartial, and insisted on only the best no matter at what cost. Perhaps sorest of all was Boswell, he who had been displaced from what had come to be regarded as the varsity eight, though, as the coach pointed out, there might be changes in the Fall. Boswell was ordered into 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 may go in the singles." "I would," suggested the latter. "My word! A man's his own boss in a single." "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 friends and their chums. Then came the long vacation. CHAPTER XIV OFF FOR CAMP "See you soon again, old man!" "Yes, we'll get together in a couple of weeks. I've got to spend some time with the folks." "I'll write when I have the camp site all arranged for." "And don't forget to plan for plenty of grub!" "I want a soft cot, anyhow." "Say, what about the girls? I suppose there's no doubt about their going to Crest Island?" and Sid Henderson, who asked this question, interpolating it among half a dozen others, as well as amid numerous interjections, looked anxiously at Tom, as the four chums were saying good-bye preparatory to dispersing for the vacation. "Of course they'll go," declared Tom. "I had a letter from Ruth to-day----" "You did?" cried Phil. "I'll have to have a little seance with Sis. She writes to you oftener than she does to me, of late. Tom, you rascal, take care!" and he shook a warning finger at his chum. "And hark to Siddie, would you!" mocked Frank. "Sid's so anxious about the girls that he won't play if they don't come; will you Siddie?" "I'll play my fist on your nose, you old allosaurus!" cried Sid, as he made an unsuccessful reach for his tormentor. Books had been put away in the study of our heroes. The armchairs had been covered with dust-cloths, as had the creaking old sofa; the alarm clock had been wrapped in cotton, and put on the shelf. Its tick would not be heard until September. It would have a vacation, too. Randall College began to take on a deserted air, but there was still some activity around the boathouse. The shells were to be kept ready for use--the eights, the fours and the singles. For Mr. Lighton had urged all, who could, to come, if only for an occasional spin on the river to keep in condition. As we know, our friends had arranged to camp on Crest Island, and from there, as they had a boat, they could take a run down to Randall, and get in a four for practice. If they could get four others, and someone to act as coxswain, they would also row in the eight, they told the coach. "An excellent plan," he declared. "It will give us a good crew for the eight in the Fall, I'm sure." "The only drawback about Crest Island," said Phil, "is that Bossy is going there. He'll be an unmitigated nuisance, if I'm any judge of human nature." "Especially if he does as he says he will, and takes to practicing in a single," added Tom. "But the island is big enough," added Sid. "Even if the cottage his folks have taken is near the Tylers'," put in Frank, with a grin. "Is it?" asked Sid, eagerly. "It sure is." "Then he'd better look out!" declared Sid. "What's the matter? Afraid he'll take your girl?" asked Tom, with a laugh. But Sid did not reply. Nothing more had been discovered about the missing jewelry, nor had Tom and his chums been able to follow the clues which they had stumbled upon. The torn handkerchief, the empty jewelry box, the shreds of silk, had been put away, together with Boswell's card. Mendez, the Mexican, had been seen around Haddonfield several times since Tom and Ruth had met him on the island, and he seemed to be selling his wares, there being little need of his remaining on the island as caretaker all day. Whenever he met Tom, he was very polite, but our hero cared no more for the swarthy man than he had at first. "He's altogether too nice," decided our hero, though he realized this was nothing against the man. Certainly there seemed to be nothing to point suspicion to him, any more than to Boswell, and the four chums did not dare make an untoward move. It was too risky, Frank said. As for the Boxer Hall lads, though some might have held a faint thought that their Randall rivals were responsible for the loss of the cup trophies, no one said so in that many words. Still many Randallites felt that a grim suspicion hung over the college, caused by the unfortunate fact that Tom and his chums had been first on the ground when the articles were discovered to be gone from the wrecked boat. "Hang it all!" exclaimed Tom, as he and his chums were about to separate for the vacation, to meet soon again, "I wish we could get on the trail of that stuff, and the man who took it!" "So do I!" added Frank. "Well, maybe something will turn up this Summer." As for Ruth, she had successfully kept her secret with Tom. If her girl friends noticed the absence of her old brooch they said nothing. Mr. Farson, the jeweler, fretted much over his loss, but it did no good. He even increased the reward, to no more purpose. It all remained a mystery. He did not even know as much as the boys did about the affair, and, for their own reasons, the students kept silent. Our four heroes dispersed to their homes, to meet warm welcomes there. Then came preparations for going camping on Crest Island. The Tyler cottage was opened by some of the servants and put in shape for Summer occupancy. Madge wrote to Ruth, Mabel and Helen, bidding them get ready to come when she sent word. Tom spent a week or two at the shore, "recuperating," as he put it, from the hard study incidental to the examinations. "I guess, more than likely, it's to rest from the hard work of pulling in that shell," said his father, grimly. Frank Simpson went on a short trip to his beloved California, and Phil and Sid put in two weeks at various Summer resorts. Finally the time came to go to camp. Tom, who was in charge of most of the arrangements, sent out letters to his chums bidding them assemble at his home, as he was nearest to Randall College. And, one fine morning, with their baggage gathered, and with their camping paraphernalia sent on ahead, they departed. "Off for Crest Island, and the mystery!" exclaimed Tom. "Not so loud!" cautioned Frank. "Say, rather," interpolated Sid, "off for Crest Island and--the girls!" "Hark to the lady-killer!" mocked Phil. "Talk about your Beau Brummels!" "Punch him for me, Tom," besought the badgered one. CHAPTER XV THE OLD GRADUATE "Say, did you think to bring any spoons, Tom?" "What about the condensed milk?" "And say, Tom, this isn't a good brand of coffee!" "What made you get all canned corn? Why didn't you include some beans, Tom?" "Say, if I've got to eat coffee with my fingers I'm going to quit right now!" "Look here, Tom! Didn't I say I wanted a soft cot? You've given me one as hard as a board. I won't stand for it!" You can easily imagine the scene. The boys had arrived in camp, and were just unpacking. The tents--sleeping and dining--had been erected after much labor, and with the aid of Senor Mendez, who courteously offered his services. "And for the love of the seven wonders of the world, Tom, what made you buy this brand of canned chicken?" demanded Sid, who was opening a case. Tom Parsons put down the blanket he was taking out of a trunk. He strode to the middle of the tent, put his hands on his hips, surveyed his three chums, and began: "Say, look here, you fellows! I've done most of the work around this outfit. I saw to it that the baggage didn't go astray when you chaps were trying to flirt with those pretty girls in the train! I ordered all the eats, and most of the other stuff. I got Mendez to give us a hand, though none of you wanted me to. I've looked after everything from A to Z and you fellows have been loafing. And now you jump on me because I didn't get mock-turtle soup instead of mulligatawny. You don't like the kind of coffee, and I suppose you'll faint if you don't have condensed milk. "Say, don't you want finger bowls? Will you have paper napkins, or just the plain fringed style? Do you want your shaving water hot every morning, and what time shall I have the 'bawth' ready? Are your nails manicured? If not, I guess I can find time to do that. Would you like silk pajamas, or will linen do? And if there's anything more that you confounded dudes want in this camp--just get it yourselves--I'm done! DONE! Do you hear? I'm through!" and, fairly shouting the words Tom stalked out of the tent and went and sat down on a log near the edge of Lake Tonoka. The other three stared at each other in amazement. The rebellion of their chum had come like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. "Er--what did--what did we do?" faltered Sid. "Did you ever hear the like?" came from Phil. "He's mad all right--clear through," spoke Frank. "I guess we have been rather piling it on." "It's the first time I ever knew Tom to act like this," said Phil, soberly. "He has done a lot of work," put in Sid. "And we have been finding a deal of fault," added Frank. "How can we square him?" asked Phil. "You go out and talk to him, Frank," proposed Sid. "No, I've got a better scheme than that," came from the Big Californian. "Let's finish slicking up in here ourselves, go on and get grub ourselves, and then invite him in. He'll see we didn't mean all we said, then." "Good idea," declared Phil. "We'll do it," agreed Sid. Thereupon, paying no more attention to the justly sulking lad by the water's edge, the three chums shortly had the sleeping tent in some kind of shape. An oil stove had been brought, and on this some coffee was soon steaming away, while the appetizing odor of ham and eggs wafted itself over the camp. Through it all Tom never turned his head, nor did his companions speak to him. He must have heard what was going on, but he never acknowledged it. With merry whistles his chums drove away the suggestion of gloom. "Grub's ready!" came the announcement of Frank, as he walked over toward Tom. "Wilt your most gracious majesty deign to partake of our humble fare?" and he dropped on one knee, and offered to Tom, on a plate, a slice of bread. For a moment the tall pitcher held out against the envoy, and then a faint smile broke over his face. "If you fellows are done finding fault," he said, "I'll come in and help. But I don't like to do all the work, and then have it rubbed in the way you chaps did." "That's right, we did lay it on a bit thick," admitted Frank, contritely. "And I got a bit hot under the collar," spoke Tom, confessing in his turn. "Come on and eat," urged Frank. "The stuff is getting cold. It isn't such bad coffee after all." "I paid enough for it," retorted Tom. And thus the little cloud was blown away. Soon all were eating merrily. The meal being finished, they began to get the cots in shape, for it was drawing on to afternoon. The boys had two large tents, one for eating, and the other for sleeping in, and lounging during the day. A smaller one served as kitchen and storeroom. By evening they were in good shape, and accepted an invitation to take supper at one of the cottages, the owner of which with his wife and daughters, had learned that the boys were friends of the Tylers, who had not yet arrived. "Well, now for a good snooze!" exclaimed Tom, as they got back to their tent that night, having spent a pleasant evening with the Prudens. "Did you bring any mosquito netting?" asked Phil. "If you didn't I----" "Silence!" warned Frank. "A certain amount of mosquito bites will do us good--put ginger into us for the rowing game." "All right--all right!" cried Phil, quickly. "I didn't mean that," and he looked quickly at Tom, fearing a return of the morning outbreak. "When are the girls coming?" asked Sid, as he began to get ready to turn in. "What do you care?" asked Tom, quickly. "Didn't I see you trying to hold the hand of that youngest Miss Pruden under the table?" "Oh, fie!" cried Frank. "I was not!" cried Sid, indignantly. "She had lent me her ring, and it was so small I couldn't easily get it off again. She was trying to help me." "Say, when you tell 'em, tell 'em good and big!" laughed Tom. "'When are the girls coming?' Say, you're a nice one, you are, and----" Tom ducked in time to avoid the shoe Sid threw at him. "Easy, fellows," cautioned Phil. "There are other people on the island besides us, and they may want to go to sleep." "Then make him dry up!" demanded Sid. "I'll be good," promised Tom. "But when you hold hands don't be afraid to admit it. I----" The other shoe came in his direction with such poor aim that the candle was knocked over, the lanterns not yet being in service. "Cheese it!" warned Frank. "You'll have the place on fire. Light a match, somebody." All began groping about in the dark tent. "Oh, for the love of tripe!" suddenly exclaimed Tom. "What's the matter?" asked Phil. "I stuck my foot in the water bowl!" exclaimed the lad. "It was on the floor. I'm as wet as a duck." "Serves you right!" declared Sid vindictively. "'Be good, sweet lad, and let who will be clever,'" misquoted Phil with a chuckle. But finally order was restored, and our friends fell into a deep sleep. "Well, what's doing to-day?" asked Sid, after breakfast. "I vote we take a trip down to college, and see if any of the fellows are there rowing," proposed Frank. "If we can't scare up enough to make the eight, we can take out one of the fours." "Second the motion," came from Tom, and the others agreed, too. They rowed down leisurely, being a bit stiff, not only from their unusual exertions in making camp, but also because they were out of practice. But finally Randall was reached, and, to their disappointment, they found only one or two lads there, practicing in the singles. They all declined to take a try in the eight, as they were going in for the sculling races. Anyhow, there would not have been enough for an eight with a coxswain. "We'll have to take a four," said Tom, with a sigh. "Frank, you'll have to steer, as you can do it better than any of us." A four-oared shell, as I explained, and as doubtless most of you know, is steered by a mechanical arrangement, worked by the feet of one of the rowers. Soon the four chums were pulling down the river, gaining in skill each moment, as the memory of what Coach Lighton had said recurred to them. They rowed a good distance, and then drew up at a private float and got out to stretch their legs. As they were about to put off again, an elderly man, with a pleasant face, approached and asked: "From Boxer Hall?" "From Randall," replied Tom. "Ah, yes, I noticed you rowing in. I think you might improve your stroke a little if you would feather differently. You don't turn your hands quite at the proper time." "You must be an old oarsman?" said Tom. "Well, I've been in the game. I used to row at Cornell years ago. Pierson is my name." "Are you _that_ Pierson?" cried Frank, remembering the name as that of one of the best scullers Cornell ever turned out. "I'm afraid I am," was the smiling answer. "Say," burst out Sid. "Would you mind watching us a bit, and telling us our mistakes? We're new at it, as you probably noticed," he went on, "and Randall is just getting into the water sports. We want to beat Boxer Hall. Can you give us a few points?" "Where are you staying?" asked Mr. Pierson. "On Crest Island--we're camping there." "So! Well, as it happens, I have friends there, and I have been invited to spend part of the Summer there. If I come I shall be glad to tell you what I know of rowing, and coach you a bit. It is the best sport in the world!" and Mr. Pierson's eyes sparkled as though he would like to get in the shell himself. "That will be fine!" exclaimed Tom. "We shall look for you." They talked a little longer, the old oarsman giving them some good advice about training. Then he bade them good-bye, and walked off up the hill leading from the river. The boys got in the shell again, intending to row to Randall, and then back to their camp. As they neared the college float, and noted the activity of the men building the new boathouse, Sid exclaimed: "Look who's here!" "Who?" asked Tom. "Bossy, by all that's tragic! He's just taking out a single shell. I wonder if he's going to the island?" CHAPTER XVI THE GIRLS Rowing on up to the float, the four chums took their shell out of the water just as Boswell got his in. He looked over at them, and nodded in what he evidently meant to be a friendly fashion, but which he succeeded in making only patronizing. "Out for a row?" he asked, needlessly. "Just a bit of practice," answered Sid. "And you're going in for the same thing, I see," added Phil. "Yes, I've gone a bit stale since I was here last. I just came back to-day, and I thought I'd take a little row before I went up to our cottage on the island." "He's going there all right, then," murmured Tom. "Are you fellows in camp yet?" asked Boswell. "Yes," replied Frank. "We haven't got settled yet, we'll soon be in shape." Then, with an effort, he went on: "Drop in and see us--when you get a chance." Phil administered an unseen but none the less swift kick to his chum. "What'd you want to go and do that for?" he asked, in a whisper. It was safe since Boswell was busy rattling the oars in his shell and could not hear distinctly. "I couldn't do any less," retorted Frank. "It would look pretty raw not to ask him." "I hope he doesn't accept," murmured Sid, and, the next moment the rich lad replied: "Thanks, but I don't expect to get much time for calling. I'm going to be pretty busy with my sculling, and I expect a friend or two up. Besides, I never did like a tent. It always seems so musty to me. I much prefer a cottage." "Thank the kind Fates for that!" murmured Tom. Boswell got in the shell, and rowed off, rather awkwardly, the four thought, but then they had yet to see themselves row, though, truth to tell, they were becoming more expert every day. "I'm going to have a professional oarsman coach me," Boswell threw to them over his shoulder as he sculled off. "I expect to be in good trim, soon. As long as you fellows didn't want me in the eight, I'm going to win in the singles, just to show you what I can do." "We never said we didn't want you in the eight!" declared Frank. "In fact I thought you did as well at bow as anyone. It was the coach's doings." "All right," replied Boswell. "It doesn't matter. I rather think I prefer this, on the whole. And I'm going to win, too!" he boasted. "Good! We hope you do!" exclaimed Tom. Then, to his chums he added: "Come on, let's get back to the island and enjoy it before he starts his monkey business there. I wonder when his cottage opens?" "I saw a woman and a man working around there to-day, just before we left," volunteered Sid. "Then Bossy's folks must be coming soon--more's the pity--I mean as far as he is concerned," put in Phil. "His folks may be decent enough, but he's the limit." "I suppose he and that English pal of his--Pierce--will be drinking tea every afternoon at five o'clock," said Tom. "They'll have their cakes and Young Hyson out on the lawn, and--Oh, 'slush, isn't it fierce! A bally rotter, dontcherknow!'" "The Knockers Club will please come to order!" exclaimed Frank, in mock seriousness. "Say, I guess we have been piling it on pretty thick," admitted Tom, with a grin. "Let's get in our old tub, and pull back. It's my turn to rest this trip." Laughing and joking, with occasional references to the proper way to handle an oar, and some talk of the offer of Mr. Pierson to coach them, the lads rowed back to their camp. They spent the next two days in getting the place in better shape. "For exhibition purposes," Sid explained. "The girls might come to lunch some day." "Say, he's got girls on the brain!" complained Phil. "Duck him, Tom, you aren't doing anything." But Sid discretely got out of the way. A day later the Boswell family arrived at the island. There were several servants--almost too many for the simple cottage--and Mr. and Mrs. Boswell, in addition to their son. It was hard to see from whom the lad inherited his unpleasant mannerisms, for both his parents were of the old-fashioned school of gentlemen and ladies, with exceedingly kind hearts. Boswell had evidently been spoiled, unless he did the spoiling process himself, which was more than likely. When Mr. Boswell learned that some of his son's college mates were on the island, he paid a formal call on them, and invited them to the cottage. They promised to come--some time. "When Bossy isn't home, I hope," murmured Sid. Pierce, Boswell's English chum, arrived that same week, and after that our friends saw little of the rich lad. He and his friend were generally off together in a boat rowing or fishing. Then another personage made his appearance, an athletic-looking man, whom Boswell introduced as his "trainer." Then began the instruction in sculling. Tom and the others heard and saw some of it. "He's teaching him a totally different stroke than we row," said Sid. "I wonder if it can be right?" "I'll stick to Lighton's method," declared Frank. "Yes, for it's the same as that used by Mr. Pierson," added Tom. "It's good enough for us." The Cornell oarsman had paid a visit or two to the lads in their camp, coming from where he was stopping on the mainland, as his friend, whom he expected to visit on the island, had not yet opened his cottage. Mr. Pierson gave the boys some good advice, and getting into the shell several times, practiced what he preached. He had not forgotten his early skill, and his illustrations were valuable. "He can pull a good stroke yet," declared Frank, one day, following some spirited instruction and practice. Mr. Pierson had left, promising to devote more time to the boys later on. "He sure must have been a wonder in his day," declared Tom. It was one morning just after the lads had finished breakfast, and were getting their camp in shape for the day, preparatory to going for a row, that Tom made a momentous discovery. He had been to the spring for a pail of water, and, on his return he noticed on the porch of the Tyler cottage a number of trunks and suitcases. Then a flutter of dresses caught his eye, and he heard a chorus of musical laughter. "The girls have come!" cried Tom, and he raced for his own camp, as he had on a pair of old trousers and a disreputable sweater, and wanted to get in more presentable shape for making them welcome. "The girls have come!" he cried, springing into the midst of his chums with such force that he spilled half the water. "The girls have come!" CHAPTER XVII AT PRACTICE "Did you see 'em?" "Are they all there?" "What about Helen Newton?" "Say, where's my brown suit?" "Has anyone seen my purple tie?" "Give me those shoes, Sid! Who said you could take 'em, anyhow--my best ones?" and Phil fairly upset his chum in order to rescue the footgear that had been taken without his permission. I presume the reader can understand the meaning of the expressions which open this chapter. They had to do directly with Tom's startling announcement, and who said which or what does not matter. Sufficient to state that Sid, Phil and Frank thus overwhelmed Tom with the above questions. "I didn't see any of 'em," went on Tom, when he could get his breath. "But I heard her laugh----" "Heard who laugh?" demanded Phil. "Your sister." "I thought you said they _all_ came!" reproached Sid. "So I did, and so they have. Do you think one girl would have four trunks and four suitcases?" asked Tom, in indignant justification. "They might--I have known of such," said Frank. "But are you sure they're all here?" "Of course. Didn't I hear 'em all laugh? Anyhow, Madge must be here, or Ruth wouldn't be at the cottage. And if two of 'em are there the other two are, too." "That's no reason at all," said Phil, firmly. "This will have to be investigated. Where's my clean shirt? I'm going to see my sister!" and he strode into the tent. "It's the first time Phil was ever so thoughtful of his sister, fellows. I guess we'd better all get togged up a bit," said Frank, and the activities, that had begun when Tom came in with the news (which activities had ceased momentarily while the glad tidings were being confirmed), were again resumed. "Glad rags," as the lads slangily designated their habiliments, other than the ones in which they worked about the camp, were soon being donned, and a little later the boys were on their way to the Tyler cottage. "I wonder how long they're going to stay?" said Sid. "As long as we do, I hope," said Tom. "There they are!" "All four of 'em, sure enough," added Phil. "You were a good guesser, Tom, old man." "Oh, leave it to your Uncle Dudley!" declared Tom, puffing out his chest. "Little Willie knows what he's about." "Hello, boys!" called Madge Tyler, as she caught sight of the advancing four. "Welcome to our city," added Ruth, as she threw a kiss to--her brother. At least Tom said so, when they accused him later of intercepting it, and Tom ought to know. "Glad you're here." "Isn't this place lovely?" "Where is your boat?" "Have you a motor?" "Are you going to invite us to lunch in the tent?" These questions and comments were bandied back and forth among the boys and girls, no one caring very much who said what, so glad were they to see each other, and exchange greetings and experiences. "We girls just came up this morning," explained Madge. "We didn't wait for mother, and father has some tiresome business to look after so he couldn't come. But I just said that Jeanette, our maid, was chaperone enough, and so we came. I guess the man on the boat thought we had baggage enough." "But he was nice about it," added Ruth. "Yes, after I gave him a quarter," explained Helen. "Oh, you dear! Did you really tip him?" asked Madge. "Certainly--he--er--well, he seemed to expect it," and the boys laughed at her naive explanation. "Won't you come in?" invited Madge. "It isn't much of a cottage, and we can't even offer you a cup of tea, for we're all out, and I had to send Jeanette for some." "Don't worry about that," remarked Phil. "We've got all the food we can eat over at the tent," went on Tom. All entered the charming little cottage, and the boys told of their experiences since coming to camp, while the girls detailed the happenings of their journey that morning. A small steamer, making regular trips about the lake, had left them and their baggage at the island, which was beginning to be quite a Summer resort. A new store had recently been built on the place, and provided a variety of articles, including foodstuffs for the cottagers. "There's a boat or two with this cottage," explained Madge. "We'll have to get them in the water to soak up, I suppose, and then we girls will give you boys some lessons in rowing; won't we, girls?" "We might try," said Ruth, drily. "Your boats are in the water, I think," said Sid. "I saw that Mexican 'take-care' man, as he calls himself, at them the other day, caulking up some cracks." "That's good," retorted Madge. "I know father wrote on to have this done, but I've been so busy, getting ready to come here, that I forgot to ask if it had been attended to. I wish we had a motor-launch, but father is so old-fashioned, if I must say it, that he won't hear of it." "Haven't you boys a launch?" asked Helen. "No," replied Tom, "but perhaps we can hire one," and he looked at Ruth, who had been trying to signal him when the Mexican's name was mentioned. "That's a good idea," declared Phil. "We'll see about it this afternoon." Then Jeanette, the maid, having come from the store with the tea, the boys took their leave, to allow the girls time to change into more comfortable and camp-like garments, and also to enjoy their beverage. "We'll see you after lunch," called Phil. "We'd ask you to stay," spoke Madge, "but really we haven't quite found ourselves yet. Later on----" "Come on over to our tent," invited Sid. "No, thank you," laughed the young hostess. "Some other time. We have to unpack our dresses, or they'll get wrinkled." The boys thought lunch time would never pass, but it did, though they made a hasty meal of it. Then they hurried back to the cottage, and a little later four pairs of young persons were strolling in four different directions over the beautiful island. "Oh, Tom!" exclaimed Ruth. "I've been just wild to get you alone for a moment to ask if you've found out anything about my brooch?" "Not a thing, Ruth, I'm sorry to say. In fact the whole business is at a standstill. We had some suspicions, but they didn't lead anywhere, and we're up against a stone wall so far in the game." "Well, perhaps something may develop," she said with a sigh. "I hope so, for I'm afraid every day some of my folks will discover that I'm not wearing the brooch. When I went to bid grandmother good-bye I wore a large bow tie, so she couldn't see the place where the pin ought to have been, but wasn't. Isn't it dreadful to be so deceitful?" "Not at all," Tom hastened to assure her. "It isn't your fault, and, as you say, something may develop." They strolled on, as did the others, and the afternoon seemed wonderfully short. I note, in looking back over some pages I have written, that I headed this chapter "At Practice," and really I meant to devote considerable space to detailing the doings of Tom and his chums in the shell, under the guidance of Mr. Pierson. But I find that the girls have taken up such a large proportion of my available space that I have not much left for rowing matters. And, in fact, the boys found themselves in the same predicament. After all, I suppose, it is not an unforgivable crime. Tom and his chums kept promising themselves, from day to day, after the arrival of the girls, that they would buckle down to hard work in the shell, but each day saw them over at the cottage as early as decency and good manners would allow, and the same thing kept them there as late as possible. They hired a small gasoline launch, that was continually getting out of order, and stopping out in the middle of the lake. They had to be towed in so frequently that they became very well known. But it was all the more fun. "There's something about this launch that you don't often find," remarked Frank, one day when they had been drifting helplessly about. "And it's a good thing you don't," added Tom. "What I meant," said Frank, "was that it never gets monotonous. The same thing never happens twice." "I should say not," declared Sid. "Everything on the old tub has broken one time or another, from the old cups to the piston rings, and everything from the spark coil to the batteries has given out! Monotonous? I should say nixy!" Yet the boys did practice. Frank grew desperate when a week had gone by without their getting into the shell, and he spoke to such advantage, dwelling on the necessity of keeping in condition, that the others agreed with him. So they left the girls to their own devices one morning, and rowed down to college. They found quite a number of their chums there, and considerable practice was going on. Mr. Lighton had paid one of his flying visits and was giving the lads some instruction. Our friends told him of Mr. Pierson's offer, and the coach said: "You could not do better, boys, than to follow his advice. I wish we could get him to come to Randall in the Fall." "Maybe he will," suggested Sid. "We'll ask him." Mr. Lighton said he had word from Bricktop Molloy, and one or two of the others, that they were getting in some practice during the Summer vacation. "I hope we have a good eight when college opens again," he concluded, as Tom and his chums rowed off in the four-oared shell. Mr. Pierson was staying on the island now, and for the next few days he was with the boys considerably, giving them valuable advice. They kept at practice, setting aside certain hours for it, and manfully withstanding the temptation of going off on little excursions with the girls. So far as solving the mystery of the missing jewelry was concerned, no progress was made, though the boys talked about it often. The faint suspicions against the Mexican and Boswell were still maintained, but that was all. As for Boswell, he and his English friend and his "trainer," as he called the athlete, kept pretty much to themselves. Mendez was the same over-polite Mexican as before. He opened his store, and did a good business, our friends patronizing him to some extent--partly to get a look inside his place. But, though their eyes were used to the best advantage, they saw nothing that would aid them in their quest. "But I'll get Ruth's brooch back yet!" declared Tom, to himself. 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 would cause splashing, but in calm water the lower you feather the less you have 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 you will do." This was Mr. Pierson giving some coaching advice to the four boys, who were out in the shell. He was following them in the launch owned by his friend, at whose cottage he was visiting. "I'm wondering if I'll have wind enough for a four-mile race, pulling even 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 course you're not training now, and that makes a difference. My chief anxiety at present is to get you in the way of taking the proper stroke, to teach you how to sit, how to slide in the moving seats, how to bring your whole weight where it will do the most good, and how to depend on the toe stretchers. Your wind will take care of itself when you get down to hard practice. If it doesn't--well, you can't row in an eight, that's all." The old graduate glanced sharply at the lads, and, noting a look of anxiety on their faces, he hastened to add: "But I'm sure it will come out all right. Don't think about it. Now then, hit up the stroke a little." And so he accompanied them over the course, giving them advice almost invaluable, which they could have obtained in no other way. The boys appreciated it deeply. Camp and cottage life on Crest Island was endless delight to the boys, even with the hard practice they put in occasionally. I say "occasionally" advisedly, for they did not forget, nor did Mr. Lighton or 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. And this was as it should be. We can never be young but once, if I may be pardoned that bit of philosophy in a story book--a bit that is not original by any means. "Well, thank our lucky stars, we don't have to grind away in the boat to-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 turned over 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 take the girls off for a picnic." "Second the motion," exclaimed Sid, "with the amendment that the girls provide, 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'll do it." Behold then, a little later, the eight young persons, lively and gay, in the wheezy and uncertain launch, voyaging over the lake toward a distant dell of which they knew, on the mainland, where they proposed to picnic for the day. They ate the lunch which the girls had put up in dainty fashion, sitting on a broad, flat rock near the edge of the lake, with the wind rustling in 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 crawling toward you, old man." "Oh!" screamed four shrill voices, and there was a hasty scramble, until the snake was discovered to be only a tiny lizard, which the girls declared to be "just as bad." Then came saunterings two-by-two off in woodland glades until it was time to think regretfully of returning to the island, for the shadows were lengthening. It was just as they were about to start off in the little gasoline launch, which, strange to say, had been behaving wonderfully well that day, that they saw Mendez, the Mexican, rowing toward them in a small boat. 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, I do 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 I seek 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 'beastly rotters,'" 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 faintest suggestion 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 was anxiety in his voice. "I was inform that he come off on a boat, and in this 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 he could in his small boat. "I shall look farther. I have the honor to bid you good afternoon," and he rowed away, up the lake. "What do you suppose he wanted of Boswell in such a hurry?" asked Sid in a low voice of Tom, as they were getting in the launch. "Give it up," was the answer, but Tom was doing some hard thinking just about that time. CHAPTER XIX JEALOUSY "We've got to do some pulling to-morrow," remarked Frank, as they rowed toward the island. "Mr. Pierson said he'd show us a new wrinkle or two." "And we want to begin to hit up the speed a bit," added Tom. "That's right," agreed Phil, who was fussing with the motor, that missed every now and then. "But say!" exclaimed Sid. "I thought we were going to take the girls down to watch some of the other fellows row opposite college to-morrow?" and there was a rueful look on his face. "Well, I know we did speak of that," said Tom, "but----" "The implied invitation is declined with thanks," broke in Ruth. "We girls simply have to do some house-cleaning to-morrow. The cottage is a perfect sight, and it's sweet of Madge not to have found fault before." "Oh, it's nothing of the sort!" declared the young and pretty hostess. "Don't decline on that account." "No, don't!" besought Sid. "But we really must stay home," declared Mabel. "I know we have upset things terribly, and tossed our belongings about until I'm sure that poor maid must be distracted picking things up. Besides, Mr. Tyler is coming up to-morrow and I know your mother will want the place in some sort of decent shape, Madge. We must stay and help." "Indeed, yes," echoed Helen Newton. "Too bad!" declared Phil. "Besides, it's all you boys' fault that it is so upset," went on Ruth. "How do you make that out?" demanded Tom. "Why you're always coming along, begging us to go out with you, and you're always in such a hurry that we can't wait to pick up things. So there!" "Any reason, even if it's a poor one," remarked Frank, drily. They glided along for some time, and then the motor suddenly stopped. "Now what's wrong?" asked Frank. "I knew something would happen if Phil didn't stop monkeying with it," declared Tom. "Monkey yourself!" retorted the lad who had been acting as engineer. "All I did was to screw the spark plug in a bit tighter, and shut the pet-cock." "Then you probably cracked the porcelain on the spark plug, and there's a short circuit," spoke Frank. "Here, let me take a look, and see what the trouble is," and as Frank had been successful in times past, when the others had failed, they made room for him at the motor. He looked it over a moment, and then, seeing that the switch was on, gave the flywheel a couple of turns. There was only an apologetic wheeze. "He knows so much about motors," sarcastically murmured Tom to Ruth. "He knows enough to turn on the gasoline, at any rate, and not try to run the motor with what's in the carburetor," snapped back Frank, as he opened the cock in the pipe leading from the tank in the bow. "Who started this motor, anyhow?" "I did," confessed Tom, the tables thus being turned against him. "Next time turn on the gas," repeated Frank. "It's one of the first things to do in running a motor-boat, sonny. You may write the word gasoline twenty-five times before you go to sleep to-night," and all joined in the laugh against poor Tom. "Huh! I supposed it was always kept turned on," he said in defense. "The carburetor leaks a little, so I always shut the gas off at the tank," explained Sid. "I guess I forgot to mention it." "And I can easily guess why," spoke Frank, with a significant glance at the pretty girl beside whom his chum was sitting. "Well, it's another little wrinkle--one of a number--we've learned about the boat," spoke Tom, when they were once more under way. "All good things have to come to and end, I suppose," remarked Sid, when they had landed and were bidding the girls good-bye. "But we hope there'll be more excursions." "You can always ask us--at least as long as we're here," said Mabel. "Though I'm afraid we'll have to go next week. It's been perfectly lovely of Madge to keep us this long----" "Indeed you're not going so soon!" declared the hostess. "Why, you haven't been here any time at all yet, and when you do go I'll be so lonesome----" "So will we!" chorused the lads. "Don't go," and the girls laughingly promised to stay as long as possible. True to their determination, the lads went out in the four-oared shell the next day, with Mr. Pierson in the launch to coach them. He put them through some stiff practice, and increased the stroke to a number where the boys were almost on the point of protesting. But they realized that they needed it, though they were glad to stop when the word was given. "A few days of that will put you in the way of bettering your wind," said the old college graduate, with a whimsical smile. I have spoken of him as an "old" graduate, but, in point of fact he was not at all an elderly man. I merely used "old" in a comparative sense. "I wonder what's the matter with Boswell?" ventured Sid, as they rowed the shell back to the college float, and prepared to motor back in the launch. "I haven't seen him out practicing to-day." "That's right," agreed Tom. "And say, did it strike any of you as queer the way that Mexican was looking for him?" "Somewhat," admitted Frank. "There must be something between them," went on Tom. "I wonder if, after all, it can have anything to do with the missing jewelry?" "What makes you think so?" asked Phil. "I don't know that I do, very definitely. But that Mendez was certainly anxious to find Bossy, though for what reason I can't even guess. Wouldn't it be queer if Bossy had found those cups and other things, and gotten rid of 'em through the Mexican, after he found he had carried the joke too far?" "I believe you," replied Frank. "But it's pretty far-fetched to my way of thinking. I'd hate to believe that any Randall man would be guilty of such a thing." "So would I," added Phil. "Oh, well, I only mentioned it as a supposition," said Tom, in self-defense. "Anyhow, Bossy sure does practice hard in his single. I guess that trainer of his knows his business." "Yes, he's a good trainer," admitted Frank. "I've heard of him, but it's pretty near the limit for a fellow to have a private trainer. It's too much like putting on lugs." "It is that," said Phil. "And I suppose, when we get back in the Fall, about all we'll hear will be Bossy and his shell." "I wonder if he has a chance to win?" asked Tom. "They have some expert scullers at Boxer Hall." "Well, they ought to have; look how long they've been at it," retorted Frank. "I'll be rather glad to get back to college again," went on the tall pitcher. "This loafing life is good, but I'm anxious to get in the eight." "So am I," came from Sid, "but it's sport here," and he looked toward the island they were approaching, probably thinking of the girls. So far the four chums had not been able to get five others, one the coxswain, with them so that they could row in the eight-oared shell. But the four gave them sufficient practice, Mr. Pierson thought, since, after all, it was a matter of the stroke, and could be acquired in one craft as well as in another. Meanwhile, a little scene was taking place near the Tyler cottage, that, had our friends beheld it--or, rather one of our friends in particular--might have caused some trouble. The girls were kept busy with some light housework, helping Mrs. Tyler and the maid, after the boys left. Then, having put their rooms in order they attired themselves in fresh gowns and walked off toward the water. Near the cottage Boswell occupied, the four young ladies met the rich lad and his English chum. The two were out for a walk, and, as the youths stopped to chat for a moment with Madge, whom they had met formally, she could do no less than halt a moment with the other girls, who had been introduced to the lads. "Come down and I'll take you out in my launch," invited Boswell. "I've just got a new one, and it's quite fast." "Oh, come on!" cried Ruth, impulsively. "That one Phil and the boys have is so slow, and something is always happening to it." "My word! I should say so!" laughed Pierce. "But we declined an invitation to go out with--our boys," said Mabel Harrison, in a low voice. "Oh, well," spoke Ruth. "They had to go to practice anyhow, and we won't be long. Come on." It was a delightful day, and the invitation was hard to resist. Behold then, as a Frenchman would say, behold then, a little later, the four pretty girls in Boswell's launch, with himself and Pierce making themselves as agreeable as they knew how. And to give them their due, they knew how to interest girls, and were deferential and polite in their demeanor. "Your pin is coming unfastened," remarked Boswell to Ruth, as they were speeding along, and he motioned to a bit of lace at her throat--lace caught up with a simple gold bar clasp. "Oh, thank you," she answered, as she fastened it, and then she blushed, and was angry at herself for doing it. "Where is that lovely old-fashioned brooch you used to wear?" asked Madge, looking at her chum. "Oh--er--I wouldn't wear it out in a boat, anyhow," said Ruth, blushing redder than before. "I--I might lose it. See, wasn't that a fish that jumped over there!" and she pointed to the left, glad of a chance to change the subject. "Yes, and a jolly big fellow, too!" declared Pierce. "Why can't we get up a fishing party, and take you girls?" he asked. "My word, it would be jolly sport! We could take our lunch, and have tea in the woods, a regular outing, dontcherknow." "That's the ticket!" exclaimed Boswell. "Will you girls come?" and he looked particularly at Ruth. "I don't know," she replied and then, in the spirit of mischief, she added: "I'll ask my brother. Perhaps he'd like to come. He is a good fisherman." "Oh--er--it wasn't so much about the fish that I was thinking," spoke Pierce, a bit dismayed, and then he dropped the subject. "Are you fond of old-fashioned jewelry?" asked Boswell, in a low voice to Ruth. "I mean old brooches and the like?" "Yes--why?" asked Ruth rather startled. "Oh, I only just wanted to know. I'm a bit that way myself. My mother has a very old brooch that I gave her. I mean it was old when I came across it and bought it. I'll borrow it some day and let you see it." Ruth murmured a polite rejoinder, scarcely knowing what she did say, and then, as one of the lake steamers approached rather dangerously close to the launch, there was a moment of excitement aboard both craft, for Pierce, who should have been steering, had neglected it for the agreeable task of being polite to Mabel Harrison. But nothing more than a scare resulted. When matters had quieted down, the talk turned into another channel, and Ruth was glad to keep it there. The topic of the brooch, she thought, was a rather dangerous one for her, since she wanted to keep from her friends, and especially from Tom and her folks, the knowledge of the missing pin. She was hoping against hope that it would be found. She wondered what Boswell meant by his reference, but did not dare ask him. The ride was a pleasant one, though the girls--all of them--felt that they had, perhaps, been just a bit mean toward their boy chums. Still, as Madge had said, Tom and his friends did have practice. "We better go back now," said Ruth, after a bit. "It has been delightful, though." "And the engine didn't break down once," added Helen. "Oh I don't get things that break," spoke Boswell, with an air of pride. "But you don't want to go in so soon; do you?" "We must," insisted Madge, and, rather against their wishes, the boys turned back. As Fate would have it, the new launch got to the Boswell dock just as the craft containing Tom and his chums hove in sight. Their wheezy boat puffed slowly along, and as it was steered in toward the dock they had improvised near their tent, the boys saw Boswell and his chum helping the girls out. Then Boswell walked alongside Ruth, seeming to be in earnest conversation with her. "Say, would you look at that!" cried Sid. "The girls were out with those chaps!" "And after refusing to come with us!" went on Frank. "I like their nerve!" declared Phil. Tom said nothing, but there came a queer look in his eyes. "Well, I suppose we're not the only fellows on the island," spoke Frank, philosophically. "We couldn't expect them to stay in, waiting for us to come back, on such a fine day as this." "But they said they were going to be busy," objected Sid. "Oh, well, I guess what they had to do could be dropped and picked up again, when there was a launch ride in the offing," went on the Big Californian. "We'll call around after supper and take 'em out. There's going to be a glorious moon." "Fine!" cried Sid. But when evening came, and the others attired themselves more or less gaily, ready for a call, Tom did not doff his old garments. "What's the matter, sport; aren't you coming?" asked Sid. "Nope." "Why not? Ruth won't want to go unless you're there." "I don't care. I'm not going. I don't feel like it." "Oh, come on." "Nope." "What shall I tell her?" asked Sid, looking to see that Phil and Frank had gone on ahead. "Nothing," and Tom began filling a lantern, this being one of his duties that week. Sid stood regarding his chum for a moment, and then without a word, but with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders, went out. CHAPTER XX A STRANGE CONFERENCE "You missed it, old man; we had a dandy time," remarked Frank, when he, together with Sid and Phil, drifted into the sleeping tent some time later. "That's right, Tom," added Sid. "The cake was good." "And the lemonade, too," added Phil. "Um!" sleepily grunted Tom. Or was he only simulating sleep? "And the girls were jolly," went on Frank. "And Ruth wanted to know why you hadn't come," proceeded Sid, keeping up the chorus of description. "Oh, let me go to sleep," growled Tom. "Bossy and his chum blew in, but they didn't stay long," added Phil. "I guess they didn't expect to find us there." "Was Boswell there?" demanded Tom, sitting up on his cot. "Sure," retorted Sid, at the same time giving Frank a nudge in the ribs as much as to say: "There's where the shoe pinches." "I've got a headache," said Tom, only half truthfully. "I guess that row in the hot sun was a little too much for me to-day." "Can we do anything for you?" asked Frank, trying to make his voice sound anxious. "No, I'll sleep it off," and turning with his face toward the tent wall, Tom proceeded to slumber--or pretend to. It was two days after this when Tom and Ruth met. He had studiously avoided calling at the Tyler cottage, though the other boys went over each evening. Tom gave some excuse, and each time Sid and the others came in at night they would remark about the good time they had had. "You're missing it," declared Phil, winking at his chums. "Boswell is filling in your place fine." "Was he there again?" snapped Tom. "Sure thing. He and Sis seem to get on well together, though I don't care for the chap. Still he isn't such a bad sort as I thought at first." As a matter of fact Boswell had not called since that first evening, but Phil guessed Tom's secret, and wickedly and feloniously egged it on. "What's the matter, Tom; why haven't you called?" asked Ruth with perfect sincerity when she and the tall pitcher did meet, following some busy days devoted for the most part by the boys to rowing practice. "I wanted to ask you about something?" "I--er--I've been busy," he said, trying to make himself believe that. Ruth didn't. "Besides," he blurted out, with a school-boy mannerism that he hated himself for disclosing, "I thought Mr. Boswell could keep you interested." "Tom Parsons!" and Ruth's eyes flashed dangerously. "He seems to be quite a steady caller," he stumbled on, growing more and more confused and uncomfortable. He felt more childish than ever, and I am not saying he was not. "I didn't know whether there'd be room for me and----" "Tom, I don't think that's fair of you," and Ruth was plainly hurt. "Mr. Boswell has only been over one evening, when the other boys were there, and----" "Only once?" cried Tom. "That's all. The same evening of the day when we were out in his launch. I couldn't help talking to him then, and if you think----" "I don't think anything!" broke in Tom. "I've been a chump. They said he'd been over there every night. Oh, wait until I get hold of your brother!" "Did Phil say that?" "He did." "Then I'll settle with him, too. But, Tom, I wanted to ask if you thought there was any chance of finding my brooch?" "I don't know, Ruth. It begins to look rather hopeless." "That's what I thought, and, as long as I'm not going to get it back I may as well admit that it is gone. I can't go on deceiving people this way, even in so small a matter. I suppose it was careless of me to let the clasp get broken in the first place. I put it on in a hurry one day, and strained it. And in the second place, I suppose I ought to have given it to a more reliable jeweler. "But that Mr. Farson called at the college one day soliciting repair work to do. He said he had some from Boxer Hall, so I thought he was all right, and let him take my pin. I'm sorry now." "Yes, it is too bad," assented Tom, "but it can't be helped. I don't really believe, Ruth, that there's any use looking on this island for the pin. I have been keeping my eyes open for it, but I'm beginning to think that it's like hunting for the proverbial thimble in the straw pile." "You mean needle in the haystack." "Well, it's the same thing. I never can get those proverbs straight. The only hope is that we might, some day, discover who took the things, and your brooch might be recovered. But it's a pretty slim chance, now that all our clues seemed to have failed." "That's what I thought. So I guess I'll confess and brave grandmother's wrath. But, oh! I know she'll never leave me her lovely pearls!" "Maybe someone else will," suggested Tom. "Will you come down to the store and have some soda water? He's got in a fresh lot, I believe." "I will, Tom, for I'm thirsty enough to drink even the lemon-pop Mr. Richards sells. Come on," and the two walked on, the little cloud that had come between them having blown away. But Ruth said nothing about Boswell's promise to show her his mother's old-fashioned brooch. Perhaps she thought he had forgotten the matter, and, she reasoned, there was no need of awakening Tom's jealousy. It was after Tom had parted from Ruth, with a promise to call that evening with the other boys, that, walking along the island shore, taking a short cut to the camp, he heard voices coming from the direction of the water. He looked through the screen of bushes, and saw Boswell and the Mexican caretaker, sitting in a boat not far from shore. The college lad was handing Mendez something, and by the sun's rays Tom caught the glitter of gold. At the same time a puff of wind brought their voices plainly to him, the water aiding in carrying the tones. "Do you think you could get an old-fashioned pin like that?" Boswell was asking. "You know something about jewelry; don't you?" "Of a surety, senor. But this would be hard to duplicate. It is very old." "I know, but I want one like that, or as near it as possible. Can't you get one the same place you got that?" "No, senor, that was the only one there was, and when I sell him to you for your respected mother I regret that I can get no more of him." "Where did you get that?" asked Boswell, as he took back from the Mexican what Tom could now see was some sort of breastpin. "Why do you ask, senor?" retorted the man, quickly. "Oh, nothing special. Why, you act as though you thought that I was going to accuse you of stealing it." "Never, senor!" exclaimed the man quickly. "I get this from a friend, and I sell it to you for very little more than I paid." "Oh, it was cheap enough," went on the lad. "I'm not kicking. Only I'd like to get another. I knew mother would like this, and she did. She loves old-fashioned things." "And you want another for one who also loves of the time that is past--is that it, senor?" "You've guessed it, Mendez. But keep mum about it. I want to surprise her." Then the wind, blowing in a contrary direction, carried the voices away, and Tom kept on, having only halted momentarily. CHAPTER XXI IN THE SHACK "Jove!" murmured Tom, as he hurried on, "what have I stumbled upon?" For the time being his thoughts were in a whirl, for like a flash it had come to him that the pin he had seen being handled by Mendez and Boswell was Ruth's missing brooch. "I couldn't get close enough for a good look, but it sure was an old-fashioned pin, from their talk, and it looked like the one I've seen Ruth wear. The one with the secret spring." He walked on a little farther. "Now what's to be done?" he asked himself. "I guess I'll sit down and think this thing out." Rapidly Tom went over in his mind what he had seen and heard. "This seems to let Boswell out of it," he murmured. "And I'm glad of it--for the honor of Randall," and Tom thought of the events that had taken place some time ago, when the honor of Randall seemed to be threatened, events which I have narrated in the book of that title. "If Boswell bought the pin of Mendez, then it must be the Mexican who is the man we're after," Tom went on. "He deals in jewelry, though most of it is that filigree silver stuff that I don't fancy. And Boswell wants Mendez to get him another old-fashioned pin like the one he already has. I wonder who for?" But Tom did not wonder long on this point. "The insolent puppy!" he exclaimed, clenching his fists. "If he tries to give Ruth a pin I'll----" And then he calmed down, for he realized that, aside from the ethics, or good taste of the matter, Boswell had as much right to present Ruth with a token as had he himself. "I guess I'd better reason along a new line," he told himself. "I'll have to let the boys know about this, and----" Then, like a flash something else occurred to him. "No, I can't do that," he said. "Phil isn't supposed to know that Ruth has lost her pin--that is, not yet. It would be too bad if the grandmother were to turn cranky, because of the loss of the brooch, and give her pearls to someone else--at least until I can buy Ruth some pearls myself--and that's a long way off, I'm afraid," thought Tom, ruefully. "No, I've got to play this hand alone," he went on. "I can't bring the fellows in--just yet. And I must tell Ruth not to admit that she has lost her brooch--at least, not yet. I may be able to get it back for her. The idea of Boswell having it--at least, I think it's the same one. "And then by Jove! If Mendez had the brooch he has the other stuff that was in the jewelry box--the Boxer Hall cups and so on. Tom Parsons, you've stumbled on the solution of the mystery, I do believe. And you've got to work it out alone, for if you tell any of the fellows Ruth's secret will come out. Now, how are you going to do it?" He pondered on the matter, and the first thing he decided on was that Ruth must be warned not to admit her loss. "I'll attend to that right away," murmured the lad. "Why, Tom, is anything the matter?" asked Ruth, when he saw her, a little later, at the Tyler cottage. "Well, yes, something, but----" "Oh, is Phil hurt?" and she clasped her hands. "No, nothing like that. What made you think something was up, Ruth?" "Because your face told me. What is it?" "Well, if I were you, I wouldn't tell--just yet--that you haven't your brooch." "Oh, Tom! Do you mean you think you can get it back?" "I think so, but I'm not sure. But don't say anything." "I won't. Oh! I'm only too glad not to have to admit it, though I'm afraid it's only postponing the fatal day. But what have you found?" "I can't tell you Ruth--just yet. I've got quite a problem to work out. Later on I may need your help." "Why, can't some of the boys?--oh, I see, you're keeping my secret for me. That's fine of you!" "Just wait--that's all," was Tom's final advice. In the exuberance of his youth he imagined, that, should it prove that Boswell had bought Ruth's pin from the Mexican, the brooch could, by some means or other, be recovered. "And now I am up against it," he went on, still communing with himself, after he had left Ruth. "I can't get the boys to help me, so I've got to go alone. And what's the first thing to be done?" There were several points that needed clearing up. "In the first place," reasoned Tom, "if Mendez had the brooch, which was in the jewel box, he has, or had, the other things. The question is--has he them yet? If he sold Boswell the pin he may have sold the other articles. I guess the only thing for me to do is to try and get in his shack--when he's not home. It would be a ticklish piece of work to stumble in there, and be searching about, and have him find me. I wonder if I can get in when he's out? He does go out quite often." Tom went on to camp, and his absentmindedness caused his chums no little wonder, until Sid exclaimed: "Oh, it's all right--Tom's got the symptoms." "What symptoms?" demanded our hero. "The love symptoms. A lovers' quarrel made up is worse than falling in at first. Look out!" for Tom had shied a shoe at his tormentor. "Practice to-day," announced Frank, the next morning. "Mr. Pierson said he'd be over early and we've got to go down and get the shell. He's going to put us through a course of sprouts to-day." "All right," yawned Tom, with a fine appearance of indifference. "But I've got to mix the stuff for cake if I'm going to bake it." He had promised to show his skill in pastry-making. "So if you fellows will go down and get the shell I'll be ready when you come back." "Three of us can't row a four-oared shell," protested Sid. "Well, tow it up by the launch, then. I'm not going to have the cake spoiled." "That's right," declared Frank. "The cook is a sacred person. We'll tow up the shell," and they went off, never suspecting their chum. And how Tom had dissembled! The making of the cake, he knew, had only been a subterfuge, for he had made up his mind he would buy one at the store, and offer some excuse to his chums that the camp-made one had "fallen" which, I believe, is the technical word to use when the top of a cake displays a tendency to lie on the bottom of the pan, and not stand up properly. I was once a camp cook, and some of my friends are still alive to bear witness against me. Now what Tom planned was this: As soon as his chums were out of the way he decided to enter the Mexican's shack, having learned the evening before, by skillful questioning, that Mendez had some work to do around a distant cottage, and would be away all morning. "And we'll see what I can find there," murmured Tom, as he set out. It was an easy matter to enter the shack, at least that part where the Mexican lived. The store section was closed, but Tom knew there was an entrance to it through the main shack. A carelessly-fastened window gave admittance, and soon after his chums had departed to get the shell (which was kept now in the new college boathouse, that structure having been nearly completed), Tom found himself inside the shack. He began rummaging about, taking care not to unduly disturb objects. Tom was looking in a trunk, that appeared to contain some clothing, as well as some of the Mexican drawn-work, and some silks and satins, when he heard a noise outside. "Someone is coming!" he whispered. "I've got to hide!" and he made a dive under the cot. CHAPTER XXII THE PAWN TICKETS "Well, I'm certainly going to be in a nice pickle if that's Mendez coming back," thought Tom, as he gave the blanket on the cot a surreptitious pull to better conceal his person. "I guess I was seven kinds of a chump to come here. I ought to have told the fellows, and then one of them could have done sentry duty for me. As it is, if anyone comes in here I'm as good as caught. A nice story it will make, too--a Randall man found in a caretaker's shack." He listened intently, and heard the approaching steps pause outside the door. Then came a key rattling in the lock. "Just my luck," murmured Tom. "It's Mendez coming back. That job didn't last as long as I thought it would, or else he's forgotten something. Whew! If he sees me there'll be a fight all right. He'll take me for a burglar, sure, or else he'll know why I'm here. I wonder if all Mexicans carry knives? There isn't much here for a fellow to defend himself with." Tom peered out from under the cot, and made up his mind, if worst came to worst, that he would roll out, and grab up the heavy stove poker he saw. "That will make a pretty good club," he reasoned. "Hang it all! why didn't I tell the fellows? If this Mendez does me up he may hide my body here, and the fellows will never know what became of me. I ought to have told them--and yet I did it this way to keep Ruth's secret. I meant it for the best." Again Tom listened. The fumbling at the lock of the door continued. "If that's Mendez he doesn't seem to know how to open his own door," mused Tom. "Maybe he's got the wrong key." This seemed to be so, for there was a jingling as of several keys, and then a voice was heard to mutter. Tom started in his hiding place under the cot. "That's not the voice of Mendez!" he exclaimed. "What am I up against?" A wild idea came to him. "Maybe some of our fellows got wise to the same thing I did, and they're trying to get in here," he thought. "If they see me there'll be a surprise," and he smiled grimly. The unknown person outside the shack seemed to be trying a number of keys, one after the other, in the lock. At the same time there was an impatient muttering. "That's not Mendez," decided Tom. "And from the voice it's none of our fellows, either. I wonder if it can be Boswell?" The complications that might ensue if it was the rich student, who seemed to be sharing some secret with the Mexican, kept Tom busy thinking for a few seconds, and then his attention was further drawn toward the person outside. "Hang it all!" exclaimed a voice in nasal tones--plainly the voice of an elderly man--"he's got some newfangled kind of a lock on here, and I can't get in. I wonder if a window is open?" There was the rattle of a bunch of keys being returned to a pocket, and then the sound of footsteps coming around to the side of the shack. "He's going to try my game," thought Tom. "Well if it isn't Mendez it's someone who hasn't any more right in here than I have, and I'm not in so much danger. But who can it be?" There was a struggle at the window, the sound of a fall, as if the attempt to enter had failed. Then came muttered words of anger and pain, and they were followed by the sound of feet beating a tattoo on the side of the shack. "He's scrambling up to the window," thought Tom, pulling the cot blankets farther down. A moment later someone dropped down inside the shack, and remained quietly in the middle of the floor, as though taking a survey of the place. "Humph! It ain't much changed from when I was here last," a voice said, and Tom peered out from beneath a cautiously-raised blanket. The identity of the unexpected visitor startled him. "Old Jake Blasdell!" murmured Tom, in a whisper. "The former caretaker! What in the world does he want here? I thought he had cleared out of these diggings." [Illustration: "OLD JAKE BLASDELL!" MURMURED TOM, IN A WHISPER.] Blasdell, for it was he, stood in the middle of the room of the shack where Mendez cooked, ate and slept--did everything, in fact, save conduct his small store, which was an addition. "It's better than when I had it," Blasdell murmured, for, as I have said, when Mendez succeeded the former caretaker he had moved the shack from the place where Blasdell had built it, and had considerably improved it. "Much better," went on the old man. "Them Mexicans ain't so lazy as I've heard. Lucky for me I knowed of that window that didn't close very tight or I mightn't have gotten in. And lucky I happened to see Mendez as I did, and learned that he would be away all day. Now I'm in here where can I hide 'em. I don't dare carry 'em around with me much longer. Folks is beginning to suspect. And I'll take away that piece I left here, too." "What in the world am I stacking up against?" thought the puzzled Tom. He looked out eagerly. Blasdell's back was turned toward the cot, but the old man did not appear to have anything to hide. "Can he be out of his mind?" thought Tom. He heard the man fumbling about, but from his position could not see what he was doing, and Tom dared not put out his head from under the cot. "There, I guess nobody'll think of lookin' for 'em there," went on the old man. "I s'pose mebby I ought t' destroy 'em, but they may come in useful some time or other. I'll leave 'em here, and take away that trinket." Then came a sound as if the man had stepped down off a chair, or bench. Tom wished he could see what he had done, but at least he knew that something had been hidden on that side of the room were the stove was. "Now I wonder if I can get out of the consarned window?" the man murmured. Tom heard him cross the room, and, after a struggle, there came the sound of a jump on the earth outside. "He's gone!" murmured Tom, as he listened to the retreating footsteps. Then he scrambled out from under the cot, and began making a hasty search of the room. If he had hoped to find Ruth's pin, the cups from Boxer Hall or any of the missing jewelry, Tom was disappointed. He made a thorough, but quick, search, not only in the shack proper, but in the store, though he knew Blasdell had not gone in there. "What could he have hidden?" thought Tom. "I've got to get out of here soon, or the fellows will be waiting for me." He saw a small wooden clock on the mantle over the stove. An idea came to him. "Maybe that clock hides a secret hole in the wall," he thought. Stepping on a chair he moved the timepiece. As he did so the door came open, and in the lower part, where swung the pendulum, he saw several bits of paper. There was no hole in the wall, but, wonderingly Tom picked up the papers. Then he started. "Pawn tickets!" he cried, "and some of them for silver cups! I'm on the trail at last!" CHAPTER XXIII TWO MISSING MEN "Well, what do you know about that?" "So that's where you sneaked off to when we went after the shell?" "And that's why you didn't bake the cake?" Tom's three chums gave expression to these sentiments as they looked over the bunch of pawn tickets he had brought away with him from the Mexican's shack. A hasty glance through them had shown Tom that none was for a brooch, and realizing that he could still keep Ruth's secret, he had decided to tell his friends the whole story. Which he did, keeping back only as much as was necessary not to let them know of Ruth's loss. He related how he had overheard a "certain" conversation between Boswell and the Mexican, hurrying over that part of the story so they might not ask what the talk was about. Then he told of his own and Blasdell's visits to the shack. "Say, this beats anything I ever heard of!" declared Frank. "That's right, but what did the old beggar hide--if anything?" asked Sid. "The pawn tickets, of course," declared Phil. "I'm not sure of that, of course," spoke Tom. "I didn't see him, for I couldn't look out far enough from under the cot. But he was certainly on that side of the room. And he didn't hide the cups and jewelry, for they're in pawn, as these tickets show. So it must have been the tickets." "Then if he had the tickets he took the stuff!" declared Sid. "Not necessarily," objected Frank. "The Mexican and this Blasdell may be in partnership in crime. Either or both may have taken the jewelry, and Blasdell may have pawned it. Anyhow, I think this lets Boswell out, and I'm glad of it." "So am I!" exclaimed Tom, and yet he wondered what the rich student and the Mexican could have in common, and he wondered about the old-fashioned brooch he had seen flashing in the sun, when the two talked in the boat. Also he wondered what Boswell wanted of another like it. In fact Tom was doing considerable wondering, and it was a puzzle in the solution of which he could not ask his chums' aid. "So that's why you wanted us to go get the shell, and leave you here; is it?" asked Phil. "Yes, I wanted time to investigate, and I didn't want you fellows to give me the ha ha! if nothing came of it." "But lots did come of it!" declared Frank. "We can clear ourselves of the faint suspicion that I believe Boxer Hall thinks hangs over us, and we can get them back their trophy cups, and the other people their jewelry." "Yes, I suppose the pawnbroker can be made to give up stolen stuff," said Tom. He was puzzling his brains to think of some reason why Ruth's brooch was not pawned with the other things. Recalling the list of missing articles, given out when the jeweler offered the reward, it was seen that all were represented by the pawn tickets, save Ruth's trinket. "They're made out in the name 'A. Smith,'" said Phil, as he scrutinized the bits of paper. "Might be a blacksmith for all you can tell--probably a fake name. And the pawnbroker's place is in Munroe," he went on, naming a town about twenty-five miles away. "Well," spoke Tom, "I suppose the thing to do is to go there, see the police, get the stuff, and return it to the jeweler. Then he can do as he likes with it." "Incidentally we'll collect the reward," declared Sid. "We'll donate it to the new racing association," suggested Frank. "Wouldn't it be a joke, if we did take that part of the reward offered by Boxer Hall, and use it to help beat them in the race!" "Sort of adding insult to injury," suggested Tom. "But I'm thinking we ought to let the Boxer Hall lads know about these tickets, and that there's a prospect of them getting back their trophies." There were two opinions about this. Tom and Sid were one side, while Frank and Phil held it would be better to first get the stuff and then let Boxer Hall know. "'There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,' you know, Tom," said the Big Californian. "Not meaning a pun, either. But there may be some complications and it may take some time to get the stuff away from the pawnbroker. A delay would only fret all those who have lost things, and would be unpleasant for us. Get the stuff first, I say, and then hand it around." And in the end this idea prevailed. "Well, I can see where we get in precious little practice to-day," remarked Tom. "I think we'd all better go to Haddonfield and give these tickets to Mr. Farson. Let him get the police busy." "All right, we're with you," said Phil. "But we need the practice, for it won't be long now before we're back at college." "What about arresting Blasdell and the Mexican?" asked Sid. "Let the jeweler attend to that," suggested Frank. Without telling the girls of their discovery, the boys went to town in their launch, which, for a wonder, did not break down. Frank declared it was because he had put in a new set of batteries. That Mr. Farson was astonished, is putting it mildly. He could not thank the boys enough. Privately, to Tom, who managed to get him a word in secret, the jeweler said he could not account for Ruth's pin not being represented by a ticket. "But I'll look all through that pawnbroker's stock for it," he said. Mr. Farson decided that they would first go to Munroe and get the cups and jewelry, and later see about causing the arrest of the guilty person, or persons. "The pawnbroker would have to identify the thief, anyhow," he explained. "Now you boys go back to the island and stay there. I'll hire an auto and go to Munroe. As soon as I get back I'll run over and let you know how I make out. Oh, this is good news for me!" "What became of Blasdell after he jumped out of the shack, Tom?" asked Phil. "How could I tell? I was under the cot." "That's so. And he doesn't seem to be around these diggings any more. He just showed up with these pawn tickets, and then lit out again. And to think he was the fellow who had the stuff all the while!" "He or Mendez," said Tom. "I'm not sure which. It's queer that Blasdell should come all the way back to hide the tickets in the shack. I heard him speak of getting something that belonged to him, but I don't know what it was." They argued the matter, but could come to no agreement. Going back to their island camp, they found time for a little practice in the shell, Mr. Pierson coaching them. Then they waited impatiently for the return of the jeweler. "I wonder what Mendez will think when he gets back and finds his place has been ransacked?" suggested Sid. "He won't know it," declared Tom. "I was mighty careful, and Blasdell wasn't inside more than a few minutes. Let's take a stroll around there, and size it up." "No, keep away," decided Frank. "It might make trouble. Let's wait until Mr. Farson comes." It was nearly dusk when they saw a small launch approaching the island, and they recognized the jeweler as one of the occupants. "He doesn't seem very joyous," remarked Tom. "He isn't waving his hat, or anything like that." Somehow his words brought a feeling of doubt to his chums, yet they could not tell why. Nearer came the launch. It drew up to the little dock the boys had made. "Well?" queried Tom, nervously. "How did you make out?" "Not at all," was the surprising reply. "What! Didn't you get the things?" demanded Phil. "No. The pawnbroker closed out his place of business last week, and the store is vacant." For a moment no one spoke. Then Frank said: "But look here. You know a pawnbroker has to be licensed. He can't go out of business that way. He may move, but he has to let people know about it. And he can't dispose of their things inside of a year, either. That man had no right to do that." "I don't know about his rights," said the jeweler, "but the fact remains that he has skipped out. He may have taken the cups and jewelry with him for all I know. The police say he was a sort of 'fence' through which stolen property was often disposed of. He's been arrested several times, but nothing could be proved against him." "What did you do?" asked Sid. "The police in Munroe promised to try and trace him. I'm going to have circulars printed, too, and sent to other cities, asking for news of this pawnbroker." "Say, this is tough, to almost get the stuff and then lose it!" remarked Phil. "It's a good thing we didn't tell the Boxer Hall lads." "That's what," declared Tom. "Fellows, I've got an idea!" exclaimed Sid. "Chain it so it doesn't get away," advised Frank. "I say let's go to that Mexican's shack, and see if we can get anything out of him," went on Sid. "We got on the trail there, and he must be mixed up in it some way. Come on, Mr. Farson, you've got a right to question him." "I believe I will!" decided the jeweler, and he followed the lads toward the shack, through the lengthening shadows. "I guess he isn't home," remarked Tom, as they saw no light in the place. "Knock and see," suggested Phil. A tap on the door brought no response. Tom peered a bit closer. "The place isn't closed," he exclaimed. He pushed open the door. Someone struck a match. Then came an exclamation of surprise from all. For there was evidence that Mendez had hastily fled. The room was in confusion, things being scattered about, and a look into the store showed that everything he had had for sale had been removed. Mendez was missing, as was the pawnbroker and the jewelry. CHAPTER XXIV BACK AT RANDALL "This is the limit!" "Where could he have gone?" "He smelt a rat all right--he's sure mixed up in this business." "And the quiet way he sneaked off! Let's find out if anyone saw him go." Thus the chums exclaimed as the queer situation dawned upon them. Mr. Farson, too, was surprised, and did not know what to make of it. "I think I will devote all my efforts to locating the pawnbroker," he said. "If I get the stuff back that belongs to other persons, I don't care so much about an arrest." "But we'd like to solve the mystery, seeing that we had a hand in it," said Tom. "I wonder where Mendez could have gone?" But no one knew--no one had seen him go. Later that evening, when the young men, after the jeweler had gone to his store, made inquiries of the owner of the cottage where the Mexican had been working all that day, they were told by a servant that a boy, coming in a boat, had brought a message to the caretaker. He had seemed surprised, and had hurried off, leaving his work partly finished, promising to return. But he did not, and that was the last seen of him--at least for the time being. Evidently he had taken alarm at something, had hurried to the shack, hastily packed up his belongings, and fled in a boat. In fact the rowboat he generally used was missing. As far as it went there was nothing criminal in his actions. There was no direct connection between him and the missing jewelry. He bore a good reputation among the cottagers, and had always done his work well. He was honest in his dealings, and his word could be taken in regard to the things he sold. Some of the cottagers even owed him for work performed. "It's another mystery connected with this strange affair," said Tom, as he and his chums turned in for the night. "We may get to the bottom of it some day." "I hope so," murmured Frank. "We've been doing more detective work than rowing of late. We'll have to buckle down from now on. College opens in three weeks." Of course the flight of Mendez was known to the girls, as well as to all others on the island, but the circumstances connected with it, and the finding of the pawn tickets, was kept a secret. I say from all, but that is not quite correct. Tom did tell Ruth all, and they both puzzled over the fact that there was no ticket for the brooch. But Tom did not tell Ruth what he had overheard between Boswell and Mendez. "It might be Ruth's brooch that Boswell bought of Mendez, for his mother," reasoned Tom. "If Ruth thought so she might make a fuss and insist on having it back. Then, again, it might not be hers, and that would make trouble. I've got to investigate a little more before I tell her." The Boswell family closed up their cottage the next week, and left for their mountain home, where the rich lad and his parents were to spend the rest of the vacation. Our boys put in some hard practice in the shell, once or twice getting enough rowers so that they could use the eight. Mr. Pierson gave them valuable coaching. Then, on his advice, they gave themselves up to a good rest, and the enjoyment of camp life. "You'll want a week or two when you don't see an oar," he explained. "There is such a thing as overdoing it. And you will soon be back at college you say, and begin hard training. So take a rest now." And the boys did, though their "rest" consisted chiefly in giving the girls a good time. The wheezy little launch was worked to the limit. Then came the approach of the college season. Several cottages on the island were closed. The girls said farewell to Madge, for they must spend some time with their own folks, and one day Tom remarked: "Say, fellows, let's break camp. It's no fun here without the girls." "That's right," agreed Sid, and so the tents were struck, and our heroes went their several ways to enjoy what was left of their vacation before again gathering at Randall. And in that time nothing new developed about the missing cups and jewelry. Nor was any word heard of the pawnbroker or Mendez. * * * * * "Hello, there's Dutch Housenlager, bigger than ever!" "Yes, and there's Bricktop redder than ever. I say, Brick!" "Hello, Parsons, you look as brown as a berry. What have you been doing with yourself?" "Camping." "You look it. I was at the shore--beastly hot, too!" "Say, isn't the new boathouse swell?" "Nothing like it. Oh, it's going to be great at Randall this Fall." "Over this way, Henderson! Where's Phil and Frank?" cried Tom. "I don't know. I just got in. Have you been up to the room?" "No, I just landed, too. Have you fed your face?" "Not since I got here. Let's grub and then we'll open up the place. Hi, there, Snail! How's the night work?" "Oh, so-so," replied Sam Looper, re-christened "Snail," because of his slowness, and his propensity for night prowling. "Here come the Jersey twins!" "That's right. I hope Jerry makes a good coxswain in the varsity eight," went on Tom. "We need him." "Hear you did some practicing this Summer," remarked Dutch, as he playfully dug his elbow into Tom's ribs. "We did. I'm anxious to get hold of an oar again. Have the new shells come?" "I haven't heard. We'll inquire. I saw Mr. Lighton a bit ago." It was the opening of Randall College for the Fall term, and our friends, as well as their chums, had returned not only to lessons but to sports as well--cross-country running, football--ever glorious football--and now and chiefly, rowing, for the regatta was to be held before the big battles of the gridiron took place. "Come on!" cried Tom, as he spied his three chums. "Let's slip up to our room and talk things over." This was after a more or less hurried meal had been eaten. "And we sure have lots to talk about," remarked Sid. "But let's get through with it and take a run up to Fairview. I guess----" "You guess the girls are there--that's what you guess!" interrupted Tom. "Hark to him, fellows. Isn't he the limit!" And then, linking arms, the four inseparables strolled across the campus, through groups of students, toward their room. CHAPTER XXV THE NEW SHELLS "Say, aren't they beauts!" "All to the cream!" "Nothing like 'em ever seen on this river before!" "And look at the eight! Isn't that a peach?" "Easy there, Housenlager, that isn't a ferry-boat!" and Jerry Jackson kept the big lad from stepping into the new eight-oared shell. The other exclamations, as may easily be surmised, came from the college lads as they gathered about the new float and boathouse, in front of which were the new craft that had been put in the water that day. It was a week or so after the opening of Randall, and matters were shaping themselves up in some kind of order. "Two fours, four singles, two doubles and the eight!" remarked Tom. "Say, that committee of old grads certainly did themselves proud all right!" "They sure did," agreed Sid. "And this boathouse can't be beat!" added Phil, as he and the others inspected the new structure. "I only hope that same thing applies to our boats," remarked the Big Californian, grimly. "There'll be something coming to us if they can't be beaten." "Let's get in and have a trial," suggested Sid. "Come, we've got enough for two eights--one crew in the old shell and one in the new. We'll find out if she's stiff enough." "Better wait until Mr. Lighton gives the word," suggested Tom. "They'll want to soak up a bit, anyhow, being new; and our weight might open up the seams too much." In fact the boats had only been in the water since that morning, a committee of the rowing association superintending their removal from the freight station on trucks. The letter announcing that they were on their way had been received some little time before, and the advent of the rowing craft was eagerly waited. Then had come a simple ceremony, when a committee of the presenting graduates had formally turned over the boathouse and outfit to Randall College. "Well, we'll have to organize soon, pick out a coxswain and captain, and arrange for hard training," said Tom. "Yes, there isn't much time between now and the football season," agreed Frank. "Boxer Hall and Fairview will want to wind up the rowing game as early as they can. It's been a double drill for them, since they raced in the Spring. Next Spring we'll get in the game with them." "Here comes Mr. Lighton," suggested Sid. "Maybe he'll have something to say," and he indicated the coach coming down toward the boathouse. "Well, boys, how do you like them?" asked Mr. Lighton, as he indicated the new craft. "Swell!" "Peachy!" "Pippy!" These were only a sample of the many expressions of approval. "I guess I'll slip in one of those singles and have a try at it," remarked Boswell, starting for the dressing rooms to change into rowing costume. "No, don't, please--not just yet," said Mr. Lighton. "I want to look them over first, to see if there are any flaws. You can take out one of the old ones." "Say, you don't seem to want me to do anything in the boating line!" exclaimed the rich lad. "You shifted me out of the eight, and now you don't want me to practice in a single. I tell you I know something about a boat--I've done as much work this Summer as those fellows," and he indicated Tom and his three chums. "That's all right," responded Mr. Lighton, quietly. "I'm not denying that, but I want you to understand that I did not shift you out of the eight without good reason, and there is still time for you to try to make good--even yet." "No, I'm going to stick to the single--and I'm going to win!" snapped Boswell. "Good--I hope you do," assented the coach. "Now, boys, we've got to get together, select a captain for the varsity, also the coxswain, as well as officials, and rowers for the other boats. It won't do to go at this slip-shod fashion. What do you say to a meeting to-night to select the officials?" "Good!" came the general cry, and then matters were talked over at length. As far as arrangements with Boxer Hall and Fairview were concerned, they had been practically completed in the Spring. All that remained was the selection of the day for the regatta, the marking of the course, the settlement of rules, which would be practically the same as those governing Boxer Hall and Fairview, and the selecting of the officials. The other two colleges had very little to do to get ready for the races, but Randall had considerable. However, under the guidance of Mr. Lighton, affairs soon shaped up. There was some wire-pulling in regard to the election of a varsity captain, but the choice eventually fell upon Frank Simpson, who pulled stroke. It met with general approval, for all liked the Big Californian, and no one who had been tried at stroke did anywhere nearly as well as did he. For coxswain the choice fell upon Jerry Jackson--in fact there was no opposition, for many who might have liked to try for it, felt that they were not equal to the responsibility. But Jerry seemed to fit in there naturally. He was just the right weight, Mr. Lighton said; he had a certain delicacy, yet firmness, in steering, and he could use judgment. As for the singles, their disposition was simple. A number of lads signified their desire to enter into a competition among themselves, the best to be picked to meet Boxer Hall and Fairview contestants. Boswell was to be one who would enter the elimination trials, and he accepted the responsibility with an air of confidence that caused much secret amusement, and no little disgust. Snail Looper also expressed a desire to try, as did a number of others. In the doubles a number of new lads, with whom we are not immediately concerned, entered, and as for the fours, some juniors and sophomores, together with a few freshmen, made up three combinations, the best one of which was to meet the rivals. "As for the eight," said Mr. Lighton, "which craft, in a measure will be regarded as the main varsity boat, we now have two crafts--the old one and the new. I suggest that there be elimination trials, and several friendly races between the two crews. "In this way not only will you get practice, but you will have experience in pulling against another boat, which will stand you in good stead. "I have also to announce that Mr. Pierson, whom some of you know as the old Cornell oarsman, has kindly consented to help me in coaching you. We will draw up a set of training rules, and I expect every man to follow them faithfully. Otherwise there is no use in going into this thing. Remember the condition of this magnificent gift to Randall was that she should prove herself a victor." "And she will!" cried Tom, while the others echoed his words. There remained a few other preliminaries to arrange, and minor officials to select, and then the meeting of the athletic committee ended. "Oh, I say!" cried Phil, at the conclusion. "I wonder if it's too late to go see the girls?" "Guess not," agreed Tom. "I'm with you." "Same here," echoed Frank and Phil, and they hurried to catch a trolley for Fairview Institute. As they walked up the steps to the building where the young ladies were permitted to receive visitors, they saw a lad standing there. Just as Tom was about to ring the bell, the door opened, and a maid announced to the waiting lad: "Miss Clinton can see no one." "She is out, do you mean?" "I do not know. That was the message Miss Philock told me to give you." "Oh, all right," and, turning so that the light from the hall shone on his face, the countenance of Boswell was disclosed to our friends. "Oh!" he exclaimed blankly, as he recognized them. Then looking at Tom he added: "Perhaps you'll have better luck than I did, Parsons!" "Perhaps," admitted Tom, drily. CHAPTER XXVI "ROW HARD!" The four chums watched Boswell go down the steps and get into a waiting auto, the maid, meanwhile, regarding them half curiously, for she knew them well, from frequent visits. "Some class to him," remarked Sid. "Yes, he's finding his way here all right," added Tom. "Well, it's a free country," added Phil. "He came to see Ruth, if I'm any judge." "And got turned down," added Frank. "I wonder if the girls are really out?" ventured Tom. "I'll see if the young ladies are in," remarked the maid. She did not have to ask which young ladies were meant. She returned shortly to say that, while it was almost too late for visitors, Miss Philock had consented that the four chums could see their friends for ten minutes. "Say, what's gotten into the old Ogress--she's so pleasant to us?" Sid wanted to know. "Probably this is the calm before the storm," suggested Phil. "We may be turned down after this, the same as Boswell was." "I wonder what he wanted?" mused Tom. "Oh, probably to ask the best way to darn socks without tying a string around the hole," suggested Frank, with delicate sarcasm. "Here come the girls!" exclaimed Tom, and the murmur of voices bore out his remark. While the conversation that followed was probably of intense and absorbing personal interest to those who took part in it, there was not enough of general interest to warrant me setting it down here. Sufficient to say that all sorts of matters, from the coming regatta to the opening of the football season, were discussed, and commented upon. Needless to say the Fairview girls, with commendable loyalty, declared that their college was going to be the champions of the gridiron and river. Tom found chance for a quiet word with Ruth just before the ringing of a warning bell announced that visiting hours were nearly over. She explained that it was a surprise to her when Boswell called, and she and her chums decided not to meet him. "I haven't found out anything more about your pin," Tom said. "That is, I haven't located it," for he did not want to go into details about the missing pawnbroker and Mendez. Nothing more had been heard of either. "Too bad," Ruth declared. "I suppose, though, I might as well keep quiet about the loss of it until some one of my folks notice that it's gone," she said. "It will be time enough then to confess, though I suppose I'll be in for a wigging from grandmother for keeping still about it so long." "Yes, it can't do any harm to keep quiet now," decided Tom, "and something may turn up at any minute." "Then you really have some hope, Tom?" "Yes--a little," he admitted. "But I can't talk about it, Ruth. It involves others." "Oh, tell me Tom! I'll keep it a secret!" she pleaded. "No, really I can't," he said, and though she made it rather hard for him, he kept to his resolve. "It is time your friends left, young ladies!" announced the rather rasping voice of Miss Philock, a little later. "I have been lenient with you to the extent of ten minutes, but now I must insist." "Thank you for your kindness," exclaimed Phil, with a low bow. "We greatly appreciate it." "I am glad that you do," declared the preceptress, not allowing a smile to change the hard contour of her face. Poor Miss Philock! Doubtless she did not have a happy time of it, and her responsibilities must have weighed on her. It is not an easy task to be the dragon, guarding a number of pretty girls, when two colleges for young men are not far off. And Miss Philock did her duty, however unpleasant it was. Tom was awakened that night, shortly after one o'clock. At least he judged it to be about that hour, for he dimly recalled hearing a distant clock booming out twelve; then he had fallen into a doze, and it could not have been over an hour later when a noise and movement in the main apartment, out of which all their rooms opened, roused him. "Wonder who that is?" he thought, sleepily. "Maybe we did a little too much to-day, and some of the boys can't rest. I'll take a look." He raised himself upon his elbow, but, though he had a partial view of the sitting room from that position, he could see no one. The scuffling of feet on the carpet, however, and the faint rattle of paper, told that someone was up and about. Softly Tom put his legs over the edge of the bed, so that it would not creak, for, somehow, he had a faint suspicion that perhaps the person in the other room might not be one of his chums, and, in that case, he wanted to be prepared. Gently he stepped out until he stood in the door of his own room, and had a view of the main apartment. Then he saw a white-robed figure standing looking out of the window that gave a view of the campus, over which a faint moon was then shining. "That looks like Sid," thought Tom. "I wonder if he's getting spoony--or loony or moony? Maybe he couldn't sleep and got up to change the current of his thoughts. Well, shall I go out and keep him company, or----" Tom reconsidered the matter a moment. "No," he thought, "if I go out there, and we get to chinning, even in whispers, it will rouse Frank and Phil, and then we'll all be wide awake. And the land knows we need all the sleep we can get. I can find my way to dreamland without being sung to, anyhow." For a moment he watched the figure by the window. It was Sid, Tom felt sure of that, though night-garments, be they pajamas or the more prosaic shirts, do not make for identifying individuals. There is little of character to them. Then the figure by the window turned partly toward Tom, but, as the face was in the shadow, the watching lad could not see it plainly. The figure approached the table, on which was a litter of paper, where the lads had been doing some studying earlier in the evening. "By Jove!" thought Tom. "Old Sid is writing poetry--or he has been courting the muse! This is rich! He can't sleep and he gets up in the night to jot down a verse or two. That's it! And about a girl, too, I'll wager! Oh, Sid!" and he chuckled silently. "I'll rig you for this in the morning! Loony, spoony, moony Sid! This is rich!" and Tom doubled up with silent mirth. The figure continued to approach the table, and from the other rooms the deep, regular breathing told of sound sleepers. Then the figure began fumbling with papers and Tom saw a pencil taken up. "How the mischief can he see to write in the dark?" the watcher wondered. But that was evidently not the intention. For, after hesitating a few seconds over the table, the white-clad figure turned and went out of the door into the hall. "Well, what do you make of that?" Tom asked himself. "He has got 'em bad! Sneaking out to some other room to write his slushy poetry. He's the limit! Wait until we get at him in the daylight--there won't be any loony-moon then. But I should think he'd want to put on a bath robe. It isn't the warmest night of Summer," added Tom to himself, being aware of a distinctly chilly feeling about his legs. "Wait!" he counseled with himself. "I'll find out about this. I'll just follow him and give him a scare. I'll catch him with the goods." Pausing to make sure that none of the others were awake, and waiting to give Sid a chance to get a little way down the corridor, Tom slipped out of the door, his feet encased in a pair of bath slippers, that lent themselves better to soft movement than not, for they avoided the scuffling that always goes with bare soles. Tom reached the corridor, and, looking down it, saw at the farther end the white-robed figure. "He made good time all right," Tom mused. "Where can he be going to though, in that rig? Oh, probably to the reading room," and Tom recalled the large room at the end of the hall, a sort of library fitted up for the use of the dwellers of the dormitory--a room seldom used by the way, for the lads preferred the seclusion of their own apartments. "Maybe he's looking for a rhyming dictionary," thought Tom. "That's it. I'm on to his game now." Tom thought he understood it all. Sid, who used to care nothing for the girls--indeed having a veritable aversion for them--had, of late, been quite different, as Tom and all the others saw and knew. There was one in particular--and it would not be fair for me to mention her name--one in particular about whom Sid, if he did not talk, thought much. "And he's going to finish out some poem he began, and got stuck with," decided Tom. "Probably he knows we'd rig him if we saw him writing that Valentine stuff. "A rhyming dictionary though. I don't see what he needs of that. Love, dove, above--you true--eyes of blue. Heart--part--die, sigh--moon--soon--spoon--no, not that. But hair--fair--ever there--thine--mine--valentine. There you are, done without the aid of a net, and with nothing concealed up my sleeve," mused Tom, shivering slightly as a chilling breeze from the corridor not only crept up his arm, but over other parts of his anatomy. The figure ahead of him glided on, and Tom followed. Then, instead of turning into the library, it mounted a flight of stairs that led to the rooms above, where other students slept. "For cats' sake!" thought Tom. "What is Sid up to anyhow? Is he going to snare someone else in on this game? Or is he playing some trick? The bell in the tower! Jove, if he dares to ring that at this hour!" For, when the new dormitory had been built, a bell had been hung in an ornate corner tower, though it pealed forth but seldom, being more of an ornament. Still it could be rung if desired. "That's what old Sid is up to!" decided Tom. "He must be going daffy. He's sure to be caught, for Simond has a room up there, and he's a light sleeper." Simond being one of the new teachers, who had been assigned to this dormitory as a sort of moral-policeman. He was, however, a well-liked instructor. "I wonder how it would be for me to tip Sid off not to do it?" thought Tom. "If he does jingle the chimes they'll say we all had a hand in it, and it will be bad for the bunch. I guess I'll call him off. No use going too far for a joke." Tom was about to sprint forward, when, to his surprise, the figure turned and entered one of the student's rooms, the door opening noiselessly and closing again as silently. "Well, what do you know about that?" asked Tom of himself. "Who rooms there, I wonder? And what is Sid going in there for? Can it be that he isn't up to dashing off a fervid love poem himself, and has to get someone else, under the cover of night, to do it for him?" Tom came to a halt, some distance from the door that had opened and closed, and remained gazing down the corridor. He seldom came up here, and did not know which students occupied the different rooms. And, as the corridor was long, and as Tom was looking down it on an angle, he could not be exactly sure which door had opened, they being all alike, and many without numbers. "I'll just stay here and wait," he decided. "He can't stay in there very long," and then Tom began to wish he had slipped on his bath robe, for he was getting more and more chilly each minute. "Hang it all! Why doesn't he come out?" he asked himself half a dozen times. "I'm not going to stay here all night." But even at that, while calling himself all sorts of a foolish person, Tom remained. "It's too good a joke to pass up!" he decided. "I'll surprise Sid when he comes out. Poetry! Bah! We'll write a love verse for him!" Several minutes passed. Tom moved about, and began to do some exercises with his arms, to bring up his circulation. He was striking out vigorously, feeling in quite a glow, when his elbow, as he drew back his arm, came in sharp contact with the door behind him. Unaware of it, he had been standing in front of some portal while he waited. "Oh, for cats' sake!" thought Tom, in grim despair as the sound boomed out with startling distinctness in that dim and silent corridor. "Now I have gone and done it. I guess I'd better pass up Sid and his poem, and get back to my little bed. I wonder if I can make it before someone sticks out his noddle, and wants to know what I'm doing here?" With this thought in mind he started to glide away, but he was too late. The door he had banged with his elbow suddenly opened, and a voice demanded in peremptory tones: "Well, what is it?" "Great Scott!" gasped Tom. "It's Simond!" for the countenance of the instructor was thrust from the half-opened portal. "Well?" went on the rather grim voice, as Tom hesitated. "You knocked." "It--it was an accident," stammered Tom. "Oh. Then you don't want me?" "No, sir." "Is anything the matter?" "No, Mr. Simond." "Then what are you doing up on this floor? You're Parsons, aren't you?" "Yes, sir." "And you room on the floor below?" "Yes, sir." "Then what are you doing up here at this hour of the night; knocking at my door?" "I--er--it was an accident, you see. I was--I was exercising." "Exercising?" There was a note of incredulity in the voice. "Yes, exercising." "What for?" Cold sarcasm now took the place of surprise. "To keep warm." "Look here, Parsons!" exclaimed the instructor. "You may think this is a joke, but----" "No, sir; it's no joke. I was exercising to keep warm. Arm exercising you know, and my elbow banged your door--I didn't know I was so close." "I see. Well, are you warm now?" "Oh, yes, sir." Indeed Tom was in a veritable rosy glow. "But what was the necessity of getting cold?" went on Mr. Simond, and Tom became aware that others were listening to the talk, for he could hear doors down the hall cautiously opened, and faint snickers of laughter here and there. Tom was in a quandary. He did not want to tell the real object of coming upstairs as he had, for it would only make trouble for Sid. And yet if he kept silent he would be put down for having tried to play some prank on his own account. Still if Sid had "gotten away" with whatever he had attempted, and it seemed so, for no sound came from the neighborhood of the room he had entered--in that case Tom could not bring him into the game. "I guess I've got to take my medicine," thought Tom. "Well?" demanded Mr. Simond in a cold voice. "I--I just came up here for a--for a walk," explained Tom. "I--er--I couldn't sleep, and----" "I see. You thought if you came and waked me up that you _could_ sleep; is that it?" "Oh, not at all, Mr. Simond." He could be funny when he wanted to, thought shivering Tom. "I--er--I was just going back to bed," he explained lamely, for that was true enough. "Very well, then you'd better go _now_," concluded Mr. Simond. "And don't knock on any more doors, or I shall have to look further into the matter. Good-night!" "Good-night!" gasped Tom, surprised to be let off thus easily. "It was all a mistake, I assure you," he added, as he glided away. "Well, don't _repeat_ the mistake," was the grim injunction of the instructor, as he closed his door, and Tom vowed that he would not--at least that night. "I'm a chump!" he told himself as he hurried back to his room. "I might better have let Sid grind out his mushy poetry in peace, and gotten my sleep. Now I may be in for a lecture to-morrow." As he entered the room he saw, grouped in the middle of the apartment, his three chums. The sight of Sid, with Phil and Frank, caused Tom to halt. "Where in thunder have you been?" demanded Phil. "We were just going to get up a searching party for you." "That's right," came from Sid. "What do you mean by chasing out at this hour?" "What do _you_ mean, I guess it is!" exclaimed Tom. "I've been chasing you, Sid." "Chasing me? What rot is that?" "It's all right. I woke up when I heard you moving about in here, followed you out to the corridor. You were going to write a poem, you know." "Say, am I crazy or is he?" demanded Sid, appealing to the others. "Writing poetry?" "Yes; weren't you?" asked Tom, beginning to think he had more of a mystery on his hands than he had at first suspected. "Worse and more of it," murmured Frank. "Do you mean to tell me?" demanded Tom, "that you didn't sneak out of here a while ago, and go to one of the rooms on the next floor?" and he looked defiantly at Sid. "I certainly won't tell, or admit, anything of the kind, because it isn't so," replied Sid. "Admitting that I had, will you kindly explain how _I_ could be here when _you_ came in; in that case?" "That's so," admitted Tom, scratching his head in perplexity. "Unless," he added as an afterthought, "unless you came down the back stairs, when I was chinning with Simond." "Chinning with Simond?" demanded Phil. "Do you mean to say you were caught by him?" "Yes. I banged on his door." "Banged on his door?" "Yes, by accident. You see I was exercising to keep warm." The three paused and looked at each other. Clearly they did not understand. "Look here, Tom," began Frank in a gentle, soothing voice. "How long have you been this way? Did it come on suddenly, or are you subject to these fits? Have you seen a doctor? Don't you think we'd better wire your folks? Maybe if you lie down it will wear off. Isn't it sad, and him so young, too!" and he sighed in mock distress. "Look here, you chump!" cried Tom indignantly. "You think I'm stalling; don't you? But I'm not. Here's how it happened," and he told of the circumstances, and of his suspicions against Sid. "And while I was waiting for him--as I thought--to come out of that room upstairs," he went on, "I got chilly. So I exercised. My elbow banged on Simond's door, and he opened the oak. Then I had to explain." "That's a rich one!" declared Phil. "He must have thought you were crazy!" said Frank. "Exercising at that hour of the night!" exclaimed Sid. "This is too good to keep!" and he laughed outright. "Not so loud," cautioned Phil, "or we'll rouse the place. Anything else, Tom?" "Isn't that enough? But say, Sid, are you sure you weren't out?" "Of course I am. Ask Phil and Frank. They woke me up in bed." "That's right!" chorused the two. "I heard a noise," explained Phil, "and woke up. I was just in time to see you going out of the room, Tom, and----" "That was when I was after Sid," Tom explained. "You mean you thought it was me," put in Sid. "Well, have it that way if you like. But if it wasn't you I chased, who was it?" demanded Tom, after the manner of one propounding a difficult riddle. "That's up to you to find out," spoke the Big Californian. "Are you sure you _did_ see and follow someone, Tom?" "Of course I am. Do you think I'm crazy?" "I don't know," was Frank's simple remark. "There's something wrong," went on Sid, "but we can't get to the bottom of it now. If there was someone in our room we want to know it." "Well, there was," declared Tom, positively. "_I_ know it!" "Anyhow, I saw you going out," resumed Phil. "I wondered what was up, but I thought maybe you felt sick, and was going to the medicine cabinet at the end of the corridor. So I went back to bed, and when you didn't return in ten minutes I roused Sid and Frank." "And you found Sid in bed?" demanded Tom. "Sleeping like a babe--the result of an innocent conscience. Was it not?" asked Sid, with an air of virtue. "Yes, little one," came from Phil, with a bow. "Then we all speculated on what could be the matter with you," added Frank. "And we were about to organize a relief expedition, with six months' supply of rations, and start out," was Sid's contribution. "When in you came prancing as though you had been out for a constitutional," concluded Phil. "Telling us that you had been _exercising_," commented Sid, sarcastically. "Talk about following _me_ in a suspicious manner, I rather think the dancing slipper is on the other foot, my friend." "Well, this gets me!" confessed Tom, blankly. "Then it's the second time you've been gotten at this night," declared Frank. "For Simond had you first." "Oh, he was decent about it," Tom said. "I don't believe anything will come of it. I'm going to get to bed. It's as cold as Greenland here," and he made a dive for his room. "What time is it, anyhow?" asked Sid with a yawn. "Did we take the toothpick out of the alarm clock, I wonder?" The three of them glanced toward the table where the timepiece was wont to tick. It was the custom to wind and set it before going to bed, the last one to retire being charged with the duty of removing the toothpick, which was used to silence the ticking that annoyed the chums when they were studying. "Why--why--it's gone--gone!" gasped Tom, halting on his way to his room. "That's right!" chorused the others. "Tom Parsons, is this your joke?" demanded Sid, sternly. "What do you mean?" "I mean did you take that clock away for a joke, and then, when you got caught, made up that fake story about chasing me?" "I--did--not!" exclaimed Tom in such a manner that they could not help believing him. "Then where is it?" demanded Frank. There was silence for several seconds, while the white-clad figures regarded one another. Then Tom burst out with: "I have it!" "I thought you did," said Sid significantly. "No, you gump! I mean I have the solution. It was that chap who was in here, and whom I took for you, Sid. He has our clock. I'll get it back!" Tom was about to rush out into the corridor, when Frank laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Hold on, son," he began mildly. "There's been enough running around for one night. It won't be healthy, for one thing, to do any more, for it is beastly cold. And, for another, there is no use in running our heads into a noose. Simond was decent, you say, Tom, and there's no sense in putting it on him--rubbing it in, so to speak. We'll just lay low until morning and then we'll get our clock. You say you know where it is?" "Well, I saw the fellow that was in here enter some room on the floor above. I couldn't pick it out exactly, but I can come pretty near it." "That'll be all right. Who do you think it was?" "Dutch Housenlager!" declared Tom. "He doesn't room up there," retorted Phil. "Well, he may have slipped in some room up there to throw me off," said Tom. "More likely it was Jerry Jackson," was Frank's opinion. "He was poking fun at the clock yesterday." "As long as he doesn't poke anything more than fun at it, all right," said Phil. "We're the only ones licensed to use toothpicks and battle-axes on it." "Poor old clock," sighed Sid. "It does get abused, but still it is a faithful friend. Remember the time that duffer--what was his name--took out some of the wheels to make some machine he was crazy over? Remember that?" "I should say so!" exclaimed Tom. "But this chap wasn't satisfied with a single wheel--he wanted the whole works. I wonder who it could be?" "I shouldn't wonder but what the Snail had a hand in this," opined Phil. "He's so fond of roaming about nights." "He stays over in the North dormitory now," declared Frank. "Besides, he wouldn't get in here at this hour of the morning--at least I think it must be near morning. The doors are locked after hours, you know. No, it was someone from here all right, who took that clock." "And the nerve of 'em!" exclaimed Phil. "And to think Tom took that lad--whoever he was--for me," put in Sid. "Did he really look like me?" "He sure did." "Maybe it was Bean Perkins," suggested Frank. "No, Bean wouldn't do a trick like that. He couldn't keep quiet enough," declared Tom. "He'd want to give a class yell or sing a song in the middle of it, and that would give it away. Say, but I have a scheme though." "Out with it, and then let's get to bed," yawned Frank. "We won't say anything about this," spoke Tom, "and----" "Not say anything about it!" cried Sid. "Well, I guess we will! Think we're going to let our clock disappear, and keep mum over it? I guess not!" "I didn't mean that," explained Tom. "I meant that we'd not come out boldly, and admit that we didn't know enough to keep our clock from being taken. But to-morrow--at chapel--or whenever we can, we'll just sneak up back of Dutch, the Jersey twins, or whoever else we suspect, and say 'clock' to them. That will make the guilty one start, and we'll have our man." "I see--a sort of detective stunt," remarked Frank. "Sort of," admitted Tom. "How would it do to make a noise like a tick," suggested Phil. "Say, I'm not joking," exclaimed Tom. "Neither am I," asserted Phil. "But let's be real mysterious about it, and we'll get the guilty one so much more easily." "Oh, don't be silly!" snapped Tom, who, truth to tell, was getting a bit short-tempered. "I'm not!" "Yes, you are!" "Say, let's all get back to bed, and fight this out in the morning," suggested Frank, and they took his advice, though it was but a troubled sleep that any of the four got the rest of that night. Talking it over by daylight they decided that Tom's plan might not be so bad. Accordingly, they put it into practice. "Clock!" suddenly exclaimed Sid, as he slid up behind Dutch Housenlager after chapel. "Tick-tock!" "Tag. You're it!" quickly responded Dutch. "What's the signal?" "You're not guilty, I see," spoke Sid, with a sigh. "Of course not. What's the answer?" "Someone took our clock last night." "Oh, that battered chronometer? Say, do you know what I thought?" "Couldn't guess it." "That you were trying to initiate me into a new secret society, and that you were practicing the password--tick-tock!" "Nothing doing. Say, Dutch, if you hear of anyone who has it, tip me off, will you?" "I sure will," and then, to show how much in earnest he was, Dutch tripped Sid up and deposited him on the grass of the campus. Nor was Tom, or his other two chums any more successful. Each time they tried the surprise plan on any suspect they received an answer that told they were on the wrong track. And then, most unexpectedly, the clock came back, as it had done once before. Wallops, the messenger, brought it. "I found it down in the furnace room," he explained. "It was on top of one of the boilers." "Well, for the love of tripe!" cried Tom. "How in the world did it get there?" "Our unknown visitor put it there," declared Frank. "Maybe he thought we were on his track, and he took this method of getting rid of the damaging evidence." And they had to let it go at that--at least for the time being, for all their inquiries came to naught. "Everyone who wants to try for the varsity eight come down to the river this afternoon," was the notice Captain Simpson posted on the bulletin board the next day. He and the coach had had a conference, and it was decided to try and definitely settle on the crew for the first boat. Then the second choice could be made, and some practice races arranged. In order to be absolutely fair, Mr. Lighton and Mr. Pierson shifted about those who had been rowing together. I mean Tom and the seven lads with whom he was more closely associated than with any others--Sid, Phil, Bricktop Molloy, Frank, Holly Cross, Dutch, and Kindlings. Jerry was kept as coxswain in the new boat, but Tom, Phil, Holly and Dutch were sent out in the old one, with Bean Perkins for steersman, while four lads who had not been given much practice were imported into the new shell with Frank, Sid, Kindlings and Bricktop Molloy. "Now, boys, see what you can do!" urged the coach. It was the first time the new shell had been tried, and it was found fully up to expectations. But it was a little differently made from the old one, and this made the lads a bit awkward in it. However, they rowed fairly well, though in a short trial race the old shell came out ahead. "We'll do some more shifting," decided Mr. Lighton, and he and Mr. Pierson tried different combinations, but still separating the eight lads who had rowed together from the start. This was kept up for some days, the lads all, meanwhile, being on training. But when a week had passed, and the old and new boats had see-sawed back and forth, first one winning and then the other, Mr. Lighton shook his head in doubt. "Something is wrong," he said. "We'll never be able to pick a varsity crew of either of them. We need a consistent winner." "That is right," agreed Mr. Pierson. "Why not try the same eight you had at first--the four lads whom I coached this Summer, and their four intimate friends? I fancy they would do better together in the new boat." "We'll try it," assented the coach. The result was an improvement at once. Even with the awkwardness of the new shell as a handicap, Tom and his seven friends at once opened water between their craft and the other one. And it was not surprising when you consider that they had had considerable practice together, and had played baseball and football through several college seasons. "I think that's the varsity crew all right," declared Mr. Pierson, after watching the test. "I agree with you--unless something unforeseen occurs," said Mr. Lighton. "Now we must give some attention to the others in the fours, singles and doubles." Practice in these craft had been going steadily on, and in time the crews that were to try to make Randall the champion were picked, subject, of course, to change, a number of substitutes being arranged for. Word came that the Boxer Hall and Fairview varsity crews in the different shells were doing hard work. They had the advantage of not having to pick new and somewhat green crews. But the spirit of Randall was not affected by this. "Now, boys!" exclaimed Mr. Lighton one afternoon, when the two eights had gone out for a practice race. "I want you to do your best. Row hard! Try to imagine you're in a race. Row hard, everybody!" "There may be a race if those fellows will consent to a brush with us," said Bricktop to Frank, as he looked down the river and saw the Boxer Hall eight approaching. "I wonder if we can chance it--to see which of our boats would win." "I guess so," assented Frank. "Silence in the boat!" cried Coxswain Jackson. "Save your breath to row with!" "Sure he's getting to be a regular fussing martinet!" declared Bricktop, with a smile. "Silence in the boat!" commanded Jerry again, and he meant it. Meanwhile the Boxer Hall eight came sweeping on. Would she give Randall an impromptu race? CHAPTER XXVII A BRUSH WITH BOXER "What do you think about it, boys?" called Mr. Lighton, from the launch where he and Mr. Pierson were sitting to do the coaching as they glided along. "Do you want to try it?" "Sure thing!" answered Tom. "Of course," assented Pete Backus, from the second eight. "All right. Just row along then, and don't make any allusion to a race," advised Mr. Lighton. "If they want to pick up and come in, let them. Only--don't let them win!" he added, significantly. "Even if it is only a friendly brush." "Let them win! I should say not!" declared Frank. "Be ready to pick me up quick now, fellows, when Jerry gives the word to spurt." "Aye, aye, sir!" echoed Bricktop Molloy, from his position behind the stroke oar. "And say, we don't want to let those fellows do us, either," went on Percy Pineford, coxswain of the second eight. "Let's beat the varsity and Boxer Hall, too." "If we can," remarked Harry Chapin, who was at stroke. "We can if you'll pull hard enough and fast enough," retorted the coxswain. "Naturally. That's as easy as _pons asinorum_ to say, but not so easy to do," commented number six--Billie Burden. "Say, if you lads want to have any breath left for rowing you'd better stop talking," commented the coach, and after that there was silence in the varsity as well as in the second eight. On came Boxer Hall, and not a Randall lad but envied their long, powerful stroke, so evenly done, and with such seeming power back of it. But Boxer Hall had been turning out winning crews for several years, and they had had much practice. But, with all that, as Mr. Lighton and Mr. Pierson watched the two crews of Randall, out of whose numbers they hoped would come a varsity winner, the head coach remarked: "Our boys do very well." "Very well indeed," responded the Cornell man. "In fact I like their stroke better than that of Boxer Hall's. It is likely to last longer, and is not so tiring. Our boys feather better, too." "Yes, thanks to your instruction this Summer to Tom Parsons and his three chums. Four good rowers in a boat help to put it in the champion class." If it was the intention of Boxer Hall to indulge in a race with our friends the river champions gave no intention of it at this time. They rowed on slowly, being some distance down the stream. The water was wide at this point, and there was room for several craft abreast, even with the long oars in the outriggers which set well out over the gunwales. "Watch out for a sudden spurt," advised Frank, in a low voice to Jerry, who nodded in his coxswain's seat, and got the tiller ropes in a firm grasp. Boxer Hall was known to be foxy, and if she could creep up on her rival, and, by a sudden increase in the stroke, gain such an advantage that Randall would find it hard to overcome the lead obtained, it would look as though our friends were outclassed. But there were wise boys at Randall, too. The two Randall eights--the old and the new--had separated to allow Boxer Hall to come between them, if it was her desire to have a friendly brush. At first it seemed as though Boxer would decline, but, at the last moment, the course of the boat was changed, and she shot straight for the open water between the other two craft. "Now for it!" murmured Jerry in a low voice. "Be ready, fellows!" Hardly had he spoken when, at a shout from their coxswain, the Boxer rowers suddenly increased their stroke. They had waited until almost on even terms with the other two boats, and evidently hoped to catch our friends unawares. But they reckoned without their host, for Jerry and his fellow coxswain gave the order to increase, and the sixteen lads responded nobly. Only for an instant did Boxer Hall hold her advantage. She did shoot ahead, but in a moment her two rivals were on even terms with her, and there they hung for more than a minute. "Well, it didn't work--did it?" called Jerry over to Pinky Davenport, who had succeeded Dave Ogden as coxswain of the Boxer eight. "What didn't work?" asked Pinky, innocently. "Oh, you didn't jump us," and Jerry laughed, for he saw by the confused look on his rival's face, as well as on the countenances of the others that their little trick--fair enough in its way--had been discovered. But if Randall hoped to have matters all her own way, or even remain on even terms, she was much mistaken. For a time the impromptu brush had all the appearances of a real race, and the three boats seemingly tried as hard to win as though the championship of the river depended on it. Then the second eight began falling behind. The lads made a gallant effort to keep up, but the grind was too much for them. "It's up to us now!" declared Jerry, in a low voice. "I'm going to push you fellows!" and he set the stroke at a heart-breaking pace. His lads stood the "gaff" for a while, and then, noting the distress on the faces of several, Jerry, much against his will, had to lower the rapidity of the stroke. Boxer Hall had held pace with her rival, giving them stroke for stroke, and now as Pinky saw his opponents in distress, he called for a quick spurt. And to the credit of Boxer Hall, be it said that her men responded in excellent style. They kept up the pace until, in a swirl of water, they had passed the varsity Randall eight, leaving that and the second craft behind. And then, to show that they had their nerve with them, the Boxer Hall rowers did not let up for another minute, sending their craft on at racing speed, even after they had won, and Randall was resting on her oars, completely "tuckered out." It was a bad beating for Randall, and the faces of the two coaches as they came up in their launch showed the disappointment they felt. CHAPTER XXVIII FAINT HEARTS "Pretty punk; wasn't it?" "Regular ice wagon as far as we were concerned." "I didn't think they had that spurt in 'em." "And yet we seemed to be rowing pretty well. I guess it takes more than one season to make a winning eight." Silence followed these discouraging observations on the part of the four inseparables as they sat in their room the evening following the beating of the first and second shells by the Boxer Hall crew. There had been a meeting of the coaches with the Randall rowers immediately after coming off the water, and several plans had been talked over, involving a shifting of the crews. But in the end it was decided to wait another day or so. There was no disputing the fact that Randall had expected at least the varsity boat to keep up to, if not beat, their rival. And they had failed. It was a bitter pill to swallow, with the time of the regatta so close at hand. "It sure was rotten," said Tom musingly, as he sat staring vacantly at nothing. No one took the trouble to comment on his last remark. They had about exhausted their stock of bitter reflections and observations. "Something's got to be done," went on Tom. Still no one answered him. The fussy little alarm clock ticked on, as though trying to be cheerful in the midst of all that gloom. It was as though it said: "Cheer--up--I'm--here-- You'll--win--next--year!" "I wonder what we can do?" Tom mused on. Sid shifted uneasily in one of the easy chairs. Phil duplicated in the other. Frank turned to a more comfortable position on the old sofa, thereby bringing forth creaks, groans and vibrations of protest from the ancient piece. Tom was trying to get used to an old steamer chair, that had been picked up, with other relics, at an auction held by a retiring senior the previous June, but as the chair had lost one leg, which had been replaced by part of a Turkish rocker, and as the foot-rest had, in some former day, been broken off and put back upside down, Tom's effort to be at ease was more or less of a failure. "Something has got to be done!" went on the pitcher. Once more the silence. "Say, for the love of tripe!" Tom finally burst out. "Have none of you any tongues?" He sat up so suddenly that the steamer chair, probably rotted by too much salt air on many voyages, collapsed, letting him down with a bump, and raising a cloud of dust from the old rug. "Good!" cried Phil. "See if you can do it again," urged Sid. "Frank had his head turned, and didn't see it all." "Yes, do," begged the Big Californian, chuckling. "Humph!" grunted Tom. "I thought I'd make you find your tongues somehow--you bunch of mourners!" and he limped across the room, to lean against the mantle, surveying the wreck of the chair. "Hurt yourself much?" asked Phil, solicitously. "A heap you fellows'd care," was the retort. "Think you can row?" Sid wanted to know. "What's the good of rowing if Boxer walks away from us like that?" demanded Tom, fiercely. "That's what I've been putting up to you fellows all evening, and you never opened your mouths. We're going to lose, I can see that. What's the good of trying?" He was so bitter--it was so unlike Tom's usually cheery self--that his chums looked at one another in some alarm. As the pitcher went to the bathroom to get some arnica for a slight bruise that had resulted from the chair's collapse, Sid murmured: "I guess Boswell has gotten on his nerves." "How Boswell?" asked Frank. "Ruth," Sid further enlightened him. "Don't you believe it," broke in Phil. "Sis wouldn't have anything to do with Bossy, while Tom was around." "Talking about me?" suspiciously demanded the tall pitcher, entering the room at that moment. "Oh, nothing serious," replied Phil, coolly. "We were just wondering what gave you the grouch." "Grouch! Wouldn't anyone have a grouch if he'd practiced in the shell all Summer, and rowed his heart out, only to be beaten by Boxer--and not in a regular race, either? Wouldn't he?" "You're no worse off than the rest of us," declared Frank, sharply. "We feel it just as badly as you do, Tom." "You don't act so. You've been sitting here as mum as oysters!" came the bitter retort. It was the nearest in a long time Tom had come to a breach with his chums. "What was the good of talking?" asked Sid. "Talking and shooting off a lot of hot air isn't going to make the varsity eight the head of the river; is it?" "No, but you might find some way of doing it if you said something, instead of acting like Sphinxes," snapped Tom. "I wonder if that chair can be fixed?" broke in Phil, anxious to turn the subject, for matters were being strained to the breaking point. "You sure did come down with an awful crash, Tom. Poor old chair! I'm glad it wasn't one of our good ones." "Good ones!" cried Tom, who had bid in the steamer affair at the auction, much against the wishes of his chums. "Say, this has those other ancient arks beaten a mile," and stooping over he began trying to solve the twisted puzzle of the arms, legs and foot-rest that seemed to have gotten into an inextricable tangle. "Oh, I give it up!" he cried, after several unsuccessful efforts. "We'll let one of the janitors play doctor," and he laughed. "That sounds better!" exclaimed Phil. "It would sound better if we had won to-day," went on Tom. "Why in the name of the binomial theorem couldn't we?" "The answer is easy," spoke Frank. "They've had more practice than we have, they pull better, they have more power; three things that they excel us in. What's the result? Power, practice and skill added together equal a win." "But isn't there any way we can get those three things?" demanded Tom fretfully. "Next year, maybe," assented Phil. "We've got to get 'em this year!" cried Tom, smiting his open palm with his clenched fist. "I won't admit we can't get 'em. We've got to beat Boxer Hall and Fairview, and we've got to get in condition in the next two weeks! Do you fellows hear? We've got to double up on our work! We--we----" "Hear! Hear!" broke in the voice of Bricktop Molloy, as he entered the room at that moment. "What's all the row about? Tommy, me lad, you're getting to be a regular orator, so ye are!" CHAPTER XXIX THE REGATTA "Come on in, Bricktop, and help us settle the row," invited Sid. "Row! I should say so!" cried the red-haired lad. "Who's been breakin' up th' furniture?" and he dropped into his broadest brogue. "Tom here," laughed Frank. "He isn't satisfied with the way the eight rowed to-day." "Faith! an' I guess none of us are," replied Bricktop. And then the five students fell to discussing the matter from all viewpoints. Presently Holly Cross dropped in, and then Kindlings, so with nearly the whole varsity crew present the room was well filled. There were opinions _pro_ and _con_, there were periods of doubt, to be succeeded by others of some hope. And the result of it all was that they decided they had underestimated Boxer Hall's prowess, and would have to "perk-up" and do more and harder practice in the time that was left. Communicating this decision to Mr. Lighton the next morning, the lads found that he agreed with them. "Mr. Pierson and I have talked it over," he said, "and we have come to the conclusion that to make a shift in the varsity eight now would be fatal. We must stand or fall by what we have. It is too late now. And, mind you, I am not so sure that even if there was more time that I would make a shift. I'm certain, in my own mind, that we have a championship boat. Now it's up to you lads to confirm my belief in you." "And we will!" cried Tom, a sentiment that was echoed by his chums. Then began at Randall a period of hard and exacting practice, such as had never been known before. The two coaches were fairly overworked, for by this time the first of the football squads was beginning to form. Many of the rowing lads were to play on the gridiron, but they were cautioned only to do light practice until after the regatta, as it would not do to have them overtrained. The weather was exceptionally warm that September, just right for rowing and a little too close for heavy football work, so in one way Randall had an advantage as regards her crews. It was an advantage, though, shared by her rivals, for both Boxer Hall and Fairview had made up their separate minds to be champion of the river. Boxer Hall, to be sure, now held this title, having defeated Fairview in the annual water sports in the Spring. But now with the new triple league formed, the title of "champion" was more or less uncertain. Not until this Fall regatta could it be definitely settled. It had been decided to follow the same rules and customs as obtained between Boxer and Fairview. That is, there were to be a certain number of races--singles, doubles, the four, and the eight-oared shells, and the count was to be as follows: A total of twenty points was decided on. Winning the eight-oared contest would count ten, the single shells would add two points, the double would count as three and the four would secure five. So that it can easily be seen that the winning of the eight-oared race meant much. Of course if one college should come out ahead in the singles, doubles and four-oared races she would have ten points, and should another win the eight, the score would be tied. But the possibility of this was remote. In addition there was to be a tub race, which would not count in the championship, but for which several prizes were offered. But if Randall worked hard, so did her rivals. From the other two colleges came news of cross-country runs for the improvement of the wind of the rowers. The training was reduced to a more scientific basis. It was even rumored that Boxer Hall had imported a well-known physical instructor to assist the coach. And Fairview had summoned a number of old graduates, who had made their marks while at college, to assist in turning out a championship crew or crews. Though the other races were regarded as important, most of the interest centered in the eight. Little was heard but about this shell, which in a way, perhaps, was unfair to the other rowers, who were practicing faithfully. Much was heard about the advantage Boxer Hall and Fairview possessed, in that they had been rowing on the river for years. In a measure this was true, and Randall was under somewhat of a handicap in this respect. Yet, in another way, it was a good thing, for Randall came into the game fresh, without any preconceived notions, and her boys had learned what they knew from the ground up. They were not hampered by college traditions as regards a certain stroke, and Mr. Lighton and Mr. Pierson had developed a logical one--differing somewhat from either Boxer Hall's or Fairview's--a combination of the two, modeled after the famous Cornell stroke. And how Tom and his chums did work, train and practice! Lessons suffered in a way, but the lads were well enough along in college now to know that they could make them up that Winter. And Dr. Churchill, bless his big heart! Dr. Churchill was not too inquiring. On one occasion Prof. Emerson Tines went to the head of the school to complain that he would have to condition a number of his Latin pupils unless their work showed improvement. "And most of them, my dear Dr. Churchill," he said, "are of the boating class. A lot of foolishness--a mere waste of time. It was bad enough with baseball and football, but now that rowing has started, it is worse than ever. I wish those old graduates had never made their gift!" "Tut! Tut! My dear Professor!" remonstrated Dr. Churchill. "Rowing is a form of exercise that develops muscles never brought to the owner's attention in any other way. I have been reading up on the subject since the eleven has taken to the shell, and I find that the ancient Romans, in their galleys, had rowing down to a perfection rarely attained to-day. It is an ancient and honest sport, and I'm sure I hope our nine will win the regatta," and then, good old soul, unaware that he had mixed the football and baseball squads most woefully with the crew, turned to his work on his dictionary, which to-be-famous work had progressed as far as the Cha. to Dem. volume, and bade fair to be completed in about fifty years, but Dr. Churchill did not think of that. The chums were all tired enough this night to sleep, as Sid put it, without being rocked. They had retired early, for there was to be sharp practice the next day. Lessons had been gone over, with as much attention as it was possible to concentrate on them, considering all that was going on, the alarm clock had been relieved of the "toothpick in its appendix," as Tom remarked, and it was cheerfully ticking away. "Queer about that time the clock disappeared, when someone came in our room, and you took him for me; isn't it, Tom?" asked Sid, as he got his shaving apparatus in shape for quick use the next morning. "It sure is. We've never had another visit from the unknown." "And I hope we don't," put in Phil. "Say, did you hear the latest?" asked Frank, as he untied the string of his shoe. "No, is there going to be another shift in the varsity boat?" asked Phil. "No, but a lot of the fellows have been missing little things from their rooms; scarf pins and the like. And the funny part of it is that it's all on the next floor of our dormitory. A regular epidemic, one of the fellows was telling me." "Have we a kleptomaniac among us?" demanded Sid. "Maybe it's one of the new janitors," suggested Tom. "There's one that has a bad eye." "Well, as long as they stay off this floor, we'll be all right," asserted Sid. "Only we'd better keep our valuables locked up." "Anyhow, they can't take the old chairs and sofa," remarked Frank with a chuckle. "They're too heavy." It seemed to be Tom's fate to see the end of the little happening, as it had been his to note the beginning. Late that night he was awakened by a noise in the main apartment. At first he paid no attention to it, and then, as he heard the rustle of papers, he thought of the time he had followed, as he thought, Sid, in the dark, cold corridors. "By Jove!" he exclaimed to himself, as he sat up without making the bed creak. "He's at it again! And this time I'm going to find out who it is!" Softly he crept to the door of his room. He saw the same white-clad figure as before, standing near the window. This time he knew it was not Sid, although the two looked much alike. The only sound was the ticking of the alarm clock. Then, as Tom watched, the figure approached the table once more. The change in the tone of the ticking of the clock told Tom what had happened. "He's got our clock!" thought Tom. "Here is where I catch him red-handed, so to speak." The figure glided from the door into the hallway, and Tom followed, pausing but a moment to make sure that his three chums were in their beds. From their opened doors the sounds of three different styles of breathing assured him of this. Then he glided on. Once more he followed the white-robed figure until it ascended the stairs to the story above, but this time Tom was close behind when the door opened. "Hold on there!" exclaimed Tom, as the portal was about to close, and reaching forward he laid his hand on the shoulder of a student. "I'll trouble you for our clock!" said Tom, sternly. Then he got one of the surprises of his life. With a startled cry the lad he had grabbed turned about, and his widely opened eyes suddenly changed their expression--changed so queerly that Tom knew he had the solution of the mystery. "A sleep-walker!" he gasped, as he recognized Harry Johnson, one of the Juniors who did not enter much into the sporting life of Randall. "He's been doing this in his sleep!" "What--what is it--where--have I? Oh, I've been at it again!" gasped the lad as he was aroused. "I beg your pardon, Parsons. Hope I haven't done anything very bad this time." "Nothing but our clock, old man. Are you in the habit of doing this?" "Not often, though the spell does come on me once in a while. It's a relic of my childhood days. And so I went to your room and took your clock?" "Yes. This is the second time. Do you recall the first?" "Not in the least. And yet I must have done so if you saw me. Probably some night later I went down in the cellar with it and put it on the furnace. Say, I'm mighty sorry." "That's all right. Better lock your door after this." "I will. Come in, and tell me what a fool I made of myself." Tom, who had on a warm bath robe this time, consented, and in a whisper related the details of the first occurrence. Johnson was contrite, and admitted that it must have been he who had taken the clock, though in his waking hours he recalled nothing of it. "It must have been the tick that attracted me," he explained. "Well, I guess I'd better take some treatment. Have a glass of ginger ale?" "Don't care if I do, though it's breaking training." As Johnson got a bottle from a closet he uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Look here!" he called to Tom. "Where did these things come from?" and in the bottom of a little case, where the bottles had been, he pointed to a collection of things. "By Jove!" cried Tom. "I've solved the other mystery! You've been taking this stuff in your sleep!" And so poor Johnson had. There was found all the articles missing from the rooms of various students. Johnson had, in his sleep, entered and taken them, concealing them in a closet, and, in his waking hours, forgetting about them. They were returned the next morning, with suitable apologies, and the matter was quietly dropped, for the students all understood how it could have happened. Johnson consulted a doctor, and was soon cured of his propensity to night wanderings. "Well, I'm glad I solved the mystery, since I started it," remarked Tom the next morning. Day after day passed, and the crews of the eights, as well as the other rowers, fairly lived on the river. The weather was remarkably fine, which was in their favor. Day after day the practice and training were kept up, and the coaches were faithful. A number of the old graduates who had been instrumental in providing the gift, came to Randall, and offered suggestions, some of which, being valuable, were adopted. And then the natural result followed all this hard work. The time of the eight, especially, began to improve. The boys rowed with more snap and vigor. They could stand the "gaff" better, and when Jerry Jackson, sitting crouched up in his coxswain's seat, called for a spurt, there were not so many "bellows to mend" in the shape of panting lads, as there had been. "We're coming on!" cried Mr. Lighton proudly, at the close of an exciting brush between the first and second boats one day, when the varsity had won. "We're coming on!" "If we can only keep it up," breathed Frank, who, being captain of the eight, as well as stroke, felt his responsibility. "Oh, we'll do it, old man," declared Tom, and he succeeded in infusing some of his spirit into his chums. The faint hearts of the weeks before had become strong. "But you boys needn't think you are going to win!" declared Ruth, when the four lads called on the four girls about a week prior to the date set for the regatta. "We have a championship crew in the eight, if nowhere else." "Never!" cried Tom. "We're going to win the eight if we lose everything else; eh, fellows?" "That's what!" his chums chorused. "Anyhow, I'm glad of one thing," remarked Ruth, in a low voice to Tom, "Phil is so interested in this rowing game that he hasn't said a word about my lost brooch. The other day I had on the new pin I bought to take its place, and he stared at it without making a remark. But, oh, Tom! I wonder if we'll ever find it?" "It doesn't look so--not now," replied Tom, mournfully. "Never mind," she consoled him. "We did our best." "And lost out by a narrow squeak," thought Tom to himself, recalling the pawn tickets and other clues that had gone for naught. The police had not been able to get a trace of either Mendez or Blasdell, nor had the missing pawnbroker been found. Finally the great day came. The last practice had been held, the lads, not only of Randall, but at the rival colleges, were "trained to the minute." The coaches had made their last appeals. "Well, fellows, to-morrow tells the tale," said Frank to his seven chums, on the night before regatta-day. They had all met in the gymnasium for a final conference with Mr. Lighton, and had partaken of a light lunch. "I'm as nervous as a cat," declared Sid. "Don't you dare be!" exclaimed the captain of the eight. "But if you must be--be it now, and steady up for to-morrow. Now off to bed, and everybody sleep soundly." And then regatta-day broke--calm, with a bright sun overhead, a hint of Fall coolness in the air that sent a little tingle through the blood--just the day for the races. CHAPTER XXX A CLOSE FINISH "Come on now, fellows, hit her up again! All together and I want every man to sing! Ready now!" and Bean Perkins, the official cheer-leader, the "shouter" of Randall, signalled with his megaphone to his cohorts who were lined up near the boathouse, in and around which the various crews or single-shell men were gathered. "Tear it out now!" commanded Bean, and that glorious old Latin song--"_Aut Vincere, Aut Mori!_"--"Either We Conquer or We Die!" welled out over the river. It was the song that, time and again, had urged Randall on to victory. Would it once more? "When are we going to start?" asked Tom, as he walked back and forth on the float, clad in rowing togs, as were a score of others, for a number of substitutes had been provided. "Don't get nervous now, old man," advised Frank. "The shell will be in the water soon, and then we'll go down to the starting point. They're going to run off all the other races first, you know. We're last. We've got more than hour yet. Better get on a sweater and a blanket, you might be chilly. You fellows do the same thing," he commanded, to his crew. "I wish we were going in first--and get it over with," said Sid. "This waiting----" "Say, cut it out!" cried Frank. "If you fellows want to have a case of nerves go off by yourselves somewhere. I want to watch the other races." "I think our fellows have a good chance in the four," said Dan Woodhouse. "We've got a good chance in everything--do you hear that, me boy?" cried Bricktop, in his rich brogue. "We're going to win everything! Just because you're in the eight you mustn't be selfish." "I'm not, only----" "Here comes our four!" interrupted Frank. "A cheer for 'em, boys!" and the echoes vibrated as the rallying cry went forth. "Come on now, fellows," cried Bean, dancing about, the colors of Randall on his megaphone fluttering in the wind. "All yell-- "We can row you on the water, We can race you on the land. We can wallop you at football And at baseball beat the band! "That's us--Randall!" and the song and cry sent the members of the four-oared crew rejoicing on their way. They were Joe Jackson--Jerry's twin brother--Bert Trendell, Pete Backus and Sam Terry. Early in the season Bean Perkins had been picked for the four, but he had not made good. Anyhow, he declared, he could help Randall more with yelling than any other way, and many agreed with him, for Bean was certainly a "shouter." The river presented a gay scene. It was fairly covered with boats, until it seemed an impossibility that a race could be held. But the course had been marked off, and soon the boats of the officials would patrol the water-pathway and clear it. Owing to the different lengths of the various races, several starting points had been selected, and the races had been timed so that the crowds could get from one to the other to watch the beginning if they desired. Of course the eight-oared race was the longest--three miles in this case, since the course of the river, narrowing as it did at several points, did not offer any longer course at any place available to the colleges. And three eight-oared shells take up considerable room abreast. Launches, rowboats, and a sailboat or two, made up the craft holding the spectators. In addition the banks of the river, for a mile or more, were gay with those who had come to witness the aquatic sports. The finish of all the races was to be at the Randall boathouse. This had been decided by lot, and our friends had been lucky. They were glad, too, since they could offer the hospitality of their new building to their rivals. And, in a way, Fairview and Boxer were glad, as their boathouses were rather ancient, and could accommodate only a comparatively few guests, while Randall's was large and roomy. Fairview and Boxer Hall had their crews or individual rowers nearly all assembled. A few were not yet on hand, and some of the shells had not yet arrived. But all was in readiness for the three-cornered four-oared shell contest. "Say, who's going to win?" challenged Tom of Ruth, for the girls, as you may well suppose, had been provided with choice places by our friends, where they could see all the finishes well. "Who's going to win?" repeated Madge Tyler. "Why, we are, of course! See our colors?" and she flaunted them in Tom's face. He looked at Ruth, and beneath a bow of the ribbon of the hues of Fairview, Tom caught a glimpse of his own college colors--a tiny bow. Ruth saw his glance, smiled and--blushed. "You may win some, but the eight comes to us!" declared Sid. "Oh, aren't we the sure ones, though!" mocked Helen Newton. "Wait until it's all over," advised Mabel Harrison. "They're going to start!" suddenly cried Madge, as the three four-oared shells moved off down the stream. "No, they're only going to the starting point," said Frank. "This is only a mile race, and they decided to row down to it instead of being towed, so as to get a little warm-up practice. I thought it would be a good thing for our crew to row down to the start, but Mr. Lighton says he has provided a launch for us, and the shell will be towed." "I wish it was all over," murmured Tom. "So do I," agreed Ruth, in a low voice. "Come on now, boys! Another song!" demanded Bean Perkins, and the strains welled forth. "Three cheers for Boxer Hall!" came the demand, and it was given with a will. "Three big ones for Fairview!" called an adherent of that co-educational institution. The four-oared crews, selected after much elimination work, were approaching their starting point. They were out of sight of those at the boathouse now, and it would be a little time before they appeared, rowing to the finish line. The band began to play. There was gay laughter and talk, and some nervous walking about by those lads who were to race next. The course had been cleared, though now and then some craft would trespass on it, to be hustled out of the way by the official boats. It seemed an almost interminable time before the shout sounded: "Here they come!" There was a craning forward by all. Many who had fieldglasses used them. Ruth produced a pair. "Who's leading?" begged Tom, in an agony of doubt. "Fairview!" she replied. "No, really?" and he almost grabbed the binoculars from her hands. "That's right," he admitted, grimly. "But our boys are pulling strong." "If they can only win!" breathed Sid. "Keep still!" commanded Phil, whose nerves, as were those of his chums, were at a tension. Cheers began to drift along the shore, coming from the crowds lining the banks. "Randall has pulled up!" cried Sid. "Our boys are rowing strong!" "They've got a ways to go to finish," murmured Tom. "Oh, if they can last it out!" Randall had a good lead now, and it was seen that Fairview was splashing badly. It developed later that two of her four-oared crew were overtrained--they could not stand the heart-breaking strain at the finish. "Come on, you Randall! Come on!" was the cry. "Boxer's creeping up!" "No, Randall's taken a spurt!" Conflicting were the cries. The boats were see-sawing now. They were getting nearer and nearer to the finish line. The crowds leaned forward. Pandemonium broke loose. All three colleges were being cheered. "It's going to be a tie!" yelled Phil, as he pointed to the Boxer and Randall shells, now almost bow and bow. "A dead heat! Fairview is out of it!" "Come on, boys!" implored Tom, stretching out his hands as though to pull their shell forward. There came a momentary hush. Then a great roar broke out. "Boxer! Boxer Hall wins! Wow, look at that spurt!" And, with sinking hearts, our friends watched their rival's shell dart over the line, a winner by a bare quarter of a length--but still a winner. CHAPTER XXXI THE TUB RACE Randall's adherents seemed stunned at first. They had been so sure of winning when the two fours swept up to the finish line, with Randall so close to Boxer, that, when victory was snatched from their very grasp, it seemed hard indeed. No one knew what to do, while the victors rested on their oars, justifiable smiles of triumph on their faces. As for the losers, they hung their heads dejectedly, and that tears of mortification came into their eyes is not to their shame. Then Tom Parsons found himself, and cried out: "Three cheers for Boxer Hall! It was a good win!" "That's right," echoed Sid Henderson. And the cheers were given, none the less hearty because they came from the defeated side. "Clear the course!" came the command from the judges' boat, and then came the formal announcement of Boxer winning. She had five points to her credit now. The Fairview lads, in the bitterness of their hearts, for they realized that it was overtraining, and, in a way, over-confidence that had made them third, rowed up to the float, disembarked and walked away in silence--at least there was silence until Bean Perkins yelled: "Three cheers for Fairview--she knows how to take a licking the same as Randall!" And at once the river echoed the cheers. "Well, you did us that time, Boxer!" went on Bean. "But our time will come--we're going to do you in the eight." "Not if we know it," retorted Pinky Davenport. "Oh, I'm so sorry--for you, Tom," breathed Ruth, as the tall pitcher stood close beside her on the balcony of the boathouse. "Does it bother you much?" "Well, of course I'd like to have seen our four win," he replied, "but it doesn't bother me. It only makes me mad. We'll win that eight if we have to break every oar." "Don't do that, Tom, old man," advised Frank, who heard this last. "Breaking an oar is worse than catching a crab. It will lose us the race sure. Be moderate." "It's hard, after all the work we did," complained Sid. "But look at it," put in Phil. "We beat Fairview, and that's something for a green crew to do." "So we did!" exclaimed Sid, brightening up. "Awfully sweet of you to remind us of it," said Madge, making a little bow. "Oh--er--I didn't mean it that way," stammered Sid. "I didn't think." "We'll forgive you," spoke Mabel, gently. The single races were to have come next, but at the last moment it was discovered that one of the outriggers on the shell to be used by the Boxer Hall contestant was split, so a halt was called until he could get out one of the spare Randall boats. Then he was allowed a half hour to "get acquainted with his craft," this being generously allowed by the other two colleges. "The tub race! Have the tub race now!" came the general cry, and as none of the other competitors wished to fill in the vacant time, and as the tub race would not count in points, it was decided to advance that on the program. Accordingly, a number of washtubs, of good size, which had been provided, were brought forward. There were to be two contestants from each college, making six that would compete for first and second prizes, in the shape of silver cups. Snail Looper and Dutch Housenlager were to represent Randall, Dutch being the only regular rower who dared to brave the laughter of the crowd. "Why shouldn't I?" he demanded, when questioned. "It'll be fun, and it will keep me from thinking of the big race. Besides, I think it will be good exercise, and I'm heavy enough to weight my tub down in the water, and that's a point. It won't turn so easily." "Well, don't strain yourself, that's all," counseled Mr. Lighton. "We don't want any slip-up in the eight-oared race just because you want some fun." "Oh, sure, I'll be careful!" promised Dutch, making a playful grab for Sid, who jumped back, thereby nearly upsetting an elderly gentleman who was sitting near the edge of the balcony to see the sports. "Careful! Careful!" he exclaimed testily. "Look out what you're doing, Dutch!" warned Tom. "He's one of the committee that gave us this rowing outfit. He'll get you down on his bad books if you don't look out." "Just my luck!" cried Dutch, ruefully. "Tub racers this way!" cried the starter. "Lively now!" With but a single paddle to propel them on, the six lads, amid much laughter, took their places in the tubs. They were to paddle to a stake boat, about half way across the river, turn there, and come back. Anyone who has seen a tub race knows how almost impossible it is to prevent the craft from whirling about. It doesn't seem to want to advance in a straight line. This was the case here, and when the lads started off it was only to go swirling madly about in concentric circles. "Go the other way!" was shouted at them. "Yes, reverse--you'll get dizzy!" "Waltz me around again, Dutchy!" called Tom to Housenlager. "You watch!" he shouted back. "I'm going to win!" And it did seem as though he had a good chance. Whether it was his weight, or the way in which he used the paddle, was not manifested, but he certainly forged ahead. He managed to turn the stake-boat first, though Snail Looper was a close second. Boxer Hall was out of it in this race, her two representatives seemingly not able to do much. But the two Fairview lads were pressing Dutch and Snail closely. "Here I come! Here I come!" cried Dutch, as, amid increased laughter, the four lads neared the finishing line close to the float. But he did not see how near one of the Fairview lads was to him. Then one of the latter tubs collided with that of Dutch. He uttered a surprised exclamation, turned to look, and his paddle slipped from his grasp. [Illustration: THEN ONE OF THE LATTER TUBS COLLIDED WITH THAT OF DUTCH.] "Come back here!" yelled he, making a grab for it. Alas for Dutch! He over-balanced himself, or perhaps he was dizzy from the whirling. At any rate overboard he went with a splash. "There! I knew something would happen!" cried Mr. Lighton, in vexed tones, as he saw the accident, and he hurried down to see that Dutch quickly changed to dry rowing togs, for the tub racers had worn their light garments. Meanwhile Snail Looper came steadily on, finishing first, with a Fairview lad second. "First win for Randall!" yelled a Boxer Hall adherent. "You fellows had better stick to tubs!" "Wait!" murmured Tom. "This may put Dutch in just the right trim to pull the race of his life." CHAPTER XXXII BOSWELL'S CHANCE "How about you, Dutch?" asked Tom eagerly, as he hurried up to his dripping chum, while others followed. The lads in rowing costumes did not hesitate to crowd close, while the other spectators, and there were many on the float, rather held back, for Dutch, in the exuberance of his mirth, was shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog, scattering drops all over. "Fine and dandy!" was the answer of the big lad. "I just needed a bath." "Look here!" exclaimed Mr. Lighton, somewhat sternly, "you had better get a good rub-down, and put on some dry togs. Have you any dry ones here?" "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 the disappointment he must have felt, for he had practiced hard, as a substitute. "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Lighton, and he gave Morton a look that meant much. "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 be in the race soon." As the lad whose outrigger had delayed the race for single shells was not satisfied with the boat provided for him, another was gotten out. This further delayed matters, and it was decided to run off the doubles in the meanwhile. The singles would follow and then would come the great eight-oared contest, on which so much depended. "Now boys, go in and win!" pleaded Mr. Lighton, to George Carter and Ben Blake, who were to uphold the honor of Randall in the doubles. "Remember about keeping on your course. If you are in your own water you're all right. Once you get off the course, and there's an accident, you'll have to abide by it. And pull hard! Save your breath for the spurt that is sure to come. And look out for Boxer. They're straining every nerve to beat us in every event to-day. They want to prove that it isn't possible to make rowers in a single season, and I want you to prove that it can be done. It's up to me--in a way--but I want you to do your share. Will you?" "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 your steering. That new mechanical contrivance on this boat works very well. It's delicate, though. The least touch of your foot will shift the rudder. And give your orders so Carter can hear you, but don't waste too much breath doing it." "Carter, mind your stroke. You may offset the change of the rudder if you pull too hard or too easy. Now go ahead--and may the Fates be kind to you. Randall needs those three points." The three pair-oar boats moved off to the starting point and the crowd prepared to watch another exciting contest. Dutch had gone into the dressing rooms, accompanied by one of the trainers, who was directed to give 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 the rich lad, with some disgust in his tones. "Here I've been fiddling around just because that chump from Boxer Hall can't get a shell to suit him. Why didn't they look over their outriggers before they came?" "Oh, they'll be ready soon," spoke Tom. Boswell had, as you may have assumed, been picked to uphold the Randall end in the singles. To do him justice he had trained hard and well, and had been faithful. He was not a favorite, chiefly because he boasted so much, and talked so incessantly of his "private trainer," and other "possessions." "I'm going to get a handkerchief for my neck," explained Boswell, as he approached his locker. "The sun's hotter on the back of my neck than I thought it was." Tom passed on, paying no more attention to the single sculler. The tall pitcher was chiefly concerned to see that Dutch did no more "cutting up," and dropped the horseplay with which he was wont to amuse himself at 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 rowing togs again. He and Tom lingered in the dressing rooms of the boathouse until someone called for the loser of the tub races to come out. Tom followed slowly, and, as he did so, he passed Boswell, who was restoring some of his garments to the locker, having tied a silk handkerchief about his neck. It was the same gaudy-hued one that had a strip torn from it, and, at the sight, Tom's memory went back to the hut on Crest Island, to Ruth's lost brooch, and to the robbery. "Well, I hope we get off soon," remarked the rich lad. He was stuffing something into the pocket of his trousers. The garments fell from a hook, and dropped to the floor. As they did so something fell from them and rolled over, stopping at Tom's feet. He stooped to pick it up, and to his surprise he saw that it was a gold brooch. His wonder grew as he noticed that it was exactly like the one Ruth had described to him as missing, and similar in pattern to the one he had often seen her wear--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 cool reply. "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 you know 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 intended giv--look here, Parsons, what business of yours is this, anyhow? I know you and Miss Clinton are----" "You let her name alone!" cried Tom, fiercely. "As for her never seeing this pin before--look here!" He pressed on the secret spring in the back--a trick Ruth had taught him. A tiny panel of gold flew open, disclosing the girl's photograph beneath it. "There!" cried Tom. "I suppose that got there by magic. Ruth never saw it; eh, Boswell? I don't know what to think of this--of you. You must have heard about the jewel robbery--of the missing Boxer Hall cups. And now 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 the door of the dressing room. "Hurry out--Boxer wins the doubles!" The two lads, almost ready to come to blows, started. This was news indeed. "Randall loses in the doubles!" cried Tom, aghast. "Yes," went on Joe Jackson, who had come to call Boswell. "Carter broke an 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 was staring 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 saw you and Mendez in the boat one day. You had a gold brooch then--you were talking about old-fashioned jewelry." "Wait--stop!" burst out Boswell. "I'll talk to you about this. I'll tell you----" "Boswell, they're waiting for you!" interrupted Joe. "The race is called. For the love of tripe win it! Randall sure is in the soup to-day. Win!" "I will!" cried the rich lad. "I can't stop now!" he cried to Tom, as he hurried out. "You keep that pin. I'll explain later. The man I got it from may be around here yet!" "You'd better guess I'll keep this pin!" murmured Tom. "As for an explanation, you'll have some tall talking to do to convince me. I begin to see how things are now!" Boswell ran out. There was a cheer from the float--from the crowds along the river bank. "Come on, Tom!" cried Joe. "You and your crew are next. Oh, for the love of Randall win that race! Boxer Hall has eight points now--the four and the 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 in his hand and raced out. As he came from the dressing rooms he heard Bean Perkins yelling: "All together now, boys! The 'Conquer or Die' song, and sing it as if you meant it. Randall is nearing the finish!" Blake and Carter, bitter over the unforeseen accident that had robbed them of victory, were getting out of their shell. Boswell and the others, in the singles were being sent off after brief instructions. Tom looked at his rival, and many thoughts came to him. The crowd was now so dense on the float, and on the stairway leading to the balcony, that Tom could not make his way up to tell Ruth the good news--that he had her brooch. He made the effort, but it was next to impossible. "Come on, Tom!" called Frank, behind him. "Mr. Lighton wants the crew of the eight in the dressing room for a last conference. Oh, cats! But the time is getting close." "Don't get nervous, you chump!" exclaimed Dutch. "Look at Kindlings, as cool as an icehouse." Elation, worry, wonder and apprehension were Tom's mingled feelings as he followed his chums and the coach. What Mr. Lighton said he hardly comprehended. But the coach impressed on the lads the necessity for coolness, the need of a spurt at the right time, and then the keeping up of 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 his mind 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 Boswell changed his course, that had threatened to cut into the Fairview shell. Boswell and the others reached the starting line. There they got into position, the last word was given, there was a moment of suspense, and the 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 a swirl of foam and bubbles. Tiny whirlpools formed at the ends of the spoons, 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 was maintaining the slight lead he had. Casting a glance over his shoulder to note his course, his eyes swept the crowd on the river bank, near which he was. A face seemed to stand out from among the others. "Mendez! Mendez!" cried Boswell. "Mendez, go to the Randall boathouse at once! I need you there! A whole lot is at stake! There's a hundred dollars 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 you hear?" and Boswell fairly screamed the words. "Yes, senor, I hear," replied the Mexican. "I go," and he started off on the run, for Boswell's manner was such that it carried conviction with it. And then Boswell set himself to the race again. But he had hesitated just a moment--just a fatal moment--and the next instant, with the lads in them picking up their strokes, the Fairview and Boxer Hall shells passed him. "I'm done for!" murmured Boswell. CHAPTER XXXIII MENDEZ EXPLAINS "Come on, Boswell!" "Row hard!" "You've got to row!" "It's your last chance!" Thus his mates encouraged the Randall lad in the single shell, as the three craft swept on up to the finish line in front of the new boathouse. But it was not to be. Boswell pulled with all his strength. Never had there been seen a better exhibition on Sunny River, but it was too late. His little hesitation when he had called to Mendez--the excited state of his mind, in wondering at Tom's accusation--all contributed to his defeat. The slight delay was fatal. "Oh, row! Row!" implored Bean Perkins. "Give him a song, fellows!" and that grand Latin chorus of the ancients pealed out. But it was not to be. Fairview was leading, with Boxer second and poor Boswell third. And in this order they finished, giving Fairview her first win of the day, and Boxer her first defeat. As for Randall, once more she tasted bitterness. "Three cheers for Boswell!" called someone, and, though he was no favorite, no one could withhold from the measure of praise due him for his plucky effort. Few knew what had contributed to his defeat. Even his rivals, hearing him call to the man on the bank, only thought him shouting to some friend, and thought how foolish he was thus to waste his precious time and energy. But it was none of their business, and so they rowed on to defeat him. "Never mind!" consoled Mr. Lighton. "You rowed the best you could, Boswell, I have no doubt. It was a fair race." "I--I could have won," he panted, and there were some smiles from those who thought it but part of his usual boastfulness. But Boswell paid no attention to them. He was seeking out Tom Parsons, and the Mexican. "Get ready for the eight-oared race now," directed some of the officials. "Randall, is your crew ready?" "All ready," answered Mr. Lighton. "Ready," answered Pinky Davenport, for Boxer Hall. "All ready," assented Roger Barns, for Fairview. Boswell made his way through the press of rowers and spectators, whispered comments following him. But he paid no attention. Into the dressing room he strode, where the crew of the eight were just finishing a little conference with their coxswain, Jerry Jackson. "Parsons, a word with you!" exclaimed Boswell, rather haughtily. "As many as you like--after the race," said Tom, coldly. He still held clenched in his hand the brooch. He made up his mind to get it to Ruth before he went off in the launch that was to take him and his mates to the starting point. He had no pocket in which to put it, he could not row holding it, and he wanted to conceal it from Phil. "No, now!" snapped Boswell. "Something unexpected came up as I was on the course. I think it is due to me to allow me to explain how I came by that----" "Here!" exclaimed Tom, anxious that Phil should not listen. "Make it brief. I can't understand what you have to explain, though." "You'll soon know--someone else will explain, too. He will be here shortly." "Ready for the eight! Ready for the eight!" came the summons from without. "Get together, fellows!" called Captain Frank Simpson. "And for the love of Randall row as you never rowed before." "Don't hang back when I call for the spurt," added the coxswain. "Ready for the eight! Ready for the eight!" again came the summons. "Come on!" ordered Frank once more, looking over to where Tom and Boswell were standing, apart from the others. "Get a move on, Parsons," directed Dutch. "If we win you'll be the first over the line, being in the bow. Come on." Tom had again been made bow oar. "No, wait a minute!" implored Boswell. "I want to say something, Parsons." "Won't after the race do? I can't listen now. Besides I've got to give Ruth----" "It's about her I want to explain. Hang it, man, it won't take a second." "Is Boswell in there?" called someone at the door of the dressing room. "Yes--yes!" eagerly assented the rich lad. "There's a fellow out here wants to see you," went on one of the rubbers. "Some sort of a foreigner. Says you told him to come here and----" "Yes! Yes! Let him in!" cried Boswell. "It's someone I want to see!" There was a little stir about the doorway and a man strolled in. "Senor Boswell," he began, "you have sent for me, and----" "Mendez!" gasped Tom. "Mendez!" echoed Sid, Frank and Phil. "Yes, Mendez," spoke Boswell. "Now, Parsons, I think he'll tell you that I bought that brooch from him. Show him the pin!" "I--er--" began the tall pitcher, and then realizing that concealment from Phil was no longer possible, he held out the trinket. "Ruth's brooch!" cried her brother. "How in the world did you get it? What does it all mean?" "It's a long story," said Tom. "We haven't time for more than a fraction of it. Boswell had the pin. He says----" "I say I bought it of Mendez, and he'll tell you the same thing!" interrupted the rich lad. "Did I not?" and he appealed to the Mexican. "Didn't you bring this to me to-day?" "Senor Boswell is right," assented the foreigner. "I have sold many things to Senor Boswell. He say for me to look for an old-fashioned brooch for him, like one his mother has, and he show me a jewel of the respected Mrs. Boswell, which I have also procure for him. I get this other one from Senor Blasdell, from whom I take over the take-care work on Crest Island." "Blasdell!" cried Tom. "Did he sell you this brooch, Mendez?" "The senor says what is correct." "But where did _he_ get it?" "I don't know." "Look here, Mendez," burst out Tom, "do you know anything about the Farson jewel robbery--about the Boxer Hall cups--about the pawn tickets? Do you?" "On my honor, senor, no!" and the man bowed low. He seemed at ease, and to be speaking the truth. "But why did you leave the island so suddenly?" "Ah, senor, I will tell you. I will confess. In my country we do not--that is, we who are of my class--we do not consider it a crime to smuggle--ah, well, a few cigars. I was guilty of that here. I smuggle some here and I sell them in my little store on what you call--er--the edge, is it not?" "The side," murmured Phil. "Yes, I thank the senor. I sell smuggled cigars on the side. It is not a great crime, I think. But one day word comes to me in the hands of a boy from a friend, that the government of your country is about to squeeze me--am I right?" "I guess you mean 'pinch'--arrest," suggested Sid. "Yes, that is it. I am to be pinched--Oh, what a language! Now I have no desire to be pinched, for what I, personally, do not consider a crime. So I flee--I vamoose. I go, and take all I can with me. Then, later, when it has all been blown up----" "Blown over," suggested Frank. "Blown over, yes, I thank you. When it is all blown over I come back. I have no more smuggled cigars. I am not in danger of being pinched. I come back to open my little store, and be the take-care man on Crest Island. "As for the gold pin, some time after I leave, so that I may not be pinched, I meet in New York the Senor Blasdell. He greet me kindly and say to me do I not want to buy of him a gold pin. I deal in jewelry on the edge--I mean side--and I remember that Senor Boswell have commission me for an old-fashioned pin. I think I have just what he want. I buy it from Senor Blasdell, and bring it to Senor Boswell at his college here. That is all," and he bowed to all. "That's how I got the pin," said Boswell, coldly, looking at Tom. "I hope you are satisfied." "Of course," murmured Tom. "But I don't understand. Where is Blasdell? Where is that rascally pawnbroker? Where is the rest of the jewelry, and the Boxer Hall cups?" "Say, what are you anyhow, Tom--a riddle reader?" demanded Dan Woodhouse. "What is all this Chinese puzzle about, anyhow?" asked Jerry Jackson. "If we're going to row to-day----" "Faith we'd better be gettin' at ut!" cried Bricktop, with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "Where's the Randall eight?" cried the voice of Mr. Lighton. "Why aren't you out here? We're waiting." "We're coming!" exclaimed Tom. "Fellows," he added, turning to the four of the crew who were not in on the secret, "we'll explain later. I'll see you after the race," he called to Boswell. "As you please," was the cool answer. CHAPTER XXXIV THE GREAT RACE "Are you all ready, boys?" inquired Mr. Lighton. "My throat's as dry as a limekiln," said Bricktop. The eight, in their shell, were at the starting point, having gone down in the launch, while the spider-like boat was towed. On either side of them were the Boxer and the Fairview eights, with their crews as eager to get off as were our friends. "Take a slice of lemon," went on the coach, producing one, and a knife from his launch. "Anybody else have one? Hold the pieces in your mouth," he advised. Several of the lads accepted bits of the citrous fruit. "Are your oarlocks all right--and the stretchers?" went on the coach. Everyone tested his own, and no complaint was forthcoming. Mr. Pierson, who had remained faithful to the last, said something in a low voice to Mr. Lighton. "Yes," assented the head coach, adding: "Don't forget to keep your eyes in the boat, whatever you do. Your coxswain will watch the other craft, and tell you when to spurt. This is important--eyes in the boat and no talking. You've got to row!" For the other crews, their coaches and advisers were speaking the last words to the nervous lads. From time to time those in the Boxer Hall or the Fairview eight looked over at their rivals. Randall was to take the middle course, an advantage that had come to them by lot. Tom and his three chums wanted desperately to talk about the dramatic scene enacted in the boathouse just before they had started, but there was no chance. They had hurried away, and in the launch, on the trip down, Mr. Lighton held their attention. Tom had managed to slip up to Ruth, and hand her the brooch just before leaving. That she was surprised is putting it mildly. "Oh, Tom! Where on earth did you get it?" she had cried. "I--I could hug you for this!" and her eyes sparkled. "We'll postpone the hugging until after the race! Just cheer for our boat!" "I will. Oh, Tom, my dear old brooch! Can't you tell me how you got it?" "Not now--later--I haven't time. See you after the race!" and he had run off to join his mates. "How much longer?" asked Frank, as he shifted himself on his sliding seat. "Not much, I guess," replied Mr. Lighton, looking at his watch. "About----" A shot boomed out from the starter's boat. "There goes the warning gun," the coach interrupted himself. "A minute more. Take it easy at the start, boys. It isn't a hundred-yard dash, remember. The hard work will come at the end. Steady all--eyes in the boat--row hard--and--win!" And, with these final words, Mr. Lighton steamed off in his launch, the other coaches also leaving their crews to themselves. The race was to be down stream, and, in order to make an even start, the stern of each shell had been made fast to an anchored boat in the middle of the river. At the signal the retaining ropes were to be loosed, and the race would start. Eager ears waited for the final signal. "Get ready boys!" called Jerry Jackson, his eyes on his watch, which he had fastened before him. "You've got about fifteen seconds more." There were sharp intakings of breath, and the young coxswain, glancing at his crew, noted with satisfaction that the slight tendency toward nervousness, exhibited by some, had disappeared. They were all cool and eager. Crack! came the report of the starting gun. On the instant the retaining cables were loosed, and twenty-four oars seemed to take the water as one. It was a good, clean, even start. To bring the finish opposite the boathouse, it had been necessary to go down the stream some distance, and there were few spectators gathered there. But such as were there gave forth a hearty cheer, and the yells of the three colleges were given in turn, for some loyal-hearted lads had sacrificed their chances to see the finish, that they might cheer the start. "Steady, fellows, steady," counseled Jerry, in a low voice, as he noticed a tendency to hurry. "It isn't time to hit up the pace. They're both keeping even with us," he added. Then began a steady grind. A leaning forward of the bodies, with hands well out over the toes, the dipping of the blades of the oars into the water, and then that tremendous pull of sixteen sturdy arms, shoulders and trunk--the pushing of sixteen muscular legs, the rising off the seats to get all the weight possible on the oar at the point of leverage where it would do the most good. Over and over again was this repeated. Over and over again, with the eyes of seven of the men on the back of the man in front of him timing the movement, and with the eyes of the stroke on the coxswain, to catch the slightest signal. Stroke after stroke--movement after movement, one just like the other--twenty-eight to the minute, Jerry having started them off with that minimum. And what Randall was doing, so was Fairview and Boxer Hall, in the same degree. The first mile was passed, with the net result that all three shells were on even terms, albeit one or the other had forged ahead slightly, not because either one had quickened the pace so much consciously as that they had done so unconsciously, and there was, of course, a difference in the muscular power at times. They were half way over the second mile--half the course had been rowed. Frank Simpson, watching Jerry, saw the little coxswain shoot a quick glance toward the Boxer Hall boat, and then stiffen in his seat. "Hit it up!" cried Jerry, and he gave the signal for a thirty-per-minute stroke. But, even as he did Frank, risking something by taking his eyes off the coxswain, looked across the lane of water. He saw the Fairview boat shoot ahead, while, the next instant the Randall shell, urged onward by the increased stroke, tried to minimize the advantage gained. CHAPTER XXXV THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS "Here they come, boys! Get ready!" yelled Bean Perkins, wildly waving his megaphone. "Here they come!" "Oh wow!" shouted Joe Jackson. "For the love of Cæsar tell us who's ahead." "It's hard to see from here. But I think----" "Oh, who cares what you _think_?" interrupted a lad. "Don't give us any false information." "Get ready boys!" cried Bean again. "The college cheer when they get opposite the old boathouse, and then the 'Conquer or Die' song. We've got to pull 'em on!" All was excitement. A hundred voices mingled in expressions of hopes and fears. The rival college cheers blended into one riotous conglomeration of sound. The three shells were sweeping on to victory--victory for just one! "Oh, Madge!" cried Ruth. "I daren't look. Here, you take the field glasses, and tell me who's ahead." Her own college colors slipped from her dress unheeded, and there was disclosed the tiny knot of Randall's maroon and yellow. "Ruth!" expostulated Mabel, as she pointed to the traitorous hues. "I don't care!" replied Ruth, as her hand went to where her restored brooch was at her throat. "Who's ahead?" demanded Helen Newton, as Madge peered through the glasses. "Fairview!" "What?" "She is! She is! Oh, girls, Fairview is going to win!" "Who--who is second?" demanded Mabel. "Randall!" came the reply. Then there was silence. The girls looked at one another. What they thought, who shall say? On came the three shells. The cheers increased. There was a din of horns and rattles. The band played madly--no one knew what the tune was--and cared less. "Steady all!" cried Jerry, as he noticed a tendency to quicken. "Steady all!" On came the Randall shell. Just a little to her rear was Boxer Hall, struggling desperately and with breaking hearts to offset the disadvantage of overtraining and over-confidence. For that is just what it amounted to. It looked hopeless for them now. As for Fairview, she had maintained the lead she had unexpectedly gained over Randall, and the eager--almost bursting--hearts in the boat hoped that the co-educational college could row it out unto the end. But there was no disguising the fact to themselves that they were rowing against such a rival as they had never before met. For a moment after Jerry had given the word to increase the stroke, his chums thought that he would keep them on that for a hundred yards or so, and then hit up the pace still faster. But he did not. Instead, coolly and calmly, he glanced critically at the Fairview shell, and kept on at the same rate. "Hang it all, why doesn't he give the word to spurt?" thought Frank, as his broad back rose and fell to the measured rhythm. "We can do it!" But Jerry was a wise little coxswain. Not for nothing had he spied out the course, so that he knew every foot of it, and by marks previously noted, he could tell exactly how far they were from the finish mark. Nearer and nearer to it came the eight-oared shells. Boxer Hall was struggling hard to pull up, but for once she had met her match--two, in fact, for it was easy now to see that the race, barring accidents, lay between Randall and Fairview. "And, oh! May we win!" prayed Tom and his chums. And they could not understand why Jerry would not put them at their limit. True, their hearts were pumping at an abnormal rate, their muscles strained as they never had before, and their breath came labored, and went out gaspingly. And then, when Coxswain Jerry, with his eager eyes, saw a certain old gnarled tree on the river bank, and when he had noted that Fairview had added another stroke per minute, then and not until then did he give the word. He had slid down into his seat, feeling the tiller lines as a horseman feels with the reins the mouth of his pet racer. Gently, as if the shell were some delicate machine, did Jerry guide her on the course. Now the time had come! Up he sat, like one electrified. Through the megaphone strapped to his mouth came the words: "Row, boys! Row as you never rowed before! Put all you can to the stroke. I call for thirty-three! Give it to 'em! Give it to 'em!" It seemed as though the Randall shell was suddenly galvanized into action. Reaching forward over their toes, eight sturdy backs bent for the stroke. Then it came. A pull that seemed to lift the frail shell from the water--a pull that strained on the outriggers--a pull that made the stout oars creak and bend! A stroke that sent the water swirling aft in rings, circles, whirlpools and a smother of foam! A stroke that told! "Row! Row!" screamed Jerry. Daring another glance, Frank, at stroke, saw the Fairview boat seemingly at a standstill. But it was not so. It was that Randall had shot up to her. From the shores, from the boathouse, from the other craft, came a riot of sound--shouts, yells, the tooting of horns, the clatter of rattles. There was a veritable flower garden of waving colors. The shrill voices of the girls mingled with the hoarser shouts of the men and boys. Whistles blew, and dogs barked to add to the din. "Row! Row!" Jerry fairly screamed. "Pick it up, boys!" pleaded the Fairview coxswain. He had not thought that his rivals had this spurt in them. "Can't you do it? Can't you get up to them?" begged Pinky Davenport, of his Boxer lads, and there were unashamed tears in his eyes as he made his last appeal. But Boxer was "all in." "Now boys, now!" shouted Jerry. "It's your last chance! A hundred yards more--only three hundred feet! Row! Row! We must win." "Don't let 'em pass us!" came from the Fairview coxswain. "A few strokes--only a few more!" The boats were even! Pandemonium had now broken loose. The band was drowned out by shouts. Ruth found herself hammering Madge on the back, and shouting--she knew not what--in her ear. Madge was crying--she did not know why. As for the Randall lads, they were mere machines. There was no more thought left in them. They saw nothing, but each man in front of him viewed his fore-man's back--Frank could not see the face of Jackson, but he could hear his rasping voice. "Row! Row!" How Frank heaved! How he dug at the giving water at the end of his blade as though he would tear it from the river and fling it aloft in a rainbow arch. And how Bricktop Molloy took up the stroke, his honest Irish face wet with sweat--his red hair plastered down on his forehead. Back and forth he bent. After him came Holly Cross picking up the stroke masterly--then Kindlings--good old Kindlings with something of the fire of his name in his sturdy muscles--then Housenlager--all the desire for horseplay gone from him. Then Sid, who had been shifted back to Number Three almost at the last moment. Then Phil, and then Tom. And how they rowed! Surely the ancient gods--surely even Hercules at his twelve labors--never toiled more Titanically than these eight rowers. No galley slave, chained to the oar, with the vessel on fire above him, with the shrieks of the dying in his ears, the stench of Greek fire in his nostrils, ever rowed more desperately. "Row! Row!" screamed Jerry. "Row! Row!" echoed Roger Barns. The finish line was but a hundred feet away. Slowly, oh, so slowly, did the Randall boat creep up on her rival. Now she was past! Another electric thrill went through Jerry. "Row! Row!" he screamed, and his voice was hoarse. His hands, tense and gripped, were clasped so tightly on the tiller ropes, that afterward they had to loosen them for him. The muscles had gone dead, but he steered with the skill of a veteran. It grew black before Tom's eyes. He felt that his lungs were bursting. Frank knew that if he dipped the oar in the water again he would not have strength to pull it out. But, somehow he did! And then with one last spurt, a spurt that seemed to wrench the very roots of their hearts, a pull that seemed to tear their very muscles loose, the lads in the Randall shell sent their boat over the finish line a winner--a winner by half a length--a winner! They were the eight-oared victors! And, as they realized this--as it came to them--their eyes that saw not lighted up--their faces, seamed and lined with the contracted muscles, broke into smiles, and then Tom toppled over on his oar, and Frank fell weakly back on Molloy. "Easy there, me lad, easy," panted Bricktop. "It's all over. You collapsed at the right minute! Oh, wow, but I'm thirsty!" Jerry Jackson was struggling with the tiller lines wound about his nerveless hands. Ready chums loosed them, and helped him from the shell onto a boat, the crew having recovered sufficiently to put their broad blades out on the water to steady the shell. And then, following the hush that came after the hysterical outburst which greeted the winners, came floating over the heads of the great throng: "_Aut Vincere! Aut Mori!_" But Randall had conquered, though she had nearly died. * * * * * Somehow the crew heard the cheers for themselves, for their coach and for the plucky little coxswain. Somehow they managed to cheer Fairview and Boxer Hall, and then they were hurried into the dressing rooms. "I knew you could do it! I knew you could do it!" cried Mr. Lighton, capering about like a boy. "I knew we could make a rowing crew in one season with the material we had." "Faith, an' ye did, me lad!" declared Bricktop, while Housenlager feebly punched Tom in the ribs, a bit of horseplay that our hero was too tired to resent. "Someone to see Mr. Parsons!" called Wallops, the college messenger, who was helping out at the boathouse. He peered into the anteroom of the dressing apartments. "I can't see anyone now," declared Tom. "Who is it?" "He says his name is Farson, and----" "The jeweler!" cried Tom. "Show him in!" and he came from under a shower and grabbed up some garments. "There must be something doing!" he added to Sid and Phil, who had heard the words. Somewhat bewildered by the athletic throng about him, the jeweler entered. "Where are you, Mr. Parsons?" he asked. "Here!" cried Tom. "What is it?" "Everything! I have just received word from the police that they have arrested that pawnbroker. He has all the Boxer Hall cups, and most of the other jewelry. Nearly everything is recovered. All but that old-fashioned brooch you told me about. That he says he never had." "And he's right," added Tom. "I recovered that. But who took the things?" "Blasdell. The island caretaker took them out of my box when the boat landed on the island, and disposed of them. Then he hid the pawn tickets in the shack, taking away the brooch he had previously hidden there. "Blasdell has been arrested too. He has made a full confession. He and the pawnbroker have been in with a bad set, and were planning other crimes. But I will soon have nearly everything back. I thought you might be glad to know, so I came here as soon as I heard. I had to wait until after the race, though." "We are glad to hear the news," spoke Frank. "So Mendez is not in it after all." "No, the confessions of the others completely clear him. I must go tell the Boxer Hall boys the good news." "And it is almost as good news to us as to them," said Tom, as he went in to finish dressing. The regatta was over. Randall, in spite of heavy odds and in spite of losing all but one race, was proclaimed champion of the Tonoka Lake League. "But we'll do you next year!" prophesied Pinky Davenport. "I think the loss of our cups was a hoodoo to us." "Maybe," admitted Tom. "But next year is--well, next year, and we're not greenies any more." "I guess you never were," admitted his rival. "And now let's go see the girls, and tell them how sorry we are that we beat them," proposed Sid. If the girls felt badly they did not show it much. "What I can't understand," said Phil, a little later, when he and his chums, and his sister and her chums were talking it all over at a little supper in Haddonfield, "what I can't understand is how Boswell knew Ruth had lost her pin, and wanted to give her another." "He didn't know it--stupid!" exclaimed Ruth, with a blush. "Only Tom knew it." "But Boswell was going to give you a pin." "Oh, can't a fellow give a girl a pin without knowing that she has lost one or you making a fuss over it?" asked Sid. "But--but----" faltered Phil. "He heard that I was fond of old-fashioned jewelry," explained Ruth, blushing, "and I suppose, instead of--er--well--say candy, he hunted up an old-style pin. He had bought one for his mother from Mendez, and wanted one for me. It was lucky that Blasdell did not pawn my pin with the other stuff. Instead he sold it to Mendez, who, in turn, sold it to Mr. Boswell, and Tom--well, Tom did the rest." "And you were without grandmother's pin all that while, and never let on!" cried Phil. "Oh, you're a sly one, Sis!" "And the colored handkerchiefs, and Boswell were useless as clues," went on Sid. "They were just false alarms. But I wonder why Mendez was so anxious to see Boswell that day we went on our little picnic?" "Mendez explained that," said Tom. "He had had some intimation that his selling of smuggled cigars was likely to be dangerous, and, as Boswell had bought some he wanted to talk about it, and get his advice. That was all. It seems that when Boswell and the Mexican were together on the island one day Mendez cut his finger and Boswell tore off a strip of the silk handkerchief. Boswell told me that." "And I guess that explains everything," remarked Phil. "I want some more ice-cream. We've broken training now, you know." And so the merry little party feasted and laughed and softly sang their college songs until the girls protested that they must get back, or Miss Philock--well, various opinions were expressed about that lady. "Stop that infernal clock!" grunted Tom, a little later, as he lay half asleep on the old sofa in the common room. "Stop it yourself," murmured Phil, sprawled in one easy chair, while Frank occupied another. Sid had declared himself done up after the race, and had gone to bed. From his room he murmured in a sleepy voice: "Sounds like Jerry calling--'Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!' doesn't it?" "Cut it out!" said Phil. "I don't want to see an oar for six months again." "It will be pigskin punts from now on," spoke Tom, as he returned from jabbing a toothpick into the clock's interior, and turned over to doze again. "And then good old Winter!" exclaimed Frank. "I say, fellows, what's the matter with getting up some iceboat races," and he galvanized into uprightness. "Talk about it to-morrow," sleepily murmured Sid, but the suggestion bore fruit, as you may learn by reading the next volume of this series, to be called "Rivals of the Ice; A Story of Winter Sports at College." It will tell how, after a strenuous football season, the lads formed an ice league, for skating, hockey playing, and ice-yacht racing. Outside the college there was singing and the building of bonfires to celebrate the victory of the crew. But in their room, four of the eight-oared victors dozed dreamily on, living over again in fancy that strenuously-fought-out race which they had so labored over. And there, for a time, we will leave them. THE END THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES BY LESTER CHADWICK _12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in Colors_ _=Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid=_ [Illustration] _Mr. Chadwick has played on the diamond and on the gridiron himself._ 1. THE RIVAL PITCHERS _A Story of College Baseball_ Tom Parsons, a "hayseed," makes good on the scrub team of Randall College. 2. A QUARTERBACK'S PLUCK _A Story of College Football_ A football story, told in Mr. Chadwick's best style, that is bound to grip the reader from the start. 3. BATTING TO WIN _A Story of College Baseball_ Tom Parsons and his friends Phil and Sid are the leading players on Randall College team. There is a great game. 4. THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN _A Story of College Football_ After having to reorganize their team at the last moment, Randall makes a touchdown that won a big game. 5. FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL. _A Story of College Athletics_ The winning of the hurdle race and long-distance run is extremely exciting. 6. THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS _A Story of College Water Sports_ Tom, Phil and Sid prove as good at aquatic sports as they are on track, gridiron and diamond. _Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue_ CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York SEA STORIES FOR BOYS BY JOHN GABRIEL ROWE _Large 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Colored jacket_ _=Price per volume, $1.00 Net=_ [Illustration] _Every boy who knows the lure of exploring and who loves to rig up huts and caves and tree-houses to fortify himself against imaginary enemies will enjoy these books, for they give a vivid chronicle of the doings and inventions of a group of boys who are shipwrecked and have to make themselves snug and safe in tropical islands where the dangers are too real for play._ 1. CRUSOE ISLAND Dick, Alf and Fred find themselves stranded on an unknown island with the old seaman Josh, their ship destroyed by fire, their friends lost. 2. THE ISLAND TREASURE With much ingenuity these boys fit themselves into the wild life of the island they are cast upon in storm. 3. THE MYSTERY OF THE DERELICT Their ship and companions perished in tempest at sea, the boys are adrift in a small open boat when they spy a ship. Such a strange vessel!--no hand guiding it, no soul on board,--a derelict. 4. THE LIGHTSHIP PIRATES Modern Pirates, with the ferocity of beasts, attack a lightship crew;--recounting the adventures that befall the survivors of that crew--and--"RETRIBUTION." 5. THE SECRET OF THE GOLDEN IDOL Telling of a mutiny, and how two youngsters were unwillingly involved in one of the weirdest of treasure hunts,--and--"THE GOLDEN FETISH." _Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue_ CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York * * * * * Transcriber's note: --Printer, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. 
37462	----	+---------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: | | | | Text printed in italics in the original is represented here | | between underscores, as in _text_. Texts printed in small | | capitals in the original work have been changed to ALL | | CAPITALS. | | Greek words in the original book have been transcribed and are| | here given between square brackets, as in [hakatoi]. | | The oe-ligature is represented as [oe]; [+] represents a | | dagger symbol. | | In the form that occurs in this work, blanks have been changed| | to lines of underscores: ________________. | | | | More detailed transcriber's notes will be found at the end of | | this text. | | | +---------------------------------------------------------------+ The Badminton Library OF SPORTS AND PASTIMES EDITED BY HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT, K.G. ASSISTED BY ALFRED E. T. WATSON _BOATING_ PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON [Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF HENLEY REGATTA (_Frontispiece_)] BOATING BY W. B. WOODGATE WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY THE REV. EDMOND WARRE, D.D. AND A CHAPTER ON ROWING AT ETON BY R. HARVEY MASON [Illustration] _WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS AFTER FRANK DADD_ _AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_ LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 1888 _All rights reserved_ _DEDICATION_ _TO_ _H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES._ BADMINTON: _March, 1887_. Having received permission to dedicate these volumes, the BADMINTON LIBRARY of SPORTS and PASTIMES, to HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES, I do so feeling that I am dedicating them to one of the best and keenest sportsmen of our time. I can say, from personal observation, that there is no man who can extricate himself from a bustling and pushing crowd of horsemen, when a fox breaks covert, more dexterously and quickly than His Royal Highness; and that when hounds run hard over a big country, no man can take a line of his own and live with them better. Also, when the wind has been blowing hard, often have I seen His Royal Highness knocking over driven grouse and partridges and high-rocketing pheasants in first-rate workmanlike style. He is held to be a good yachtsman, and as Commodore of the Royal Yacht Squadron is looked up to by those who love that pleasant and exhilarating pastime. His encouragement of racing is well known, and his attendance at the University, Public School, and other important Matches testifies to his being, like most English gentlemen, fond of all manly sports. I consider it a great privilege to be allowed to dedicate these volumes to so eminent a sportsman as His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and I do so with sincere feelings of respect and esteem and loyal devotion. BEAUFORT. PREFACE. A few lines only are necessary to explain the object with which these volumes are put forth. There is no modern encyclopædia to which the inexperienced man, who seeks guidance in the practice of the various British Sports and Pastimes, can turn for information. Some books there are on Hunting, some on Racing, some on Lawn Tennis, some on Fishing, and so on; but one Library, or succession of volumes, which treats of the Sports and Pastimes indulged in by Englishmen--and women--is wanting. The Badminton Library is offered to supply the want. Of the imperfections which must be found in the execution of such a design we are conscious. Experts often differ. But this we may say, that those who are seeking for knowledge on any of the subjects dealt with will find the results of many years' experience written by men who are in every case adepts at the Sport or Pastime of which they write. It is to point the way to success to those who are ignorant of the sciences they aspire to master, and who have no friend to help or coach them, that these volumes are written. To those who have worked hard to place simply and clearly before the reader that which he will find within, the best thanks of the Editor are due. That it has been no slight labour to supervise all that has been written he must acknowledge; but it has been a labour of love, and very much lightened by the courtesy of the Publisher, by the unflinching, indefatigable assistance of the Sub-Editor, and by the intelligent and able arrangement of each subject by the various writers, who are so thoroughly masters of the subjects of which they treat. The reward we all hope to reap is that our work may prove useful to this and future generations. THE EDITOR. * * * * * The author desires to record his thanks and indebtedness to the following gentlemen, for much kind co-operation and assistance, and for leave to reproduce passages from their valuable works upon aquatics:--Geo. G. T. TREHERNE, Esq., author of 'Record of the University Boat Race'; E. D. BRICKWOOD, Esq. ('Argonaut'), author of 'Boat Racing'; L. P. BRICKWOOD, Esq., Editor of the 'Racing Almanack'; the Proprietors of the 'Field'; the Proprietors of 'Land and Water,' and Mr. R. G. Gridley for kindly assisting with the Map of the Cambridge Course. _ILLUSTRATIONS._ (ENGRAVED BY W. J. PALMER, J. D. COOPER, AND G. PEARSON, AFTER DRAWINGS BY F. DADD AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY G. MITCHELL, HILLS & SAUNDERS, AND MARSH BROS.) * * * * * FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. ARTIST GENERAL VIEW OF THE HENLEY } _From a photograph_ _Frontispiece_ REGATTA } METHOD OF STARTING THE } COLLEGE EIGHTS PRIOR TO } _Frank Dadd_ _To face p._ 28 1825, OXFORD } STARTING THE EIGHTS, OLD } _Frank Dadd_ " 40 COURSE, HENLEY } COACHING UNIVERSITY CREW _Frank Dadd_ " 68 EMBARKING _Frank Dadd_ " 84 PAIR OARS--IMMINENT FOUL _Frank Dadd_ " 124 BUMPING RACE WAITING FOR } _From a photograph_ " 170 THE GUN } OFF THE BROCAS _Frank Dadd_ " 202 THAMES WATERMEN AND } _Frank Dadd_ " 218 WHERRIES } CLIEFDEN (RIVER SCENE) _From a photograph_ " 242 * * * * * WOODCUTS IN TEXT. ARTIST PAGE VIGNETTE ON TITLE-PAGE _Frank Dadd_ FLEET OF EGYPTIAN QUEEN _From a photograph_ 11 ANCIENT BOAT DEPICTED ON VASE _Frank Dadd_ 15 BAS-RELIEF OF ANCIENT GREEK ROWING _Frank Dadd_ 19 BOAT ANCIENT GALLEY FIGHT, FROM POMPEII _Frank Dadd_ 21 HENLEY COURSE (BETWEEN RACES) _From a photograph_ 26 OXFORD BOAT IN 1829 } _From 'Record of the_ { 31 BUMPING RACES (OLD STYLE) } _University Boatrace'_ { 33 A COLLEGE PAIR _From a photograph_ 37 TOWING GUARD BOATS UP HENLEY REACH _From a photograph_ 39 PAIR-OAR _From a photograph_ 41 GONDOLA _From a photograph_ 43 BISHAM COURT _From a photograph_ 53 MARLOW _From a photograph_ 66 A SCRATCH EIGHT ('PEAL OF BELLS') _From a photograph_ 75 MEDMENHAM ABBEY _From a photograph_ 79 'PROSE' _Frank Dadd_ 83 BISHAM COURT REACH _From a photograph_ 92 FEATHER 'UNDER' THE WATER _From a photograph_ 102 PRACTISING STROKE (1) _From a photograph_ 110 PRACTISING STROKE (2) _From a photograph_ 110 PRACTISING STROKE (3) _From a photograph_ 111 PRACTISING STROKE (4) _From a photograph_ 111 A COLLEGE FOUR _From a photograph_ 118 FOUR-OAR _From a photograph_ 121 NEAR MEDMENHAM _From a photograph_ 123 CLOSE QUARTERS _Frank Dadd_ 127 A SPILL _Frank Dadd_ 133 SCULLING RACE, WITH PILOTS IN _Frank Dadd_ 139 EIGHT-OARS PUMPED OUT _Frank Dadd_ 141 THE LAST OF THE THAMES WHERRIES _From a photograph_ 142 'POETRY' _Frank Dadd_ 153 GOING TO SCALE _Frank Dadd_ 157 SMOKING IS FORBIDDEN _Frank Dadd_ 165 'RUN A MILE OR TWO' _Frank Dadd_ 167 FOUR-OAR _From a photograph_ 178 EARLY AMATEURS _Frank Dadd_ 192 WINDSOR _From a photograph_ 200 A FOUL _Frank Dadd_ 238 * * * * * MAPS SHOWING THE OXFORD COURSE _To face p._ 288 " CAMBRIDGE " " 296 " HENLEY " " 318 " PUTNEY " " 322 CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. INTRODUCTION 1 II. THE RISE OF MODERN OARSMANSHIP 26 III. SCIENTIFIC OARSMANSHIP 53 IV. COACHING 66 V. THE CAPTAIN 79 VI. THE COXSWAIN AND STEERING 92 VII. SLIDING SEATS 102 VIII. FOUR-OARS 118 IX. PAIR-OARS 123 X. SCULLING 127 XI. BOAT-BUILDING AND DIMENSIONS 142 XII. TRAINING 153 XIII. ROWING CLUBS 178 XIV. THE AMATEUR, HIS HISTORY AND DESCRIPTION 192 XV. ROWING AT ETON COLLEGE 200 XVI. WATERMEN AND PROFESSIONALS 217 XVII. LAWS OF BOAT-RACING (THEIR HISTORY, AND RULES OF THE ROAD) 238 'THE TEMPLE OF FAME' 243 APPENDIX 313 INDEX 331 _Erratum._ Page 119, line 19, _for_ Bodleian _read_ Radleian. [Illustration: BOATING. CHAPTER I.] INTRODUCTION. As parts of human life and practice the out-of-door games and amusements with which Englishmen are familiar have had a long course of development, and each has its own history. To trace this development and history in any particular case is not always an easy task. Most of the writers who deal with these subjects treat the 'Origines' in a summary fashion. Not a few ignore them altogether. The Topsy theory, ''spects it growed,' is sufficient. And yet if it be possible to deal more philosophically with a subject of the kind, the attempt ought not necessarily to be devoid of interest. It involves a retrospect of human life and human ingenuity. It will trace development in man's ways and means, marking points which in some regions and with some races have determined the limit of their progress, and in others have served as stepping-stones to further invention. It will present facts which will not only not be disdained by the true student of men and manners, but will serve to broider the fringes of serious history, and will give additional light and colour to the record of the character and the habits of men. For indeed the sports and pastimes of a people are no insignificant product of its national spirit, and react to no small degree upon national character. They have not unfrequently had their share in grave events, and the famous and oft-quoted saying of the Duke of Wellington respecting the playing fields at Eton (_se non è vero, è ben trovato_) contains a truth, applicable in a wider sense to national struggles and to victories other than Waterloo. Pastimes and amusements generally may be divided into two main classes: (1) those that have been invented simply as a means of recreation, such as cricket, tennis, racquets, etc.; and (2) those that have their origin in the primary needs of mankind. The latter have in many cases, as civilisation has advanced, and the particular needs have been supplied in other ways, survived as pastimes by reason of the natural pleasure and the excitement and the emulation which accompanied them. Of this latter class, those that have appropriated the name of 'sport' _par excellence_, such as hunting, shooting, fishing, etc., hold the field, so to speak, in antiquity, as compared with other pastimes, having their origin in the initial necessities and natural instincts of man, which compelled him to fight with and to destroy some wild beasts, that he might not himself be eaten, and to catch or kill others that he might have them to eat. The spirit of emulation and the pride of skill, and the desire of obtaining healthy exercise for its own sake, have been among the principal causes which have converted into sports and pastimes man's means and methods of locomotion. Almost every class of movement which can be pressed into that form of competition which is called a race, or in which a definite comparison of skill is possible, has been enlisted in the host of amusements with which civilisation consoles its children for the loss of the wild delights of the untutored savage. Among these perhaps the most important and the most conspicuous is Rowing, which as a serious business has played no inconsiderable part in great events of human history, and as a pastime is inferior to none of the class to which it belongs. Its votaries will not hesitate to claim for it even the chief place, by reason of the pleasure and emulation to which it so readily ministers, as a healthful exercise, and as a means of competitive effort requiring both skill and endurance. But the oar, before it ministered to recreation, had a long history of labour in the service of man, which is not yet ended, and itself was not shaped but by evolution from earlier types, of which the paddle and ultimately the human hand and arm are the original beginnings. Will it be wearisome to speculate on these beginnings, and to try to cast back in thought and research for the first origins of the noble pastime which forms the subject of the present volume? Fortunately, in savage life still extant on the habitable globe we have the survival of many, if not of all, the earliest types of locomotion. Man in his natural condition has to follow nature, and by following to subdue her in his struggle for existence. Climate and race differentiate his action in this respect, and results, under parallel circumstances, similar, though different in detail, attend his efforts in different parts of the world. A land animal, he is from the first brought face to face with water, deep water of lakes, and of rivers, and of the sea, and in all these he finds bounds to his desires, as well as things to be desired; opposite shores to which he wishes to cross, fish and vegetable growth which he wants for food. Horace tells us that 'oak and triple brass he had around his breast who first to the fierce sea committed his frail raft,' but the first man who committed _himself_ to deep water, and essayed the oarage of his arms and legs, must have been free from such incumbrances, and yet have had a stout heart within him. And simultaneously with, or even prior to such adventure, must have been others of a similar character aided by a piece of wood, or a bundle of rushes, or an inflated skin, the elementary boat, the very embryo of navigation. Such beginnings are still in evidence on the western coast of Australia, where savages may be seen sitting astride on a piece of light wood and so venturing forth upon the waters of the sea. Homer, who in the Odyssey delights in making the man of many counsels and many devices, with all his wealth of what was then modern experience, find himself reduced to the shifts and expedients of a man thrown, like the savage, upon his own solitary resources, pictures to us Ulysses seated astride upon the mast of his shipwrecked vessel and paddling with both hands, thus reverting in his distress, as no doubt others have done since, to the very earliest method of navigation, now only practised for choice by savages, whose progress in navigation, as in other things, has been checked at this early stage, and who remain the nearest visible types of primitive man. But some savages, other than they, did make progress in the matter of locomotion by water, and the next step was the raft, of which the earliest type known is the sanpan, three pieces of buoyant wood tied together. On this construction, which supplied the earliest generic names both in the east and in the west (sanpan, [schediê], _ratis_), a man would stand and paddle and move along upon the water, and assert his power of hand and eye with the weapons with which native ingenuity had already supplied him. In warm climates, where swimming had become a necessity, and the very children from their earliest years had been habituated to the water, the familiarity that breeds contempt of the very danger which at a previous stage acted as a deterrent, would soon encourage attempts to improve, and enlarge, and increase the speed of the rude vessel in common use. These attempts would naturally follow the line of providing the means for conveying in safety other things besides the living freight of the human person. There would also arise the very natural desire to keep things dry, which would spoil if wetted. Hence the enlargement of the raft, and then the protection afforded by platforms raised upon its central surface, or by planks laid edgewise so as to make a defence, a breastwork against the wave. And no doubt by this time the use of the sail for propulsion had become familiar, and man had already prayed his god for 'the breeze that cometh aft, sail-filler, good companion.' But interesting as it would be to trace the effect of the sail upon the construction of vessels and their development, we must leave that pleasant task to those who, in the present series, will treat of the yacht and its prototypes ([hakatoi]). The earliest method of propulsion was with the human hands. In the picture of Ulysses seated on the mast and keel of his shipwrecked vessel, which he had lashed together with the broken backstay made of bullhide, paddling with his hands on either side, Homer, as we have seen, has presented us with the hero of the highest civilisation known to him reduced to the straits of the merest savage; and he has again enforced this idea in his picture of the same hero of many wiles and many counsels devising for himself the means of escape from the island of Calypso, and, not without divine suggestions, constructing for himself, like an ancient Robinson Crusoe, a primitive raft, with certain improvements and additions; a broad raft be it remembered, and not a boat. A boat would mar the conception which presents to us the civilised man driven back to the straits of barbarism by the unique circumstances in which he is placed. This is the point which ingenious commentators, who have given elaborate designs and figures of Ulysses' _boat_ and written pages upon its construction, seem to have missed. The poet has added colour to his picture by bringing the new and the old together. And of a truth new and old exist together and continue throughout the ages of man in marvellous juxtaposition. The fast screw liner off the Australian coast may pass the naked savage oaring himself with swarthy palms upon his buoyant log, and almost every stage of modern invention in ship-building and ship propulsion has had alongside it the three-timbered sanpan, and the original types of raft that float in the Malay Archipelago. But we must follow the development of our special pastime through its embryonic stage to a moment when, all unknown and unseen in the womb of time, like the sudden changes which differentiate the gradual ascents from a lower to a higher being, unseen, unknown, and unwritten in history, that great event occurred, the birth of the first 'dug-out' canoe. Unnoticed perhaps at the time, the importance of the event was recognised by the poet in after ages as a real forward step in the onward progress of the arts.[1] 'Rivers then first the hollowed alders felt.' [1] Virg. _Georg._ i. 136: 'Tunc alnos primum fluvii sensere cavatas.' To some primitive man or men in advance of their fellow men, the idea of flotation, as apart from the mere buoyancy of the material, had occurred, and suggested the hollowing out of the log. Wherever and whenever this was first effected, it was a great event in the world's progress. A simple thought had wedded fact destined to be fruitful to all future ages. O prototype of the longboat--of the frail eights which freighted with contending crews speed yearly over Father Thames amidst the cheers and applause of thousands! Where wast thou launched? What dusky arms propelled thee? What wild songs of exultation heralded thy first successful venture? Once achieved, what present benefits, what future triumphs didst thou not ensure to man? In the power of carrying something, or anything beside the living freight, dry and secure, and in the increased facility of movement and of turning, must have been manifest from the first the advantage of the canoe over the raft, where the lapping of the water and the wash of the wave, in spite of all contrivances, could scarce be kept out. How soon must efforts have been made to increase this advantage to obtain greater carrying power and greater speed! The application of the sail was made possible by the ingenious adaptation of the outrigger, a trunk of light wood laid parallel to the side of the dug-out at some feet distance, and attached to it by transverse bars. The oldest type and the type with this improvement still survive, and the ingenious models of such craft which were exhibited at the Fisheries Exhibition in London a few years ago will have been noticed by many of our readers. Twin vessels like the 'Castalia,' and, if we are to believe the learned Graser, the great Tesseraconteres of Ptolemy, had their primitive germ, so to speak, in this early stroke of genius. It may appear strange to some boating men who are accustomed to hear a good deal about outriggers, that this outrigger of which we have been speaking has nothing to do with the outrigger with which they are familiar. It never apparently passed into the Western Seas. The Mediterranean knows it not. The Andaman Islands and the Seychelles are its westernmost limits. But if the invention of the dug-out canoe was a step onward in the general progress of the arts, being the appreciation and application of a principle in nature, a still greater triumph was achieved, and the particular art still more decidedly advanced, by him who first constructed the canoe properly so called. Herein was the real prototype of the _species_ boat. A skin of bark, duly cut and shaped so as to taper towards the ends and be wide amidships, was attached to a longitudinal framework or gunwale all along its upper edges, and this itself was kept apart and in shape by three or more transverse pieces stretching from side to side, while a series of curved laths of soft wood, the extreme ends of which also fastened to the gunwale, served to keep the vessel itself in shape and to protect the bark skin from the tread of men and from the immediate incidence of any weight to be carried. 'Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coûte.' The idea once conceived, whether in one place or in many, and at whatever time or times, could not be lost and must soon have been fruitful in development. Of this class by far the most common is the birch-bark canoe, which, though found also in Australia, is properly regarded as having its home upon the American continent. If not the original of the type, yet it deserves particular attention owing to the peculiarity of the material of the skin, which combines lightness and toughness and pliability. A truly ingenious and original idea to flay a birch tree and make a boat of its skin! In the framework of the canoe we have the embryo _ribs_ and _inwale_ of the future boat, and the three cross-ties may be regarded as the ancestors of _thwarts_ to be born in time to come. As yet no keel. But that was soon to be. Go north, and trees become scarcer and dwindle in size. The birch is no longer of sufficient girth to serve the ingenious savage in the construction of a canoe. But the inventive genius of man was not to be denied. Skins of beasts, or woven material made waterproof, stretched upon a frame would serve for the same purpose as bark. But a stronger framework was necessary for a material thinner and more pliable than bark. And accordingly in all this class (except the coracle) we find stronger and more numerous timbers, including a longitudinal piece from stem to stern, and uprights at each end acting as stempost and sternpost respectively. The rude canvas-covered vessels of Tory Island, off the west coast of Ireland, still preserve one development of this type, close at home to us; while the cayaks of the Esquimaux and the larger fishing canoes of the Alaskans and the Greenlanders exhibit the skin-clad variety in many forms. In one of the models exhibited at the Fisheries Exhibition the framework showed in great perfection the ingenuity of the savage, to whom wood was a very scarce and precious article, short pieces being made to serve fitted together and fastened with thongs of hide, the whole being covered with a stout walrus skin. Even outriggers (as understood by the English oarsman) made of double loops of hide just long enough to cross each other and enclose the loom of the oar, were attached to the inner side of the gunwale. Not only bark and skin and canvas-covered canoes exist and seem to have existed from an unknown antiquity, but a similar cause to that of which we were just speaking, viz. a scarcity of wood or of suitable wood, led to the construction of canoes of wood made of short pieces stitched together, and approaching more nearly to the type of vessel which may be called a boat. To these belong the canoes of Easter Island made of drift wood, and of many other islands in the Pacific, which are truly canoes and propelled by paddles, and the same peculiarity of build extends to the Madras surf boats, which are more truly boats. Many of these are tied together through holes drilled or burnt through a ledge left on the inner side of the plank or log, a peculiarity noticeable as appearing even in the early vessels of the Northern Seas. The stitched boat has not a nail Or a peg in her whole composition, but the structure, though liable to leak, is admirably suited for heavy seas and surf-beaten coasts, and owing to its pliability will stand shocks which would shatter a stiffer and tighter build. This being so, it is not surprising that vessels larger than canoes or boats were constructed (some authorities say even as large as 200 tons burden) upon this principle, which is certainly one of very great antiquity. There is also a curious analogy in the progress of construction of these sea-going craft with the natural order in the construction of fishes, that is to say, if the ganoids are to be considered antecedent to the vertebrates among the latter. For in the case of the stitched vessels the hull is the first thing in time and construction, the ribs and framework being, so to speak, an afterthought, and attached to the interior when the hull has been completed, whereas the later and modern practice is to set up the ribs and framework of the vessel first and to attach the exterior planking afterwards. But the invention of trenails and dowels must have preceded the later practice, and have led the way to the building of such boats as those described by Herodotus (ii. 96), the ancestors of the Nile 'nuggur' of modern times. Ulysses, as a shipwright well skilled in his craft, uses axe and adze and auger, and with the latter makes holes in the timbers he has squared and planed, and with trenails and dowels ties them together. The wooden fastenings, be it remarked, are in size and diameter severally adapted, the first to resist the horizontal, the second to resist the vertical strain to which the raft would be exposed upon the waves. All this, we may observe, points to a stage anterior to that in which the use of metal nails and ties in ship- and boat-building had been introduced. Trenails and dowels are however still in use, and have a natural advantage over iron in the construction of wooden vessels, owing to the absence of corrosion, which in early times must have caused difficulties as to its employment for boat-building. Copper, on the other hand, though free from this objection, would be less available by reason of expense and the great demand for it for other purposes. And now we have reached a point where we enter upon the borders of history. No doubt, if we knew more about the venerable antiquity of China, we might be able to add interesting facts, showing the development from the earliest sanpan to the great river boats, and the growth of that curious art which produced the Chinese junk, a vessel undoubtedly of a very antique type. But this knowledge is not ours at present, and so we must turn to the equally venerable civilisation of Egypt for information upon the subject. In Egypt fortunately the tomb paintings have preserved to us a wealth of illustration of boats and ships, some of which, if we may trust the learned, take us back to dates as early as 3000 B.C. In turning over the interesting plates of such works as Lepsius's 'Denkmäler,' or Duemichen's 'Fleet of an Egyptian Queen,' we are struck by the reflection that, if at that early date boats, and ships, and oars, and steering paddles, and masts, and sailing gear had all been brought to such a stage of perfection, we must allow many centuries antecedent for the elaboration of such designs, and for the evolution of the savage man's primary conception of canoe and paddle. However this may be, the lovers of our pastime, if they will consult the pages of the works above mentioned, will find rowing already well established as an employment, if not as an amusement, in the hoar antiquity of Egypt. Not only the Nile water, whether the sacred stream was within his banks or spread by inundation over the plain within his reach, was alive with boats, busy with the transport of produce of all sorts, or serving the purposes of the fowler and the fisherman, but the Red Sea and the Mediterranean coasts were witnesses of the might and power of Pharaoh, as shown by his fleets of great vessels fully manned, ready with oar and sail to perform his behests, ready to visit the land of Orient, and bring back thence the spices and perfumes that the Egyptians loved, together with apes and sandal wood, or else to do battle with the fierce Pelesta and Teucrians and Daunians who swarmed in their piratical craft upon the midland sea, entering the Nile mouths, and raiding upon the fat and peaceable plains of the Delta. [Illustration: FLEET OF EGYPTIAN QUEEN.] The Egyptian boats present several noticeable features. Built evidently with considerable camber, they rise high from the water both at stem and stern, the ends finished off into a point or else curved upwards and ornamented with mystic figure-heads representing one or other of the numerous gods. The steering is conducted by two or more paddles fastened to the sides of the boat in the larger class, and sometimes having the loom of the paddle lengthened and attached to an upright post to which it is loosely bound. A tiller is inserted in the handle, and to this a steering cord fastened, by which the helmsman can turn the blade of the paddle at will. The paddles vary but little in shape. They are mostly pointed, and have but a moderate breadth of blade. In some of the paintings they are being used as paddles proper, in others as oars against a curved projection from the vessel's side serving as a thowl. But whether this is solid or whether it is a thong, like the Greek [tropôthêr], against which the oarsman is rowing, it is not easy to say. The larger vessels depicted with oars have in some cases as many as twenty-five shown on one side. In others the number is less. But it is quite possible that the artist did not care to portray more than would be sufficient to indicate conventionally the size of the vessel. In some of the vessels there are apertures like oar-ports, though no oars are shown in them, which raise a presumption that the invention of the bireme, the origin of which is uncertain, may with some probability be attributed to the Egyptians. The larger vessels are all fitted with sailing gear, and the rowing is evidently subsidiary to the sail as a means of locomotion. The wall paintings of Egypt give us ample details of Egyptian ships and boats extending over a period, as we are told, of twenty centuries and more. In them we have a glimpse of the maritime enterprise, in which the oar must have taken a principal part, of the races which inhabited the seaboard of the Mediterranean in which piracy had its home from very early times. Teucrians, Dardanians, Pelesta (? Pelasgians), Daunians, Tyrrhenians, Oscans, all seem to have been sea-going peoples, and at intervals to have provoked by their marauding the wrath of Pharaoh and to have felt his avenging hand. But of all the seafaring races that made their homes and highways upon the waters of the great inland sea, the most famous of early times were the Ph[oe]nicians. According to some accounts connected with Capthor (Copts), and according to others emigrants from the coast of the Persian Gulf, their genius for maritime enterprise asserted itself very early, so that already before Homer's time they were masters of the commerce of the Mediterranean, and had rowed their dark keels beyond the mystic pillars that guarded the opening of the ocean stream. And yet, though the facts are certain, we know but little of these famous mariners, of their vessels and their gear. The only representation of their vessels is from the walls of the palaces of their Assyrian conquerors, an inland people, not likely to detect or appreciate any technical want of fidelity in the likeness presented. And, accordingly, the pictures are conventional, telling us but little of that which we should like to know about their build, and oars, and oar ports, &c. The date, moreover, is not in all probability earlier than 900 B.C. Such being the case, we are driven for information to the more ample store of Greek literature, and to Greek vases for the earliest representations of the Greek vessel. Homer abounds in sea pictures. He has a wealth of descriptive words, touches of light and colour which bring the sea and its waves and the vessel and its details with vivid and picturesque effect before us. His ships are black and have their bows painted with vermilion, or red of some other tone; they are sharp and swift, and bows and stern curve upwards like the horns of oxen. And withal they are rounded on both sides, and well timbered and hollowed out, and roomy, having by the gift of the poet a facile combination of all the opposite qualities, so desirable and so difficult in practice to unite. As yet there is no spur or ram, but round the solid stempost shrieks the wave, as the vessel is urged onward either by the mighty hands of heroes, or the god-sent breeze that follows aft. Nor is the vessel decked, except for a short space at bow and stern, where it had raised platforms. On the quarterdeck, so to speak, of the stern sat the great chiefs, whose warriors plied the oar, and there they laid their spears ready for use. There also was the standing place of the steersman who wielded the long paddle which served to guide the vessel. The thwarts which tied the vessel's sides together (yokes or keys as they are called) served as benches for the oarsmen; those amidships had the heaviest and longest oars, so that they were places of honour reserved for the heaviest and strongest men, e.g. for Hercules and Ancæus in the Argo. Whether the 'sevenfoot,' to which Ajax retreats from the stern deck, when defending the Greek ships against the Trojans and hard pressed by them, be bench or stretcher, it gives us an idea of the breadth of the Homeric vessel at or near the place of the stroke oar. Long low galleys they must have been, with a middle plank running fore and aft, interrupted by the 'tabernacle,' in which the mast when hoisted was secured, having fore and back stays. The warriors were oarsmen, the oarsmen warriors. The smallest complement, as Thucydides observes, was fifty, the largest one hundred and twenty. It is doubtful how far the Alexandrine poets can be relied upon as giving accurate information respecting details of ancient use. Yet we have many lifelike pictures and a great profusion of details, drawn no doubt from the ample stores of antiquarian knowledge which these laborious men of letters had at their service in the great Alexandrine library, and these go to fill up that which is lacking in the Homeric picture. And so when Apollonius the Rhodian paints for us such scenes as those of the building of the Argo, the launching, the detail of the crew, and the starting of the vessel, we cannot help feeling that they are described _con amore_, not of the sea, or of ships, or of rowing, but of the literary beauty of similar descriptions by earlier poets. In a word, they are at second hand. But better this than none at all. [Illustration: ANCIENT BOAT DEPICTED ON VASE.] The 'bireme,' or two-banked vessel, does not appear in Homer. But, as we have seen, it was probably in existence before Homer's time. If of Egyptian parentage, it was adapted for use on the Mediterranean waters by the shipwrights of Sidon or Tyre. It is a curious reflection that this remarkable evolution of banked vessels should, so far as we can judge, have occupied about two thousand years; the curve, if we may use the expression, of development rising to the highest point in the useless Tesseraconteres of Ptolemy, and after Actium declining to the dromons and biremes of the Byzantine Emperor Leo, and finally subsiding into the monocrota or one-banked vessels, the galleys of mediæval times. The problem which taxed the ingenuity of those early shipwrights was briefly this, how to get greater means of propulsion by increasing the number of oars, without such increase in the length of the ship as would, by increased weight, neutralise the advantage and still further diminish that facility in turning which was of the greatest moment to the ancient war-vessel. Galleys with fifty oars on either side had already been constructed,[2] and all the speed that a hundred pairs of hands could give had been obtained, when the invention of the bireme exhibited the means of nearly doubling the power without much increasing the weight to be moved, since but little additional height or breadth was required. [2] Perhaps even with a hundred, if [hekathozygos] is to be taken literally. The normal adjustment of the horizontal space between the oarsmen was then, as it is now, regulated by that canon of the ancient philosopher, 'Man is the measure of all things.' Twice the man's cubit gives room for his legs when in a sitting posture. Hence the two-cubit standard ([schêma dipêchaikhon]) which is referred to by Vitruvius as the basis of proportion in other constructions besides ships and boats. Given this as the interscalmium (space between the thowls) or distance between points at which the oars in the same tier were rowed, it is clear that the rowing space of a vessel's side would be, for a penteconter, or twenty-five a side, seventy-five feet, and for a hecatonter, if there ever was such a thing, 150 feet. To this must be added the parts outside the oarage space ([parexeireshia]), for the bows ten feet, and something more, say twelve feet, for the stern. So that a penteconter would be a long low galley of about ninety-seven feet in length. The new invention nearly doubled the number of oars without increasing the length of the oarage space. It was found that by making apertures in the vessel's sides at about three feet from the water and dividing the space between the (zyga) thwarts, room could be made for a second row of men with shorter oars, but still handy and able to add to the propulsion of the vessel. For these seats were found in the hold (thalamus), and hence while the upper tier of the bireme took their name from the zyga, benches or thwarts, and were called 'Zygites,' the men of the lower tier were called 'Thalamites.' These names were continued when the invention of the 'thranos,' or upper seat, had added a third or upper tier with longer oars to the system, and so introduced the trireme. If the number of the zygites in the penteconter was twenty-five a side, and the first bireme was a converted vessel of that class, the number of thalamites, owing to the contraction of the bow and the stern, would necessarily be two or three a side less. Thus we may consider a converted penteconter to have been capable of carrying a rowing crew of between 90 and 100 men. Similarly a triaconter would have been capable of adding nearly twenty pairs of arms to her propelling power. When, in consequence of the new invention, vessels were expressly built as triremes, we may imagine that for convenience' sake the benches or zyga would be a little raised, so as to give more room for the raised seat of the thalamites that was fastened on to the floor of the vessel. The narrowness of the vessels affected the disposition of the rowers in the Greek galleys in a peculiar way. It is evident from the testimony of the ancients that they adhered strictly to the principle of 'one man to each oar.' The arrangement seen in mediæval galleys was absolutely unknown to them, and would not have suited them. It belongs to a different epoch and a different order of things, when the invention of the 'apostis' had made the use of large sweeps rowed by two or three men possible, and a vessel with sets of three rowing upon the same horizontal plane might be called a trireme, though utterly unlike the ancient vessel of that name. In the ancient vessel the tiers of oarsmen must have sat in nearly the same vertical plane, obliquely arranged, one behind and below the other. Thus in the bireme the zygite, as he sat on his bench, had behind him and below him his thalamite whose head was about 18 inches behind the zygite thwart and a little above it. Moreover, as his seat was now a little raised, the zygite required an _appui_ for his feet, which was formed for him on the bench on which the thalamite next below and in front of him was sitting; on either side of him his feet found a resting-place. As the zygite fell back during the stroke and straightened his knees, there was plenty of room for the thalamite below to throw his weight also on to his oar. There seems to have been but little forward motion of the body. The arms were stretched out smartly for the recovery, as we learn from Charon's instructions to Dionysus in the 'Frogs' of Aristophanes, and then a _driving smiting_ stroke was given (cf. the words [helahynein, pahiein, hanarrhiptein hala pêdô]) and the brine tossed up by the blade. When once the principle had been established, by which additional power could be gained without increasing the length of the vessel, and had been tested by practical experience, its development was sure to follow. What century witnessed the birth of the trireme is not certain, but probably by 800 B.C. the earliest vessels of this description had been launched. The quick-witted sharp-eyed Greek was not slow to copy, and by the beginning of the next century the busy shipwrights of Corinth were building the new craft for Samians as well as for themselves. It is, however, in the Attic trireme such as composed the fleets of Phormio and Conon that historical interest has centred, and though quinqueremes were commonly in use in the second and third centuries, B.C., and even still larger rates of war vessels constructed till they were _inhabilis prope magnitudinis_, unwieldy leviathans, such as the sixteen-banked flagship of Demetrius Poliorcetes, yet the interest in the trireme has never failed, and the splendour of its achievements has insured to it an attention on the part of the learned which no other class of vessel has been able to attract to itself. The problem of construction of the trireme, and of the method of its propulsion, has exercised the ingenuity of scholars ever since the revival of letters. It has a literature of its own, and it may fairly be said that if the enigma has not been solved, it is not for want of industry or acumen. One point we may as well make clear at once, viz., that whatever was the vessel the ancients invariably went upon the principle, _One man, one oar_. Volumes have been wasted in attempts to prove that the arrangement of the ancient galleys with respect to propulsion were identical with, or very similar to, those of the mediæval galleys of Genoa or Venice. But the mediæval galleys were essentially _monocrota_, or one-banked vessels, though they may have been double-banked or treble-banked in the sense that two or three men were employed upon one oar. [Illustration: BAS-RELIEF OF ANCIENT GREEK ROWING BOAT.] Another distinction that it is necessary to note with reference to the ancient galleys is that they were called _Aphract_ or _Kataphract_ according as the upper tier of rowers was unprotected and exposed to view, or fenced in by a bulwark stout enough to protect them from the enemy's missiles. The system of side planking is observable as already adopted in some of the Egyptian vessels, though of the Greeks the Thasians are credited with the invention. In the year 1834, during the process of excavating some ground for new public buildings in the Piræus near Athens, some engraved stone slabs were found built up in a low wall which had been uncovered. These were happily preserved and deciphered, and were found to be records of the dockyard authorities of the Athenian admiralty in the second and third centuries before Christ. Many interesting details were thus brought to light which were set in order by the illustrious scholar Boeckh in his volume entitled 'Urkunden über das Seewesen des attischen Staates.' His pupil Dr. Graser has carried on his researches by the examination of innumerable coins, vases, etc., and has rescued the subject from much of the obscurity which enveloped it. The following description of the trireme, based upon his labours, is quoted, by permission, from the new edition of the 'Encyclopædia Britannica,' vol. xxi. pp. 806, 807. In describing the trireme it will be convenient to deal first with the disposition of the rowers and subsequently with the construction of the vessel itself. The object of arranging the oars in banks was to economise horizontal space and to obtain an increase in the number of oars without having to lengthen the vessel. We know from Vitruvius that the 'interscalmium,' or space horizontally measured from oar to oar, was two cubits. This is exactly borne out by the proportions of an Attic aphract trireme, as shown on a fragment of a bas-relief found in the Acropolis. The rowers in all classes of banked vessels sat in the same vertical plane, the seats ascending in a line obliquely towards the stern of the vessel. Thus in a trireme the thranite, or oarsman of the highest bank, was nearest the stern of the set of three to which he belonged. Next behind him and somewhat below him sat his zygite, or oarsman of the second bank; and next below and behind the zygite sat the thalamite, or oarsman of the lowest bank. The vertical distance between these seats was 2 feet, the horizontal distance about 1 foot. The horizontal distance, it is well to repeat, between each seat in the same bank was 3 feet (the seat itself about 9 inches broad). Each man had a resting-place for his feet, somewhat wide apart, fixed to the bench of the man on the row next below and in front of him. In rowing, the upper hand, as is shown in most of the representations which remain, was held with the palm turned inwards towards the body. This is accounted for by the angle at which the oar was worked. The lowest rank used the shortest oars, and the difference of the length of the oars on board was caused by the curvature of the ship's side. Thus, looked at from within, the rowers amidship seemed to be using the longest oars, but outside the vessel, as we are expressly told, all the oar-blades of the same bank took the water in the same longitudinal line. The lowest or thalamite oar-ports were 3 feet, the zygite 4-1/4 feet, the thranite 5-1/2 feet above the water. Each oar-port was protected by an _ascoma_ or leather bag, which fitted over the oar, closing the aperture against the wash of the sea without impeding the action of the oar. The oar was tied by a thong, against which it was probably rowed, which itself was attached to a thowl ([skalmhos]). The port-hole was probably oval in shape (the Egyptian and Assyrian pictures show an oblong). We know that it was large enough for a man's head to be thrust through it. [Illustration: ANCIENT GALLEY FIGHT, FROM POMPEII.] The benches on which the rowers sat ran from the vessel's side to timbers which, inclined at an angle of about 64° towards the ship's stern, reached from the lower to the upper deck. These timbers were, according to Graser, called the diaphragmata. In the trireme each diaphragma supported three, in the quinquereme five, in the octireme eight, and in the famous tesseraconteres forty seats of rowers, who all belonged to the same 'complexus,' though each to a different bank. In effect, when once the principle of construction had been established in the trireme, the increase to larger rates was effected, so far as the motive power was concerned, by lengthening the diaphragmata upwards, while the increase in the length of the vessel gave a greater number of rowers to each bank. The upper tiers of oarsmen exceeded in number those below, as the contraction of the sides of the vessel left less available space towards the bows. Of the length of the oars in the trireme we have an indication in the fact that the length of supernumerary oars ([perinheô]) rowed from the gangway above the thranites, and therefore probably slightly exceeding the thranitic oars in length, is given in the Attic tables as 14 feet 3 inches. The thranites were probably about 14 feet. The zygite, in proportion to the measurement, must have been 10-1/2, the thalamite 7-1/2 feet long. Comparing modern oars with these, we find that the longest oars used in the British navy are 18 feet. The University race is rowed with oars 12 feet 9 inches. The proportion of the loom inboard was about one third, but the oars of the rowers amidship must have been somewhat longer inboard. The size of the loom inboard preserved the necessary equilibrium. The long oars of the larger rates were weighted inboard with lead. Thus the topmost oars of the tesseraconteres, of which the length was 53 feet, were exactly balanced at the rowlock. The Attic trireme was built light for speed and for ramming purposes. Her dimensions, so far as we can gather them from the scattered notices of antiquity, were probably approximately as follows:--length of rowing space ([hegkôpon]), 93 feet; bows, 11 feet; stern, 14 feet; total, 118 feet; add 10 feet for the beak. The breadth at the water-line is calculated at 14 feet, and above at the broadest part 18 feet, exclusive of the gangways; the space between the diaphragmata mentioned above was 7 feet. The deck was 11 feet above the water-line, and the draught about 8 to 9 feet. All the Attic triremes appear to have been built upon the same model, and their gear was interchangeable. The Athenians had a peculiar system of girding the ships with long cables ([hypozhômata]), each trireme having two or more, which, passing through eyeholes in front of the stem-post, ran all round the vessel lengthwise immediately under the waling-pieces. They were fastened at the stern and tightened up with levers. These cables, by shrinking as soon as they were wet, tightened the whole fabric of the vessel, and in action, in all probability, relieved the hull from part of the shock of ramming, the strain of which would be sustained by the waling-pieces convergent in the beaks. These rope-girdles are not to be confused with the process of undergirding or frapping, such as is narrated of the vessel in which St. Paul was being carried to Italy. The trireme appears to have had three masts. The mainmast carried square sails, probably two in number. The foremast and the mizen carried lateen sails. In action the Greeks did not use sails, and everything that could be lowered was stowed below. The mainmasts and larger sails were often left ashore if a conflict was expected. The crew of the Attic trireme consisted of from 200 to 225 men in all. Of these 174 were rowers--54 on the lower bank (thalamites), 58 on the middle bank (zygites), and 62 on the upper bank (thranites),--the upper oars being more numerous because of the contraction of the space available for the lower tiers near the bow and stern. Besides the rowers were about 10 marines ([hepibhatai]) and 20 seamen. The officers were the trierarch and next to him the helmsman ([kubernhêtês]), who was the navigating officer of the trireme. Each tier of rowers had its captain ([stoicharchhos]). There were also the captain of the forecastle ([prôrehys]), the 'keleustes' who gave the time to the rowers, and the ship's piper ([triêraulhês]). The rowers descended into the seven-foot space between the diaphragmata and took their places in regular order, beginning with the thalamites. The economy of space was such that, as Cicero remarks, there was not room for one man more. Such, we may believe, was the trireme of the palmy days of Athens. Built for speed, it was necessarily light and handy, and easily turned, so that the formidable beak could be plunged into the enemy's side, the moment a chance was given. But it required sea room for its man[oe]uvres, and in a narrow strait or land-locked harbour, such as that of Syracuse, was no match for the solid balks of timber with which Corinthian and Syracusan shipwrights strengthened the bows of their vessels. Against these the pride of Athens was hurled in vain, only to find itself broken up and rendered unseaworthy by the crash of its own ram. With the defeat of Athens comes in the fashion of larger vessels with more banks of oars, quadriremes, quinqueremes, and so on up to sixteen banks, when the increase of the motive power had been more than overtaken by the increase in bulk and weight. The principles of construction in these larger vessels seem to have been the same as in the trireme. The space for each man was probably somewhat less, and the handles of the upper tiers of oars were weighted with lead, so as to give a balance at the thowl between the parts outboard and inboard. A question difficult to solve has often been raised respecting the pace at which these ancient galleys could be propelled. If five-man power could be taken as equivalent to one-horse power, then for the propulsion of the trireme there would have been available about thirty-five horse power, but that would hardly give a very high rate of speed. There is a passage in Xenophon[3] in which he speaks of a distance of about 150 nautical miles, from Byzantium to Heraclea, as possible for a trireme in a day, but a long day's work. Assuming eighteen hours' work out of the twenty-four, a speed of something over eight knots per hour would be required for this, which may perhaps seem excessive. Still we may believe that by a crew when fresh a pace not less than this could be achieved. [3] _Anab._ vi. 42. The Romans, though it may be inferred from treaties with Carthage and with Tarentum that they had some kind of fleet in the time even of the kings, yet did not apply themselves readily to maritime pursuits, and made no serious effort to become masters of the Mediterranean till the first Punic War. We hear then of their copying a quinquereme which had fallen into their hands by accident. A fleet was constructed in sixty days from the time that the trees were first cut down, and meantime crews were practised diligently in rowing on dry land in a framework of timber which represented the interior of the vessels that were building. This first essay at extemporising a fleet does not seem to have been very successful. But nothing daunted they persevered, and the second venture under the Admiral Duillius took with it to sea a new invention called the 'corvus,' a sort of boarding bridge by which, when it once fell on the enemy's vessel, the Roman infantry soon found its way on to his deck, and made short work with the swarthy African crew. This revolutionised the maritime struggle, and gave unexpectedly the naval superiority to Rome. The large vessels of war (_alta navium propugnacula_) continued to be built until the time of Actium, when the light Liburnian galleys, which were biremes, were found to be more than a match for the leviathans, whose doom from that moment was sealed. From that time, with the exception of the accounts of _naumachiæ_, there is very little of interest about galleys to be gathered. The coins and the paintings of Pompeii show us craft degenerating in type. The column of Trajan exhibits biremes as still in vogue. Later on there is a light thrown upon the subject by the _Tactica_ of the Byzantine Emperor Leo about 800 A.D., who gives directions as to the building and composition of his fleet, which is to consist of biremes, or dromones as he calls them, and light galleys with one bank of oars. From these latter eventually sprang the mediæval galley, which however differed from the ancient galley in the arrangement of its oars by the use of the 'apostis,' a projecting framework which took the place of the ancient 'parodus,' and upon which the thowls were placed, against which the long sweeps could be plied by two or three men attached to each. For full and accurate descriptions of these mediæval vessels the reader who has any curiosity on the subject should consult the ample works of M. Jal. His _Archéologie Navale_ and _Glossaire Nautique_ contain the fullest information as regards the build, and fittings, and crews of the mediæval galley. The sorrows and sufferings of 'la Chiourme' were enough to give rowing a bad name, as an employment too cruel even for slaves and fit to be reserved for criminals of the worst description. It is in England, and in the hands of English free men and boys, that the oar has maintained an honourable name, as the instrument of a pastime healthy and vigorous, with a record not inglorious of struggles in which the strength and skill of the nation's youth have contended for the pride of place and the joy of victory. CHAPTER II. THE RISE OF MODERN OARSMANSHIP. [Illustration: HENLEY COURSE (BETWEEN RACES).] GENERAL. Written records of rowing performances in the last century are but scarce. In 1715 Mr. Doggett, comedian, founded a race which has survived to the present day--to wit, 'Doggett's coat and badge' (of freedom of the river). 'Watermen' have to serve as 'apprentices' for seven years, during which time they may not ply for hire on their own account, but only on behalf of their masters. When they have served their time they can become 'free' of the river, on payment of certain fees to the Corporation. In order to encourage good oarsmanship, prizes which paid the fees for freedom, and bestowed a 'coat and badge' of merit, have often been given by patrons of aquatics. Doggett's prize is the oldest of its class, and of all established races. The contest used to be from London Bridge to Chelsea against the ebb--a severe test of stamina; and formerly six only of the many applicants for competition were allowed to row, being selected by lot. The race is now reformed. It is managed by the Fishmongers' Company. The course is changed, so far that it is now rowed on the flood. This makes it fairer; on the ebb, it is hard to pass a leader who hugs the shore in the slack tide. 'Trial heats' are now rowed, to weed off competitors till the old standard number of six only are left in. Authentic records of the race exist since 1791. Mr. Brickwood, who has taken much pains to look up old accounts, informs us in his 'Boat Racing' that the Westminster 'water ledger,' dating June 1813, is the earliest authentic record of Thames aquatics of this century. We venture to give the result of Mr. Brickwood's researches in his own words:-- This book commences in the year 1813 with a single list of the six-oared boat 'Fly,' viz., Messrs. H. Parry, E. O. Cleaver, E. Parry, W. Markham, W. F. de Ros, G. Randolph. The 'Fly' continued to be the only boat of this school down to 1816 inclusive, in which latter year it 'beat the Temple six-oared boat (Mr. Church stroke), in a race from Johnson's dock to Westminster Bridge, by half a boat; the latter men having been beat before;' to which is added a note that the Temple boat 'requested the K. S. to row this short distance, having been completely beat by them in a longer row the same evening.' In 1817 there was a six-oar built for Westminster, called the 'Defiance,' and 'sheepskin seats were introduced.' In 1818, the 'Westminster were challenged by the Etonians,' and a six-oared crew was in course of preparation for the race, but the contest was prohibited. In 1819 an eight-oar called the 'Victory' was launched, but the six-oar 'Defiance' appears to have been the representative crew of the school, for there is a note that in the spring of 1821 'the boat improved considerably and beat the "Eagle" in a short pull from Battersea to Putney Bridge.' In 1823 a new six-oared cutter was built, and the name of 'Queen Bess' given in honour of the illustrious foundress. In 1823 this boat was started from the Horseferry at half past five in the morning, and reached Chertsey bridge by three o'clock. On their way back they dined at Walton, and again reached the Horseferry by a quarter before nine. The crew of the eight-oar 'Victory' in the same year 'distinguished themselves in the Temple race and several others.' A new eight called the 'Challenge' was launched in 1824, and the record says this boat did beat every boat that it came alongside of, as also did the 'Victory.' And again in April 13, 1825, this boat ('Challenge') started from the Horseferry at four minutes past three in the morning, reached Sunbury to breakfast at half past seven, and having taken luncheon at the London Stairs, just above Staines, went through Windsor bridge by two o'clock in the afternoon. After having seen Eton, the crew returned to Staines to dinner, and ultimately arrived at the Horseferry, having performed this distance in twenty-one hours. The locks detained them full three hours, and, including all stoppages, they were detained seven hours. A waterman of the name of Ellis steered the boat in this excursion, and both steered and conducted himself remarkably well. Such are some of the early Westminster School annals, as collated by Mr. Brickwood. One cannot help feeling that if these long journeys were samples of the school aquatics, it is not to be wondered that parents and guardians of old days imbibed prejudices against rowing, and considered it injurious both to health and to study. In the following decade there seem to have been plenty of aquatics current. The 'Bell's Life' files of those days teem with aquatic notes. One day we read (dated May 26, 1834) a self-exculpatory letter from Dr. Williamson, head-master of Westminster School, explaining why he did not approve of his scholars rowing a match against Eton, and complaining of the 'intemperance and excesses which such matches lead to.' On July 3, says 'Bell' of July 6 in that year, a match was rowed between a randan (Campbell, Moulton, and Godfrey) and a four-oar (Harris, Eld, Butcher, and Dodd, Cole cox.)--from Putney to Westminster. The randan were favourites, and led; but Moulton fainted, and the four won. The race was for a purse of 70_l._--50_l._ for winners and 20_l._ for losers. In the same paper, Williams challenges Campbell to a match--apparently for the incipient title of Champion of the Thames. Williams wishes Campbell to stake 40_l._ to 30_l._, because he is six years the younger. Compare the modesty of these stakes with those for which modern champion, and some less important matches, are rowed! [Illustration: METHOD OF STARTING THE COLLEGE EIGHTS PRIOR TO 1825--OXFORD.] 'Lyons House' seems to have been a sort of resort for amateurs. Cole, who steered the waterman's four (_supra_) _v._ the randan, is described as the waterman of those rooms. On July 8, same year, a Mr. Kemp, of the 3rd Dragoon Guards, matches himself for a large stake to 'row his own boat' from Hampton Court to Westminster and back in nine hours. Time is favourite, but Mr. Kemp wins by 27 minutes, having met the tide for several miles of his voyage. Such are a few samples of the current style of aquatic sports between 1830 and 1840. The 'Wingfield Sculls' were founded in 1830, given by the donor, whose name they bear, to be held as a challenge prize by the best sculler of the day from Westminster to Putney, against all comers, on the '4th of August for ever'--so a silver plate in the lid of the old box which holds the silver sculls bears testimony. Since its foundation the prize has been more than once placed on a different footing. Parliaments of old champions and competitors for the prize have been summoned, and the original donor gave assent to the changes of course and _régime_. Lists of winners and competitors from year to year, with notes as to the course rowed, will be found in 'Tables' later on. The race has from its earliest years been described by amateurs as equivalent of 'amateur championship.' A panoply of silver plates has grown up in and around the box which holds the trophy, and on these plates is recorded the name of each winner from year to year. About a quarter of a century ago a 'champion badge' was instituted. It consists of a small edition of the Diamond Sculls (Henley) challenge prize; as to shape, it is a pair of silver sculls crossed with an enamel wreath and mounted on a ribbon like a 'decoration' or 'order.' There is a 'clasp' for the year of winning. A second win only adds a fresh clasp with date, but no second badge. The secretary of the 'order' is Mr. E. D. Brickwood, himself winner of the title in 1861. UNIVERSITY TRAINING. Eight-oars had been manned at Eton before they found their way to Oxford. At Cambridge they appeared still later. At both Universities a plurality of eight-oars clubs had existed for some seasons before the first University match--1829. In 1881, at the time when the 'Jubilee' dinner of University boat-racing was held, the writer took the opportunity of the presence in London of the Rev. T. Staniforth, the stroke of the first winning University eight, to inquire from him his recollections of college boat-racing in his undergraduate days. Fortunately for posterity, Mr. Staniforth had kept a diary during his Oxford career, and it had noted many a fact connected with aquatics. He kindly undertook to bring to London at his next visit his diaries of Oxford days. He met the writer, searched his diaries, and out of them recorded history which was taken down from his lips, and reduced to the following article, which appeared in 'Land and Water' of December 17, 1881.[4] It is now reproduced verbatim, by leave. The writer regrets to say that, from various causes, he has been unable to pursue his researches beyond the dates when Mr. Staniforth's diaries cease to record Oxford aquatics. [4] See Appendix. There must be many an old oarsman still alive who can recall historical facts between 1830 and 1836, and it is hoped that such memories may be reduced to writing for the benefit of posterity, and for the honour of the oarsmen of those years, before _tempus edax rerum_ makes it too late. The writer considers that he will do better thus to reproduce verbatim his own former contribution to 'Land and Water' than to paraphrase it. The more so because much of the text of it is actually the [hepea pterhoenta] of the old Oxford stroke, taken down as uttered from his lips to the writer, and read over again to him for emendation or other alteration, before the interview in question was concluded. It may be added that Mr. Staniforth kindly showed to the writer the actual text of the diaries referred to, from which he refreshed his memory and recorded the appended history. As to the intermediate history between 1830 and 1837, in which year the Brasenose boating record opens (two seasons before an O.U.B.C. was founded), Christ Church started head in 1837; therefore, apparently, they finished head in 1836. [Illustration: OXFORD BOAT IN 1829.] Mr. Brickwood, in his book on 'Boat Racing,' has collected some history of these years, but unfortunately he does not record the source, so that what might be a tree of knowledge for inquirers to pluck more from seems to be sealed against our curiosity. We have, however, to thank him for the following information, which we reproduce (page 157 of 'Boat Racing'):-- 1833.--Queen's College is chronicled as head of the river at Oxford this being the only record between 1825 and 1834. Christ Church, it is true, was said to have kept that position for many years, but the precise number is not given. However, there seems no doubt that Christ Church was head in 1834, 1835, and 1836, after which the official record commences. Mr. Brickwood, moreover, seems to have gleaned from some independent source sundry valuable details of early Oxford races. He tells us that 'the first known races were those of the college eights in 1815, when Brasenose was the head boat, and their chief and perhaps their only opponent was Jesus.' He speaks of four-oared races in the next ensuing years, and of a match between Mr. de Ros' four and a pair manned by a B.N.C. man and a waterman--won by the pair. Then comes some information as to the years 1822, 1824, and 1825, which exactly tallies with Mr. Staniforth's journals, save that Mr. Brickwood ascribes the discontinuance of the races in 1823 directly to the recorded quarrel between B.N.C. and Jesus; whereas Mr. Staniforth attributes it to the untimely death of Musgrave (_supra_). The first University race took place in 1829, over the course from Hambledon Lock to Henley. Mr. Staniforth states that till the Oxford went to practise over the course, no one thought of steering an eight through the Berks channel, past 'regatta' island. However, the Oxonians 'timed' the two straits, and decided to select the Berks one, if they got the chance. They took that channel in the race and won easily. A foul occurred in the first essay at starting, and the boats were restarted. This pair of pioneer University crews produced men of more than usual celebrity in after life: two embryo bishops, three deans, one prebendary, and divers others hereafter In hamlet and hall As well known to all As the vane of the old church spire. The full list of the crews engaged in this and in all other contests in which Universities were represented, will be found in 'Tables' towards the end of this volume. At this time there was no O.U.B.C., nor did such an organisation exist until 1839, when a 'meeting of strokes' of the various colleges was convened, and a generally representative club was founded. At Cambridge a U.B.C. had existed since 1827. In that year the system of college eights seems to have been instituted, according to the testimony of Dr. Merivale, still Dean of Ely, and a member of the C.U.B.C. crew of 1829. Trinity were head of the river on that occasion, and there seems to have been also a Westminster club, of an independent nature in Trinity. The records of college racing at Cambridge seem to be unbroken since their institution; whereas those of Oxford were for many years unofficial and without central organisation, and consequently without official record, until 1839. The Brasenose Club record dates from 1837. [Illustration: BUMPING RACES (OLD STYLE).] The next occasion in which a University eight figured was in a match which somehow seems to have slipped out of public memory, though it occurred several years later than the first match between the Universities. The writer was talking to old George West, the well-known Oxford waterman, in 1882, at the L.R.C. boat-house, while waiting for the practice of the U.B.C. crews of that year. Casually old George remarked, 'I steered a University eight once, sir.' The writer looked incredulous. 'Yes, against Leander--Leander won,' quoth George. The writer had known West since his school days, and had heard him recapitulate his aquatic memories times out of mind, but never till that hour had he heard any allusion to this Leander match. Only the year before, the 'Jubilee' dinner of old Blues had taken place, and all who had ever been known to have represented their University in a match or regatta were asked to join in the celebration. At that date not one of the executive had any inkling of this match, although one of the Oxford crew, the present Bishop of Norwich, could certainly have been found at an hour's notice. Letters from old oarsmen, who had not actually rowed for the flag (often because there was no match during their career), used to pour in while the jubilee feast was in preparation, asking for admittance to it. None of this Oxford crew seem to have put in any claim. A slight, though an unintentional one, was thus perpetrated upon all of them, whether alive or dead, by the omission to record them as old Blues on that occasion. When the writer compiled the history of 'Old Blues and their Battles,' which Mr. G. T. Treherne incorporated in his book of 'Record of the University Boat Race,' and which was published soon after the jubilee, neither of these gentlemen was aware of this race. No speaker at the banquet seemed to remember or allude to it. Yet, on referring to old files of 'Bell's Life,' record of this match is to be found. Since it was recorded in that journal, it seems to have been unnoticed in any print till now. Better late than never; the performers in it are now officially brought to light, and their names will be found in the tables of University oarsmen and their opponents, later on. This match was for 200_l._ a side. Leander would row on no other terms, and insisted on having their own waterman to steer them, as they did in their later matches against Cambridge. This was the only Oxford University eight ever steered by a professional. Only one of the 1829 crew seems to have remained to do duty in this race. The Pelham referred to is now Bishop of Norwich. He used, before this, to row in the Christ Church eight behind Staniforth. The Waterford is the former marquis of that ilk, who lost his life later on through a fall when hunting. _En passant_, it may be mentioned that Bishop Selwyn (of C.U.B.C. crew 1829) and Pelham of Oxford 1834, each begat sons who rowed for their respective Universities: Selwyn, junr. 1864 and 1866; Pelham, junr. 1877 and 1878. The latter oarsman unfortunately lost his life in the Alps very shortly afterwards. J. R. Selwyn has succeeded his late father as a colonial bishop. Inasmuch as we here record, for the first time for two generations, a lost chapter of University Boat Racing, we think it will be of interest to append the account given, in 'Bell's Life' of that day, of this forgotten match. EIGHT-OARED MATCH--LONDON AND THE OXFORD AMATEURS FOR £200.[5] [5] _Bell's Life_, Sunday, June 26, 1831. This interesting match was decided on Saturday week at Henley Reach. The Trinity boat, built by Archer of Lambeth, proved successful on a former occasion when opposed to the Oxonians, was, we understand, again selected by them in the first instance, but they ultimately decided on rowing in a boat built by Searle, which they considered had been unjustly denounced 'a rank bad un,' simply on the score of the Cambridge gentlemen and the Westminster Scholars having lost their matches in her--the former against Oxford, and the latter against the Etonians. The gentlemen of Oxford selected a large but peculiarly light eight belonging to Mr. Davis of Oxford. On Friday the London gentlemen left town for Henley, and took up their quarters at the Red Lion. Noulton of Lambeth was selected to steer them. Although Oxford were favourites on the match being first concocted, it was with difficulty that a bet could be made on the Londoners on the last two days, and then only at 6 to 4 against Oxford. At about 6.30 the contending parties arrived in their cutters near the lock, to row from thence against the stream to Henley Bridge, which is reckoned two and a quarter miles. The names of the respective parties and their stations in the cutters were as follows: _London_--Bishop (stroke), Captain Shaw, J. Bayford, Lewis, Cannon, Weedon, Revell, Hornemann. _Oxford_--Copplestone (stroke), Lloyd, Barnes, Pelham, Peard, Marsh, Marquis of Waterford, Carter. The latter was steered, we believe, by a boy belonging to the lock. Mr. Hume and Mr. Bayford were appointed umpires on part of the London gentlemen, and Mr. Lloyd and another gentleman on the side of Oxford. The Oxford gentlemen won the toss and took the inside station. The umpires having a second time asked if all was ready, receiving an answer in the affirmative, gave the signal. In less than a dozen seconds the London gentlemen almost astounded their opponents by going about a boat's length in advance, so rapid were their strokes when compared with those of Oxford. The Oxford gentlemen soon recovered. Before half the distance had been rowed London were two lengths in advance. The Oxonians, finding they were losing ground, made a desperate effort and succeeded in coming within a painter's length. On nearing the goal the exertions of each party were increasing. One London gentleman (Captain Shaw) seemed so much exhausted, that it was feared he would not hold out the remaining distance. Noulton, seeing this and fearing the consequence, observing the Oxford gentlemen fast approaching them, said that 'if the Londoners did not give it her it would be all up with them.' They did give it her, and the consequence was they became victorious by about two boats' lengths. The distance was rowed in 11-1/4 minutes. The exertions at the conclusion of the contest became lamentably apparent. Captain Shaw nearly fainted and had to be carried ashore; Mr. Bayford was obliged to retire to bed instantly; so was also one of the Oxford gentlemen. The others were more or less exhausted. The London gentlemen rowed to town on Tuesday, and were greeted on their way with cheering and cannon. On arriving at Searle's a _feu-de-joie_ was fired. _Note._--Of the various performers in this Oxford crew, the following notices of the after career of some may be of interest. Messrs. Copplestone and Pelham rose to adorn the episcopate. Mr. Peard became known to fame as 'Garibaldi's Englishman,' and played an important part in the cause of the liberation of Italy. There had been a second University match in 1836, this time from Westminster to Putney (see Tables). No official record exists of this. It is said that 'light blue' was on this occasion first adopted by Cambridge. Certainly in 1829 the Cantab crew wore _pink_, while Oxford sported blue. The late Mr. R. M. Phillips, of Christ's, used to tell the writer that he it was who fortuitously founded light blue on this occasion. He was on the raft at Searle's when the Cantab crew were preparing to start (either for the race or for a day's practice) the race so far as recollection of Mr. Phillips' narrative serves the writer. One of the crew said, 'We have no colours.' Mr. Phillips ran off to buy some ribbon in Stangate. An old Etonian accompanied him, and suggested 'Eton ribbon for luck.' It was bought, it came in first, and was adhered to in later years by Cambridge. [Illustration: A COLLEGE PAIR.] In 1837 the head college crews of the two Universities rowed a match at Henley. The Brasenose book says, Christ Church were head, but took off because their Dean objected to their rowing at Henley; the effect of their 'taking off' was to leave Queen's College, on whom the representation of the college crews would devolve, with the titular headship. The B.N.C. book says, the Queen's crew went, 'as was usual,' to row the head boat of Cambridge, and beat them easily. The latter statement is correct. Mr. Brickwood in his treatise demurs to the accuracy of the B.N.C. allegation that such matches were 'usual,' and research qualifies his scepticism. The B.N.C. hon. sec. of that day seems to have been drawing somewhat upon his imagination. He had probably heard of these various Leander and other matches at Henley in other years; hence his inference. 1837. _Henley. College match._ QUEEN'S. | LADY MARGARET (St. John's). 1. Lee, Stanlake. | 1. Shadwell, Alfred H. 2. Glazbrook, Robert. | 2. Colquhoun, Patrick. 3. Welsh, Jos. | 3. Wood, H. O. 4. Robinson, John. | 4. Antrobus, Edmund. 5. Meyrick, Jos. | 5. Budd, R. H. 6. Todd, Jos. | 6. Fane, W. D. 7. Eversley, John. | 7. Fletcher, Ralph. Penny, Chas. J. (stroke). | Hurt, Robert (stroke). Berkeley, Geo. T. (cox.). | Jackson, Curtis (cox.). The names of the Queen's and St. John's crews are here given, instead of recording them in the lists of University oars, for this was not strictly a University race, though in those days it had almost as much prestige as one. In 1839 the third University match was rowed, and Henley Regatta was founded. At the Universities, about this date, various prizes were established, all of which gave a stimulus to oarsmanship. Pair-oar races were established at Oxford in 1839. They were rowed with coxswains until 1847. At Cambridge similar pairs were founded in 1844, and were rowed from the first without coxswains. The obsolete rudder of the Oxford pairs is now held by the coxswain of the head eight. The Colquhoun Sculls had been founded at Cambridge in 1837. 'University Sculls' were instituted at Oxford in 1841. Four-oar races, each crew to be from one college, were founded at Oxford in 1840, and at Cambridge in 1849. Thus, by the latter year, each U.B.C. had its set of contests for all classes of craft--eights, fours, pairs, and sculls. Lists of the winners of these various honours from year to year will be found elsewhere in this volume. [Illustration: TOWING GUARD BOATS UP HENLEY REACH.] Aquatics may be said to have reached full swing with the completion of these institutions at the Universities. Matches between the Universities were propounded annually by one or other club from 1839, but time and place could not always be agreed upon, nor could 'dons' be always persuaded to allow men to row in such races. There was many a hitch in old days, from one cause or another. Since 1850 the U.B.C.'s have annually met each other in some shape or other at Henley, or in a match; since, and including, 1856 matches over the Putney course have been annual. Since 1859 neither University has put on at any regatta. Various causes tended to stimulate rowing, e.g. regattas and also professional racing, which is dealt with separately under the head of 'Professionals.' A perusal of the tables of records of Henley and other regattas will also show how competitions gradually increased in number, and also in the fields which they produced. REGATTAS. The institution of Henley Regatta in 1839 was the outcome of the various eight-oared matches which have been rowed on that part of the river during the ten years preceding. The regatta began with one prize only, the Grand Challenge Cup, a trophy which is unique for classical design, and which is to this day the 'blue ribbon' for amateur clubs. The gradual growth of Henley may be traced by perusal of a leading article contributed by the writer of this chapter to the 'Field,' in the July of 1886, on the eve of the greatest change which the regatta has undergone, that of alteration of the course. The article is now reproduced,[6] through the courtesy of the proprietors of that journal. [6] See Appendix. The new course, as compared with the old one, will best be understood by reference to the map of the reach, which appears elsewhere. The change has had only two trials, those of 1886 and 1887, but it may be said that so far rowing clubs which frequent Henley are unanimous in approving of the alteration; and so are all retired oarsmen, whose personal experience of the regatta was under the old _régime_. [Illustration: STARTING THE EIGHTS--OLD COURSE, HENLEY.] The old course was very one-sided. In the middle third of a mile--on a stormy day--with a stiff wind from W. or S.W., the shelter of the Bucks bushes--especially before house-boats and steam launches multiplied and monopolised the frontage of the Bucks and Oxon shores--used to reverse entirely the advantage otherwise pertaining to the Berks stations. On such a day the Berks station placed most boats hopelessly out of the race, unless they could keep within a length of the Bucks boat till the 'point' was reached--in which case the poplar corner made a pretty counterpoise to the advantage of Bucks shelter, and caused some interesting finishes. Under the new _régime_ not more than two boats can row in one heat; and as the course is now staked out, and neither competitor can hug the bank, the difference between windward and leeward stations, even when hereafter a gale shall blow, will no longer be so glaring as of old. [Illustration: PAIR-OAR.] The Universities no longer compete at Henley. In these days of keelless boats more practice is needed, in order to do justice to the craft, than when heavier and steadier craft were used. It is found to be impossible to collect all the eight best men of either U.B.C. twice in one year. Examination and other causes reduce the ranks more or less; and, as the annual Putney match between the Universities is considered by them to be of more importance than any other contest, they devote their best energies to that, and leave minor sections of either U.B.C. to fight Henley battles. It is found that a good college eight, or a club crew of which some one college forms a nucleus, can be got together better, in the limited time available for practice for the regatta, than eight better men who probably cannot find time to practise all together for more than a week, and who will further, for the same reason, be short of condition. Till 1856, it was the custom for the U.B.C.'s, if they could not agree as to time and place for a match, to assent to meet each other in the Grand Challenge; and such meetings ranked practically as University matches. Records of these _rencontres_ of the U.B.C.'s will be found in tables at the end of this volume, together with a history of Henley past and future. The 'Seven-oar episode' of 1843 was not a University match or meeting. The O.U.B.C. were entered at Henley; Cambridge were represented by the 'Cambridge Rooms;' but the C.U.B.C. was not officially represented by that crew. Just before the final heat, the Oxford stroke fainted, and the Cambridge reasonably objected to the introduction of a substitute. The Oxonians then decided to row with seven oars. They had a wind abeam, favouring the side which was manned by only three oars. They eventually won by a length, or thereabouts. In 1843 the Thames Regatta was started, and greatly supplemented the attractions of Henley. The mistake of this regatta was the rule which made challenge prizes the permanent property of any crew which could win them thrice in succession. By this means the Gold Cup for eights, the _pièce de résistance_ of the regatta, passed in 1848 to the possession of the 'Thames' Club. The regatta lingered on one year longer, shorn of its chief glory, and then died out. Records of the winners of the chief prizes at it, amateurs as well as professionals, will be found in 'Tables.' In 1854 a new Thames regatta, called the 'National,' was founded. It was supported by the 'Thames Subscription Club,' and died with that club in 1866. In the last year of its existence it introduced amateur prizes as well as the usual bonuses for professionals. In 1866 a very important regatta was founded--the Metropolitan. Its founders expected it to eclipse Henley, by dint of offers of more valuable prizes, but it never took the fancy of the University element, and for want of the wider-spread competition which strong entries from the U.B.C.'s would have produced, it never attained the prestige of Henley. Still the honours of winning eights, fours, pairs, or sculls at it rank, in amateur estimation, second only to Henley. Barnes Regatta is of very old standing. The tideway is always a drawback to scenery, but Barnes always used to produce good audiences and good competitors. Its chief patrons were tideway clubs and the Kingston Rowing Club. [Illustration: GONDOLA.] Walton-on-Thames flourished in the 'sixties.' It has now died out. It was as a picnic second only to Henley. The course was rather one-sided, and hardly long enough to test stamina. Molesey Regatta, of less than ten years' growth, now holds much the same station in aquatics that Walton-on-Thames once claimed. It draws its sinews of war from much the same up-river locality that used to feed Walton. Kingston-on-Thames has a longer history than any regatta except Henley. Its fortunes hang on the Kingston Rowing Club, but it is well patronised by tideway clubs. Regattas have for a season or two been known at Staines and Chertsey, but they depended on some one or two local men of energy, and, when this support failed, they died out. Reading has a good reach, and has of late come to the fore with a good meeting and a handsome challenge cup. To return to watermen's regattas. The late Mr. J. G. Chambers, and a strong gathering of amateur allies of his, revived a second series of Thames regattas in 1868; these meetings were confined to watermen and other professionals, whose doings are scheduled in 'Tables' hereafter. How the second series of Thames National regattas followed the fate of series No. 1, and of the 'Royal Thames Regatta' before that, will be found in the chapter on professional rowing. The so-called 'International' Regatta lived but two years, and fell through so soon as its mercenary promoters came to the conclusion that they could not see their way to harvest filthy lucre out of it. There used to be a well-attended regatta at Talkintarn, in the Lake district. It died out from causes similar to those which led to the collapse of the 'Royal' Thames regattas, i.e. the dedication of its prizes to those who could win them a certain number of times consecutively. The Messrs. Brickwood thus became the absolute owners of the chief prize for pairs, and a Tyne crew became the proprietors of the four-oar prize. The Tyne, the Wear, Chester, Bedford, Tewkesbury, Worcester, Bridgnorth, Bath, and other provincial towns produce regattas, but none of them succeed in drawing many of the leading Thames clubs, and without these no regatta ever establishes even second-class prestige. The rules of Henley Regatta are here appended. They serve to inform intending competitors of the code under which they will have to enter and to row, and they may also offer valuable hints to other regatta executives, present and future. HENLEY ROYAL REGATTA. _Established_ 1839. _President._ THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD CAMOYS. _Stewards._ THE MAYOR OF HENLEY. The Rt. Hon. the EARL OF | FREDK. FENNER, Esq. MACCLESFIELD. | H. T. STEWARD, Esq. W. H. VANDERSTEGEN, Esq. | Colonel BASKERVILLE. ALEXANDER C. FORBES, Esq. | HUGH MAIR, Esq. J. F. HODGES, Esq. | Sir F. G. STAPYLTON, Bart. HENRY KNOX, Esq. | W. H. GRENFELL, Esq., M.P. J. W. RHODES, Esq. | J. H. D. GOLDIE, Esq. W. D. MACKENZIE, Esq. | The Rt. Hon. LORD LONDESBOROUGH. HENRY HODGES, Esq. | T. C. EDWARDES-MOSS, Esq., M.P. The Rev. E. WARRE, D.D. | J. COOPER, Esq. F. WILLAN, Esq. | J. PAGE, Esq. CHARLES STEPHENS, Esq. | A. BRAKSPEAR, Esq. JOHN NOBLE, Esq. | The Rt. Hon. the EARL OF ANTRIM. The Rt. Hon. W. H. SMITH, | M.P. | A. BRAKSPEAR, _Hon. Treasurer_. J. F. COOPER, _Secretary_. * * * * * CONSTITUTION. On May 16, 1885, at a meeting of the stewards, the following resolutions were agreed to:-- 1. That the stewards of Henley Regatta shall constitute a council for the general control of the affairs of the regatta. 2. That the stewards shall elect a president, who shall, if present, take the chair at the general meetings. 3. That the chairman shall have a casting vote. 4. That not less than _five_ shall form a quorum at the general meetings. 5. That two ordinary general meetings shall be held in each year, one in the month of May and another in the month of November. 6. That other general meetings shall be summoned by the secretary, when ordered by the president, or at the request of any two stewards, in writing, provided that not less than fourteen days' notice shall be given of any such meeting. 7. That the stewards shall elect annually, at the meeting in November, from their own body, a committee of management. 8. That the number of the committee shall not exceed twelve, of whom not less than _three_ shall form a quorum. 9. That the committee shall elect one of their own body to act as chairman. 10. That the committee be empowered to manage and exercise control over all matters connected with the regatta, excepting such as shall involve the alteration of any of the published rules of the regatta. 11. That the committee shall present a report, together with a statement of accounts, to the stewards, annually, at the November meeting in each year. 12. That meetings of the committee shall be summoned by the secretary when ordered by the chairman, or at the request of any two members of the committee, in writing, providing that not less than one week's notice be given of any such meeting. 13. That the committee shall have power to make and publish by-laws respecting any matter connected with the management of the regatta, not already determined in the published rules. 14. That no alteration shall be made in any of the foregoing resolutions, or in any of the published rules of the regatta, except at a general meeting specially convened for that purpose, of which fourteen days' notice shall be given, such notice to state the alterations proposed, and unless the alteration be carried by a majority of two-thirds at a meeting of not less than nine stewards. * * * * * QUALIFICATION RULES. THE GRAND CHALLENGE CUP, FOR EIGHT-OARS. Any crew of amateurs who are members of any University or Public School, or who are officers of her Majesty's army or navy, or any amateur club established at least one year previous to the day of entry, shall be qualified to contend for this prize. THE STEWARDS' CHALLENGE CUP, FOR FOUR-OARS. The same as for the Grand Challenge Cup. THE LADIES' CHALLENGE PLATE, FOR EIGHT-OARS. Any crew of amateurs who are members of any of the boat clubs of colleges, or non-collegiate boat clubs of the Universities, or boat clubs of any of the Public Schools, in the United Kingdom only, shall be qualified to contend for this prize; but no member of any college or non-collegiate crew shall be allowed to row for it who has exceeded four years from the date of his first commencing residence at the University; and each member of a Public School crew shall, at the time of entering, be _bonâ fide_ a member '_in statu pupillari_' of such school. THE VISITORS' CHALLENGE CUP, FOR FOUR-OARS. The same as for the Ladies' Challenge Plate. THE THAMES CHALLENGE CUP, FOR EIGHT-OARS. The qualification for this cup shall be the same as for the Grand Challenge Cup; but no one (coxswains excepted) may enter for this cup who has ever rowed in a winning crew for the Grand Challenge Cup or Stewards' Challenge Cup; and no one (substitutes as per Rule 7 excepted) may enter, and no one shall row, for this cup and for the Grand Challenge Cup or Stewards' Challenge Cup at the same regatta. THE WYFOLD CHALLENGE CUP, FOR FOUR-OARS. The qualification for this cup shall be the same as for the Stewards' Challenge Cup; but no one shall enter for this cup who has ever rowed in a winning crew for the Stewards' Challenge Cup; and no one (substitutes as per Rule 11 excepted) may enter, and no one shall row, for this cup and for the Stewards' Challenge Cup at the same regatta. THE SILVER GOBLETS, FOR PAIR-OARS. Open to all amateurs duly entered for the same according to the rules following. THE DIAMOND CHALLENGE SCULLS, FOR SCULLS. Open to all amateurs duly entered for the same according to the rules following. * * * * * GENERAL RULES. _Definition._--1. No person shall be considered an amateur oarsman, sculler, or coxswain-- (_a_) Who has ever taken part in any open competition for a stake, money, or entrance fee; (_b_) Who has ever knowingly competed with or against a professional for any prize; (_c_) Who has ever taught, pursued, or assisted in the practice of athletic exercises of any kind for profit; (_d_) Who has ever been employed in or about boats, or in manual labour for money or wages; (_e_) Who is or has been by trade or employment, for wages, a mechanic, artisan, or labourer, or engaged in any menial duty. _Eligibility._--2. No one shall be eligible to row or steer for a club unless he has been a member of that club for at least two months preceding the regatta, but this rule shall not apply to colleges, schools, or crews composed of officers of her Majesty's army or navy. _Entries._--3. The entry of any amateur club, crew, or sculler, in the United Kingdom, must be made ten clear days before the regatta, and the names of the captain or secretary of each club or crew must accompany the entry. A copy of the list of entries shall be forwarded by the secretary of the regatta to the captain or secretary of each club or crew duly entered. 4. The entry of any crew or sculler, out of the United Kingdom, must be made on or before March 31, and any such entry must be accompanied by a declaration, made before a notary public, with regard to the profession of each person so entering, to the effect that he has never taken part in any open competition for a stake, money, or entrance fee; has never knowingly competed with nor against a professional for any prize; has never taught, pursued, or assisted in the practice of athletic exercises of any kind for profit; has never been employed in or about boats, or in manual labour for money or wages; is not, and never has been, by trade or employment, for wages, a mechanic, artisan, or labourer, or engaged in any menial duty; and in cases of the entry of a crew, that each member thereof is a member of a club duly established at least one year previous to the day of entry; and such declaration must be certified by the British Consul, or the Mayor, or the chief authority of the locality. 5. No assumed name shall be given to the secretary, unless accompanied by the real name of the competitor. 6. No one shall enter twice for the same race. 7. The secretary of the regatta shall not divulge any entry, nor report the state of the entrance list, until such list be closed. 8. Entrance money for each boat shall be paid to the secretary at the time of entering, as follows:-- _£._ _s._ _d._ For the Grand Challenge Cup 6 6 0 " Ladies' Challenge Plate 5 5 0 " Thames Challenge Cup 5 5 0 " Stewards' " " 4 4 0 " Visitors' " " 3 3 0 " Wyfold " " 3 3 0 " Silver Goblets 2 2 0 " Diamond Challenge Sculls 1 1 0 9. The committee shall investigate any questionable entry, irrespective of protest. 10. The committee shall have power to refuse or return any entry up to the time of starting, without being bound to assign a reason. 11. The captain or secretary of each club or crew entered shall, seven clear days before the regatta, deliver to the secretary of the regatta a list containing the names of the actual crew appointed to compete, to which list the names of not more than four other members for an eight-oar and two for a four-oar may be added as substitutes. 12. No person may be substituted for another who has already rowed or steered in a heat. 13. The secretary of the regatta, after receiving the list of the crews entered, and of the substitutes, shall, if required, furnish a copy of the same, with the names, real and assumed, to the captain or secretary of each club or crew entered, and in the case of pairs or scullers to each competitor entered. _Objections._--14. Objections to the entry of any club or crew must be made in writing to the secretary at least four clear days before the regatta, when the committee shall investigate the grounds of objection, and decide thereon without delay. 15. Objections to the qualification of a competitor must be made in writing to the secretary at the earliest moment practicable. No protest shall be entertained unless lodged before the prizes are distributed. _Course._--16. The races shall commence below the Island, and terminate at the upper end of Phyllis Court. Length of course, about 1 mile and 550 yards. 17. Boats shall be held to have completed the course when their bows reach the winning-post. 18. The whole course must be completed by a competitor before he can be held to have won a trial or final heat. _Stations._--19. Stations shall be drawn by the committee. _Row over._--20. In the event of there being but one boat entered for any prize, or if more than one enter, and all withdraw but one, the crew of the remaining boat must row over the course to be entitled to such prize. _Heats._--21. If there shall be more than two competitors, they shall row a trial heat or heats; but no more than two boats shall contend in any heat for any of the prizes above mentioned. 22. In the event of a dead heat taking place, the same crews shall contend again, after such interval as the committee may appoint, or the crew refusing shall be adjudged to have lost the heat. _Clothing._--23. Every competitor must wear complete clothing from the shoulders to the knees--including a sleeved jersey. _Coxswains._--24. Every eight-oared boat shall carry a coxswain; such coxswain must be an amateur, and shall not steer for more than one club for the same prize. The minimum weight for coxswains shall be 7 stone. Crews averaging 10-1/2 stone and under 11 stone to carry not less than 7-1/2 stone. Crews averaging 11 stone or more, to carry not less than 8 stone. Deficiencies must be made up by dead weight carried on the coxswain's thwart. The dead weight shall be provided by the committee, and shall be placed in the boat and removed from it by a person appointed for that purpose. Each competitor (including the coxswain) in eight- and four-oared races shall attend to be weighed (in rowing costume) at the time and place appointed by the committee; and his weight then registered by the secretary shall be considered his racing weight during the regatta. Any member of a crew omitting to register his weight shall be disqualified. _Flag._--25. Every boat shall, at starting, carry a flag showing its colour at the bow. Boats not conforming to this rule are liable to be disqualified at the discretion of the umpire. _Umpire._--26. The committee shall appoint one or more umpires to act under the Laws of Boat-racing. _Judge._--27. The committee shall appoint one or more judges, whose decision as to the order in which the boats pass the post shall be final. _Prizes._--28. The prizes shall be delivered at the conclusion of the regatta to their respective winners, who on receipt of a challenge prize shall subscribe a document of the following effect:-- 'We, A, B, C, D, &c., the captain and crew of the ______________ and members of the ____________________ Club, having been this day declared to be the winners of the Henley Royal Regatta ____________________ Challenge Cup, and the same having been delivered to us by E F, G H, I K, &c., Stewards of the Regatta, do hereby, individually and collectively, engage to return the same to the Stewards on or before June 1, in accordance with the conditions of the annexed rules, to which also we have subscribed our respective names.' _Committee._--29. All questions of eligibility, qualification, interpretation of the rules, or other matters not specially provided for, shall be referred to the committee, whose decision shall be final. 30. The Laws of Boat-racing to be observed at the regatta are as follows (_see chapter on this subject_). A good deal of the history of old regattas at which watermen contended is necessarily mixed with the history of the rise of professional racing, and will be found to be dealt with under that heading in another chapter. [Illustration: BISHAM COURT.] CHAPTER III. SCIENTIFIC OARSMANSHIP. If a thing is worth doing at all it is worth doing well, whether it be undertaken in sport or as a means of livelihood. The first principles of oarsmanship may be explained to a beginner in a few minutes, and he might roughly put them into force, in a casual and faulty manner, on the first day of his education. In all pastimes and professions there is, as even a child knows, a very wide difference between the knowing how a thing is done and the rendering of the operation in the most approved and scientific manner. In all operations which entail the use of implements there are three essentials to the attainment of real merit in the operation. These are, firstly, physical capacity; secondly, good tools to work with; thirdly, practice and painstaking on the part of the student. For the purposes of the current chapter we shall postulate the two former, and confine the theme to details of such study and practice of oarsmanship as are requisite in order to attain scientific use of oars or sculls. When commencing to learn an operation which entails a new and unwonted exercise, distinct volition is necessary on the part of the brain, in order to dictate to the various muscles the parts which they are to play in the operation. The oftener that a muscular movement is repeated the less intense becomes the mental volition which is required to dictate that movement; until at last the movement becomes almost mechanical, and can be reproduced without a strain of the will (so long as the muscular power is not exhausted). One object of studied practice at any given muscular movement is to accustom the muscles to this particular function, until they become capable of carrying it out without requiring specific and laborious instructions from the headquarters of the brain on the occasion of each such motion. Another object and result of exercise of one or more sets of muscles is to develop their powers. The anatomical reasons why muscles increase in vigour and activity under exercise need not be here discussed; the fact may be accepted that they do so. Hence, by practice of any kind of muscular movement, the student increases both the vigour and the independence of action of the muscles concerned. In any operation with implements there is some one method of performing the same which experience has proved to be the most effectual for the purpose required. There will be other methods, or variations of method, which will attain a somewhat similar but less effectual and less satisfactory result. It requires distinct volition in the first instance to perform the operation in an inferior manner, just as it does to perform it in the most approved manner, to perform 'clumsily' or to perform 'cleverly.' Naturally, if the volition to act clumsily be repeated a sufficient number of times, the muscles learn independent clumsy action with as much facility as they would have otherwise acquired independent clever and scientific action. Hence the importance of knowing which is the most approved and effectual method of setting to work, and of being informed of the result, good or bad, of each attempt, while the volition is still in active force, and before the 'habit' of muscular action, perfect or imperfect, is fully formed. We all know that, whether we are dealing with morals or with muscles, it is a matter of much difficulty to overcome a bad habit, and to form a different and a better one relating to the same course of action. When the pupil begins to learn to row the brain has many things to think of; it has several orders to distribute simultaneously to its different employés--the various muscles required for the work--and these employés are, moreover, 'new to the business.' They have not yet, from want of practice, developed the vigour and strength which they will require hereafter; and also they know so little of what they have to do that they require incessant instruction from brain headquarters, or else they make blunders. But in time both master and servants, brain and muscles, begin to settle down to their business. The master becomes less confused, and gives his orders with more accuracy and less oblivion of details; the servants acquire more vigour, and pick up the instructions with more facility. At last the time comes when the servants know pretty well what their master would have them do, and act spontaneously, while the master barely whispers his orders, and has leisure to attend to other matters, or at all events saves himself the exertion of having momentarily to shout his orders through a speaking-trumpet. Meantime, as said before, the servants can only obey orders; and, if their original instructions have been blunders on the part of the master, they settle down to the reproduction of these blunders. Now it often happens that an oarsman, who is himself a good judge of rowing, and is capable of giving very good instructions to others, is guilty of many faults in his own oarsmanship. And yet it cannot be said of him that he 'knows no better' as regards those faults which he personally commits. On the contrary, if he were to see one of his own pupils rowing with any one of these same faults, he would promptly detect it, and would be able to explain to the pupil the why and the wherefore of the error, and of its cure. Nevertheless, he perpetrates in his own person the very fault which he discerns and corrects when he notes it in another! And the reason is this. His own oarsmanship has become mechanical, and is reproduced stroke after stroke without a distinct volition. It became faulty at the time when it was becoming mechanical, because the brain was not sufficiently conscious of the orders which it was dictating, or was not duly informed, from some external source, what orders it should issue. So the brain gave wrong orders, through carelessness or ignorance, or both, and continued to repeat them, until the muscles learnt to repeat their faulty functions spontaneously, and without the immediate cognisance of the brain. This illustration, of which many a practical instance will be recalled by any rowing man of experience, serves to show the importance of keeping the mind attentive, as far as possible, at all times when rowing, and still more so while elementary rowing is being learnt, and also of having, if possible, a mentor to watch the endeavours of the student, and to inform him of any error of movement which he may perpetrate, before his mind and muscles become confirmed in an erroneous line of action. The reader will therefore see from the above that it is important for any one who seeks to acquire really scientific oarsmanship, not only to pay all the mental attention that he can to the movements which he is executing, but also to secure the presence of some experienced adviser who will watch the execution of each stroke, and will point out at the time what movements have been correctly and what have been incorrectly performed. Having shown the importance of careful study and tuition in the details of scientific oarsmanship, we now enter into those details themselves, but still confine ourselves to what is known as 'fixed' seat rowing, taking them separately, and dealing first with the stroke itself, as distinct from the 'recovery' between the strokes. While carrying out the stroke upon general principles, the oarsman, in order to produce a maximum effect with a relatively minimum expenditure of strength, has to study the following details: 1. To keep the back rigid, and to swing from the hips. 2. To maintain his shoulders braced when the oar grasps the water. 3. To use the legs and feet in the best manner and at the exact instant required. 4. To hold his oar properly. 5. To govern the depth of the blade with accuracy, including the first dip of the blade into the water to the moment when the blade quits it. 6. To row the stroke home to his chest, bending his arms neither too soon nor too late. 7. To do so with the correct muscles. 8. To drop the hands and elevate the oar from the water in the right manner and at the right moment. Then again, when the stroke is completed and the recovery commences, the details to be further observed are: 9. To avoid 'hang' or delay of action either with hands or body. 10. To manipulate the feather with accuracy and at the proper instant. 11. To govern the height of the blade during the recovery. 12. To use the legs and feet correctly and at the right moments of recovery. 13. To keep the button of the oar home to the thowl. 14. To regulate the proportionate speeds of recovery of arms and of body, relatively to each other. 15. To return the feathered oar to the square position at the right time and in the correct manner. 16. To raise the hands at the right moment, and so to lower the blade into the water at the correct instant. 17. To recommence the action of the new stroke at the right instant. These several details present an apparently formidable list of detailed studies to be followed in order to execute a series of strokes and recoveries in the most approved fashion. In performance the operation is far more homogeneous than would appear from the above disjointed analysis of the several movements to be performed. The division of movements is made for the purpose of observation and appreciation of possibly several faults, which may occur in any one of the movements detailed. As a fact, the correct rendering of one movement--of one detail of the stroke--facilitates correctness in succeeding or contemporaneous details; while, on the other hand, a faulty rendering of one movement tends to hamper the action of the body in other details, and to make it more liable to do its work incorrectly in some or all of them. Experience shows that one fault, in one distinct detail, is constantly the primary cause of a concatenation of other faults. To set the machine in incorrect motion in one branch of it tends to put the whole, or the greater part of it, more or less out of gear, and to cripple its action from beginning to end of the chapter. Taking these various details _seriatim_. 1. The back should be set stiff, and preserved stiff throughout the stroke. Obviously, if the back yields to the strain, the stroke is not so effectual. Besides, if the back is badly humped the expansion of the chest is impeded; and with this the action of the pectoral muscles and of the shoulders (of both of which more anon) is also fettered. Further, the lungs have less freedom of play when the back is bent and the chest cramped; and the value of free respiration requires no explanation. We have said that the back must be stiff. If the back can be straight, from first to last, stiffness is ensured, _ipso facto_. If the back is bent, care must be taken that the bend does not increase or decrease during the stroke; whether straight or bent, the back should be rigid. The conformation and development of the muscles of the back are not quite the same in all subjects. With some persons absolute straightness of back comes almost naturally; with others the attainment of straightness is not a matter of much difficulty. With others, again, a slight amount of curve in the back is more natural under the strain of the oar, even with all attention and endeavour to keep the back flat. With such as these any artificial straightening of the back, that places it in a position in which the muscles, as they are adapted to the frame, have not the fullest and freest play, detracts from rather than adds to the power of the oarsman. But in all cases it is important that the back, whether straight or slightly arched, should be rigid, and should swing from the hips. If the swing takes place from one or more of the vertebræ of the spine, the force which the oarsman can by such actions produce is far less than would be the case if he kept his spine rigid and had swung to and fro from his hips. In order to facilitate the entire body in swinging from the hips, and not from one of the vertebræ, the legs should be opened, and the knees induced outward, as the body swings forward. The body can then lower itself to a greater reach forward, and directly from the hips; whereas if the knees are placed together the thighs check the forward motion of the body, and compel it, if it remains rigid, to curtail its forward reach. (If the vertebræ bend when the swing from the hips is checked by the bent knees, the extra reach thus attained is weak, and of comparatively minor effect.) Next (2) the shoulders have to be rigid. If they give way, and if the sockets stretch when the strain of the oar is felt, the effect of the stroke is evidently weakened. Now if the shoulders are stretched forward at the beginning of the stroke, the muscles which govern and support them have not the same power of rigidity that they possess when the shoulders are well drawn back at the outset. The oarsman gains a little in reach by extending his shoulders, but he loses in rigidity of muscle, and consequently in the force which he applies to the oar. 3. The legs and feet should combine to exercise pressure against the stretcher at the same moment, and contemporaneously with the application of the oar to the water. If they press too soon, the body is forced back while the oar is in air; if too late, the hold of the water is weak, for want of legwork to support the body. 4. The oar should be held in the fingers, not in the fist; the lower joints of the fingers should be nearly straight when the oar is held. The hold which a gymnast would take of a bar of the same thickness, if he were hanging from it, is, as regards the four fingers of the hand, the same which an oarsman should take of his oar. His thumb should come underneath, not over the handle. 5 and 10. Government of the depression or elevation of the blade, respectively, during stroke and recovery, is a matter of application of joints and of muscles. This much may be borne in mind, that the freer the wrist is, the better is the oar governed; and if an oar is clutched in the fist the flexibility of the wrist is thereby much crippled. 6. The arms should begin to bend when the body has just found the perpendicular. The upper arm should swing close to the ribs, worked by the shoulders, which should be thrown well back. 7. The 'biceps' should not do the work; for, if it does, either the hands are elevated or the level of the blade altered--if the elbows keep close to the side; or else, if the level of the hands is preserved, then the elbows dog's-ear outwards. In either case the action is less free and less powerful than if the stroke is rowed home by the shoulder muscles. 8. The part of the hand which should touch the chest when the oar comes home is the root of the thumb, not the knuckles of the fingers. If the knuckles touch the chest _before_ the oar comes out of water, the blade is 'feathered under water'--a common fault, and a very insidious one. If, on the other hand, the oar comes out clean, but the first thing which touches the chest is the knuckle, then the last part of the stroke will have been rowed in _air_, and not in _the water_. 9. Dealing now with recovery. The hands should rebound from the chest like a billiard-ball from a cushion. If the hands delay at the chest they hamper the recovery of the body--e.g. let any man try to push a weight away from him with his hands and body combined. He will find that, if he pushes with straight arms, he is better able to apply the weight of his body to the forward push than if he keeps his arms bent. Having shot his hands away, and having straightened his arms as quickly as he reasonably can, his body should follow; but his body should not meantime have been stationary. It should, like a pendulum, begin to swing for the return so soon as the stroke is over. If hands 'hang,' the body tends to hang, as above shown; and if the body hangs, valuable time is lost, which can never be regained. As an illustration: suppose a man is rowing forty strokes in a minute, and that his body hangs the tenth of a second when it is back after each stroke, then at the end of a minute's rowing he will have sat still for four whole seconds! An oarsman who has no hang in his recovery can thus row a fast stroke with less exertion to himself than one who hangs. The latter, having wasted time between stroke and recovery, has to swing forward all the faster, when once he begins to recover, in order to perform the same number of strokes in the same time as he who does not hang. Now, although there is a greater effort required to row the blade square through the water than to recover it edgewise through the air, yet the latter has to be performed with muscles so much weaker for the task set to them that relatively they tire sooner under their lighter work than do the muscles which are in use for rowing the blade through the water. When an oarsman becomes 'pumped,' he feels the task of recovery even more severe than that of rowing the stroke. Hence we see the importance of economising as far as possible the labour of those muscles which are employed on the recovery, and of not adding to their toil by waste of time which entails a subsequent extra exertion in order to regain lost ground and lost time. 10. The manipulation of the blade through the water is of great importance, otherwise the blade will not keep square, and regular pressure against the water will not be attained. Now, since the angle of the blade to the water has to be a constant one, and since the plane on which the blade works also is required to be uniform, till the moment for the feather has arrived, it stands to reason that the wrists and arms, which are changing their position relatively with the body while the stroke progresses, must accommodate themselves to the progressive variations of force of body and arms, so as to maintain the uniform angle and plane of the oar. Herein much attention must be paid to maxim 4 (_supra_). If an oar is held in the fist instead of in the fingers, the play of the muscles of the wrist is thereby crippled, and it becomes less easy to govern the blade. 11. On a somewhat similar principle as the foregoing, the arms, on the recovery, are changing their position and angle with the body throughout the recovery; but the blade has to be kept at a normal level above the water all the time. It is a common fault for the oarsman to fail to regulate the height of the feather, and either to 'toss' it at some point of the recovery or else to lower it till the blade almost, if not quite, touches the water. Nothing but practice, coupled with careful observations of the correct manner of holding an oar, can attain that mechanical give-and-take play of muscles which produces an even and clean feather from first to last of recovery. 12. We are still, for the sake of argument, dealing with fixed-seat oarsmanship. Slides will be discussed subsequently. In using the legs, on a fixed seat, for recovery, the toes should feel the strap, which should cross them on or below the knuckle-joint of the great toe. Each foot should feel and pull up the strap easily and simultaneously, so as to preserve even position of body. The legs should open well, and allow the body to trick between them as it swings forward. 13. If the body swings true, the oar will keep home to the rowlock; there should be just sufficient fraction of weight pressed against the button to keep it home; if it is suffered to leave the rowlock, the oarsman tends to screw outwards over the gunwale, and also, when he recommences the stroke, he loses power by reason of his oar not meeting with its due support until the abstracted button has slipped back against the thowl. 14. The pace of recovery should be proportionate to the speed of stroke. If recovery is too slow, the oarsman becomes late in getting into the water for the next stroke; if he is too quick, he has to wait when forward in order not to hurry the stroke. 15. Too many even high-class oars are prone to omit to keep the oar feathered for the full distance of the recovery. They have a tendency to turn it square too soon. By so doing they incur extra resistance of air and extra labour on the recovery, and they are more liable to foul a wave in rough water. The oar should be carried forwards edgewise, and only turned square just as full reach is attained. It should then be turned sharply, and not gradually. 16. The instant the body is full forward, and the oar set square, the hands should be raised sharply to the exact amount required in order to drop the blade into the water to the required depth, so as to cover it for the succeeding stroke. 17. The new stroke should be recommenced without delay, by throwing the body sharply back, with arms stiff and shoulders braced, the legs pressing firmly and evenly against the stretcher, so as to take the weight of the body off the seat, and to transfer its support to the handle of the oar and the stretcher, thus making the very most of weight and of extensor muscles in order to give force to the oar against the water. N.B. Before closing these remarks, it should be added that, with reference to detail 12, it is assumed that the oarsman, having progressed to the scientific stage, has so far mastered the use of the loins as to be able to combine their action with that of the toe against the strap in aiding the recovery of the body. If he tries to rely solely on the motor power for recovery from the strap, and the toes against it, he will not swing forward with a stiff back, and will be in a slouched position when he attains his reach forward. The Rev. E. Warre, D.D., published in 1875 some brief remarks upon the stroke, in a treatise upon physical exercises and recreations. They are here reproduced by leave, the writer feeling that they can hardly be surpassed for brevity and lucidity of instruction upon the details of the stroke. NOTES ON THE STROKE. The moment the oar touches the body, drop the hands smartly straight down, then turn the wrists sharply and at once shoot out the hands in a straight line to the front, inclining the body forward from the thigh-joints, and simultaneously bring up the slider, regulating the time by the swing forward of the body according to the stroke. Let the chest and stomach come well forward, the shoulders be kept back; the inside arm be straightened, the inside wrist a little raised, the oar grasped in the hands, but not pressed upon more than is necessary to maintain the blade in its proper straight line as it goes back; the head kept up, the eyes fixed on the outside shoulder of the man before you. As the body and arms come forward to their full extent, the wrists having been quickly turned, the hands must be raised sharply, and the blade of the oar brought to its full depth at once. At that moment, without the loss of a thousandth part of a second, the whole weight of the body must be thrown on to the oar and the stretcher, by the body springing back, so that the oar may catch hold of the water sharply, and be driven through it by a force unwavering and uniform. As soon as the oar has got hold of the water, and the beginning of the stroke has been effected as described, flatten the knees, and so, using the muscles of the legs, keep up the pressure of the beginning uniform through the backward motion of the body. Let the arms be rigid at the beginning of the stroke. When the body reaches the perpendicular, let the elbows be bent and dropped close past the sides to the rear--the shoulders dropping and disclosing the chest to the front; the back, if anything, curved inwards rather than outwards, but not strained in any way. The body, in fact, should assume a natural upright sitting posture, with the shoulders well thrown back. In this position the oar should come to it and the feather commence. N.B.--It is important to remember that the body should never stop still. In its motion backwards and forwards it should imitate the pendulum of a clock. When it has ceased to go forward it has begun to go back. There are, it will appear, from consideration of the directions, about twenty-seven distinct points, _articuli_ as it were, of the stroke. No one should attempt to coach a crew without striving to obtain a practical insight into their nature and order of succession. Let a coxswain also remember that, in teaching men to row, his object should be to teach them to economise their _strength_ by using properly their _weight_. Their weight is always in the boat along with them; their strength, if misapplied, very soon evaporates. [Illustration: MARLOW.] CHAPTER IV. COACHING. For reasons which were set forth at the commencement of the chapter on scientific oarsmanship, the very best oar may fail to see his own faults. For this reason, in dealing with the methods for detecting and curing faults, it seems more to the point to write as addressing the tutor rather than the pupil. The latter will improve faster under any adequate verbal instruction than by perusing pages of bookwork upon the science of oarsmanship. A coach may often know much more than he can himself perform; he may be with his own muscles but a mediocre exponent of his art, and yet be towards the top of the tree as regards knowledge and power of instruction. A coach, like his pupils, often becomes too 'mechanical'; he sees some salient fault in his crew, he sets himself to eradicate it, and meanwhile it is possible that he may overlook some other great fault which is gradually developing itself among one or more of the men. And yet if he were asked to coach some other crew for the day, in which crew this same fault existed, he would be almost certain to note it, and to set to work to cure it. For this reason, although it does not do to have too many mentors at work from day to day upon one crew, nevertheless the best of coaches may often gain a hint by taking some one else into his counsels for an hour or two, and by comparing notes. We have said that it is not absolutely necessary that a good coach should always be in his own person a finished oarsman; but if he is all the better, and for one very important reason. More than half the faults which oarsmen contract are to be traced in the first instance to some irregularity in the machinery with which they are working. That irregularity may be of two sorts, direct or indirect--direct when the boat, oar, rowlock, or stretcher is improperly constructed, so that an oarsman cannot work fairly and squarely; indirect when some other oarsman is perpetrating some fault which puts others out of gear. If a coach is a good oarsman on his own account (by 'good' we mean scientific rather than merely powerful), he can and should test and try or inspect the seat and oar of each man whom he coaches, especially if he finds a man painstaking and yet unable to cure some special fault. Boatbuilders are very careless in laying out work. A rowlock may be too high or too low; it may rake one way or other, and so spoil the plane of the oar in the water. An oar may be hog-backed (or sprung), or too long in loom, or too short; the straps of a stretcher may be fixed too high, so as to grip only the tip of a great-toe, and the place for the feet may not be straight to the seat, or a rowlock may be too narrow, and so may jam the oar when forward. These are samples of mechanical discomfort which may spoil any man's rowing, and against which it may be difficult for the most painstaking pupil to contend successfully. If the coach is good in practice as well as in theory of oarsmanship, he can materially simplify his own labours and those of his pupils by inspecting and trying the 'work' of each man in turn. He should bear in mind that if a young oar is thrown out of shape in his early career by bad mechanical appliances, the faults of shape often cling to him unconsciously later on, even when he is at last furnished with proper tools. If a child were taught to walk with one boot an inch thicker in the sole than the other, the uneven gait thereby produced might cling to him long after he had been properly shod. Young oarsmen in a club are too often relegated to practise in cast-off boats with cast-off oars, none of which are really fit for use. Nothing does more to spoil the standard of junior oarsmanship in a club than neglect of this nature. Having ascertained that all his pupils are properly equipped and are properly seated, fair and square to stretchers suitable for the length of leg of each, the next care of a coach should be to endeavour to trace the _cause_ of each fault which he may detect. This is more difficult than to see that a fault exists. At the same time, if the coach cannot trace the cause, it is hardly reasonable to expect the pupil to do so. So many varied causes may produce some one generic fault that it may drive a pupil from one error to another to tell him nothing more than that he is doing something wrong without at the same time explaining to him how and why he is at fault. For instance, suppose a man gets late into the water. This lateness may arise from a variety of causes, for example: 1. He may be hanging with arms or body, or both, when he has finished the stroke, and so he may be late in starting to go forward; or 2. He may be correct until he has attained his forward reach, and then, may be, he hangs before dropping his oar into the water; or 3. He may begin to drop his oar at the right time, but to do so in a 'clipping' manner, not dropping the oar perpendicularly, but bringing it for some distance back in the air before it touches the water. [Illustration: COACHING UNIVERSITY CREW.] Now to tell a batch of men--all late, and all late from different causes as above--simply that each one is 'late' does little good. The cure which will set the one right will only vary, or even exaggerate, the mischief with the others. Hence a coach should, before he animadverts upon a fault, of which he observes the effect, watch carefully until he detects the exact cause, and then seek to eradicate it. Another sample of cause and effect in faults may be cited for illustration. Suppose a man holds his oar in his fist instead of his fingers. The effect of this probably will be a want of accuracy in 'governing' the blade. He may thereby row too deep; also only half feather; also find a difficulty in bending his wrists laterally, and therefore fail to bring his elbows neatly past his sides. The consequent further effect may well be that he dog's-ears his elbows and gets a cramped finish. This will tend to make his hands come slow off the chest for the recovery; and this again may tend to make his body heavy on the return swing. Here is a pretty, and quite possible, concatenation of faults all bearing on each other in sequence, more or less. To be scolded for each such fault in turn may well bewilder a pupil. He will be taken aback at the plurality of defects which he is told to cure. But if the coach should spot the faulty grip, and cure that by some careful coaching in a tub-gig, he may in a few days find the other faults gradually melt away when the one primary awkwardness has been eradicated. These two illustrations of faults and their origins by no means exhaust the category of errors which a coach has to detect and to cure. Sundry other common faults may be specified, and the best mode of dealing with them by coaches supplied. _Over-reach of shoulders._--This weakens the catch of the water, and also tends to cripple the finish when the time comes to row the oar home. The shoulders should be braced well back. The extra inch or less of forward reach which the over-reach obtains is not worth having at the cost of weakening the catch and cramping the finish. The fault is best cured by gig-coaching and by demonstrating in person the correct and the wrong poses of the shoulders. _Meeting the oar._--This may come from more than one cause. If the legs leave off supporting the body before the oar-handle comes to the chest, the body droops to the strain from want of due support; or if the oarsman tries to row the stroke home with arms only, ceasing the swing back; and still more, if he tries to finish with biceps instead of by shoulder muscles, he is not unlikely to row deep, because he feels the strain of rowing the oar home in time, with less power behind it than that employed by others in the boat. He finds the oar come home easier if it is slightly deflected, and so unconsciously he begins to row rather deep (or light) at the finish, in order to get his oar home at the right instant. _Swing._--faults of may be various. There may be a hang, or conversely a hurry, in the swing; and, as shown above, the causes of these errors in swing may often be beneath the surface, and be connected with faulty hold of an oar, or a loose or badly placed strap, or a stretcher of wrong length, or from faulty finish of the preceding stroke. Lateness in swing may arise _per se_, and so may a 'bucket,' but as often as not they are linked with other faults, which have to be corrected at least simultaneously, and often antecedently. _Screwing_ either arises from mechanical fault at the moment or from former habits of rowing under difficulties occasionally with bad appliances. If a man sits square, with correct oar, rowlock, and stretcher, he does not naturally screw. If the habit seems to have grown upon him, a change of side will often do more than anything else to cure him. He is screwing because he is working his limbs and loins unevenly; hence the obvious policy of making him change the side on which he puts the greater pressure. _Feather under water._--The fault is one of the most common, the remedy simple. The pupil should be shown the difference between turning the oar-handle before he drops it (as he is doing) and of dropping it before he turns it as he ought to do; and it should be impressed upon him that the root of the thumb, and not his knuckles, should touch his chest when the oar comes home, and should be done _before_, and not after, he has dropped his handle to elevate the blade from the water. If a crew feather much under water, it is a good plan to seat them in a row on a bench, and give each man a stick to handle as an oar. Then make them very slowly follow the actions of the coach, or a fugleman. 1. Hands up to the chest, root of thumb touching chest. 2. Drop the hands. 3. Turn them (as for feather) sharply. 4. Shoot them out, &c. Having got them to perform each motion slowly and distinctly, then gradually accelerate the actions, until they are done as an entirety, with rapidity and _in proper consecution_. The desideratum is to ensure motion No. 3 being performed in its due order, and _not before_ No. 2. Five minutes' drill of this sort daily before the rowing, for a week or two, will do much to cure feather under water even with hardened sinners. _Swing across the boat._--This is an insidious fault. The oarsman sits square, while his oar-handle moves in an arc of a circle. He has an instinctive tendency to endeavour to keep his chest square to his oar during the revolution of the latter. A No. 7 who has to take time from the stroke by the side of him is more prone than others to fall into this fault. The answer is, let the arms follow the action of the oar, and give way to it, and endeavour to keep the body straight and square. Keep the head well away from the oar, and its bias will tend to balance the swing. _Bending the arms_ prematurely is a common fault. Sometimes even high-class oars fall into it after a time. Tiros are prone to it, because they at first instinctively endeavour to work with arms rather than with body. Older oars adopt the trick in the endeavour to catch the water sharply at the beginning. Of course they lose power by doing so; but they do not realise their loss, because, feeling a greater strain on their arms, they imagine that they must therefore be doing more work. Lessons in a tub-gig are the best remedies for this fault. 'Paddling' is an art which is of much importance in order to bring a crew to perfection, and at the same time it is too often done in a slovenly manner compared with hard rowing. The writer admits that his own views as to how paddling should be performed differ somewhat from those of sundry good judges and successful coaches. Some of these are of opinion that paddling should consist of rowing gently, comparatively speaking, with less force and catch at the beginning of the stroke and with less reach than when rowing hard, but with blade always covered to regulation depth. When the order is given to 'Row,' then the full length should be attained and the full 'catch' administered. The writer's own version of paddling differs as follows. He is of opinion that the difference between paddling and rowing should be produced by working with a 'light'--only partially covered--blade when paddling. The effect of this is to ease the whole work of the stroke; but at the same time the swing, reach, and catch should be just the same as if the blade were covered. Then, when the order comes to 'Row,' all the oarsman has to do is so to govern his blade that he now immerses the whole of it, and at the same time to increase his force to the amount necessary to row the stroke of the full blade throughout the required time. Those good judges who differ from him as aforesaid base their objections to his method chiefly on the ground that it requires rather a higher standard of watermanship to enable an oarsman so to govern his blade that he can immerse it more or less at will, and yet maintain the same outward action of body, only with more or less force employed, according to amount of blade immersed. The writer admits that his process does entail the acquisition of a somewhat higher standard of watermanship than the other system. But he is none the less of opinion that this admission should not be accepted as a ground for teaching the other style. In the first place, it would seem to him better to try to raise the standard of watermanship to the system than to lower the system to meet the requirements of inferior skill. In the second, there seems to be even greater drawbacks to the system preferred by his friends who differ from him. For instance, under the alternative system the oarsman is taught to _alter_ his style of body when paddling, but to maintain a uniform depth of blade. He is taught to apply less sharpness of catch, and less reach forward. To do so may tend to take the edge off catch, and to shorten reach, when hard rowing has to be recommenced. It is plain that paddling cannot be all round the same as rowing; there must be an alternative prescribed. The writer says, in effect: 'Alter only the blade (and so the amount of force required), and maintain outward action of body as before.' Those who take the other view say, in effect: 'Maintain the same blade, and alter the action of the body.' It must be admitted that those who differ from the writer are entitled, from their own performances as oarsmen and coaches, to every possible respect; and the writer, while failing to agree with them, hesitates to assert that for that reason he must be right and they wrong. One further reason in favour of paddling with a light blade may be added. When an oarsman is exhausted in a race, it is of supreme importance that, though unable to do his full share of work, he should not mar the swing and style of the rest. Now if such an oarsman, when nature fails him, can row lighter and so ease his toil, he can maintain swing and style with the rest. But if, on the other hand, he keeps his blade covered to the full, and seeks relief by rowing shorter and with less dash, he alters his style and tends to spoil the uniformity of the crew. Watermanship is a quality which can hardly be coached; it may, therefore, seem out of place to deal with it under the head of coaching. Yet in one sense it pertains to coaching, because a mentor takes into calculation the capacity of an oarsman for exercising watermanship when making a selection of a crew. Watermanship, as a technical term, may be said to consist in adapting oneself to circumstances and exigencies during the progress of a boat. A good waterman keeps time with facility, a bad one only after much painstaking--if at all. A good waterman adapts himself to every roll of the boat, sits tight to his seat, anticipates an incipient roll, and rights the craft so far as he can by altering his centre of gravity while yet plying his oar. A bad waterman is more or less helpless when a boat is off its keel, or when he encounters rough water. So long as the boat is level, he may be able to do even more work than the good waterman, but when the boat rolls he cannot help himself, still less can he right the ship and so help others to work, as can the good waterman. Good watermen can jump into a racing boat and sit her off-hand; bad watermen will be unsteady in a keelless boat even after days of practice. One or two good watermen are the making of a crew, especially when time is short for practice. They will raise the standard of rowing of all their colleagues, simply by keeping the balance of the boat. Sculling and pair-oar practice tend to teach watermanship. They induce a man to make use of his own back and beam in order to keep the boat on an even keel. We do not for this reason say that every tiro should be put to take lessons of watermanship in sculling-boats and light pairs: far from it. He will be likely in such craft to contract feather under water, and possibly screwing, in the efforts to obtain work on an even keel, after his own uneven action has conduced to rolling. University men produce far fewer good watermen than the tideway clubs, and with good reason. The career on the river at Oxford or Cambridge is brief, and many a man goes out of residence while he is only on the threshold of aquatic science, both in practice and theory; although, on account of his big frame, he may have been taught artificially to ply an oar, and with good effect, in a practised eight. Watermanship, like skating, cannot be acquired in a day, and the younger a man takes to aquatics the more likely is he to acquire it. There is hardly a bad waterman to be seen as a rule in a grand challenge crew of London R.C. or Thames R.C. men. Among University oars, watermanship is oftenest found in those who have rowed as schoolboys. [Illustration: A SCRATCH EIGHT ('PEAL OF BELLS').] To coaches generally of the present and of future generations we may say that there is nothing like having a tenacity of purpose, and declining to listen to the shoals of excuses which pupils are inclined to propound in order to explain their shortcomings. There should be no such thing as 'I can't' from a pupil. On the other hand, the coach should do his best to render the excuse untenable by ensuring proper 'work' at each thwart. A coach should not be carried away by every whisper of criticism by outsiders; and yet at the same time he should realise as said at the beginning of this chapter, that, however able he may be, he has a natural tendency to become blind to faults which are being daily perpetrated under his nose--the more so if he has been specially of late devoting his attention to some different class of fault in his men. For this reason he should not decline to listen to suggestions from mentors who otherwise may be his inferiors in the art, and to give them all attention before he decides how to deal with them. In dealing with the selection of men for a crew he has to consider various points. He has to calculate for what seats such and such an oarsman will be available, as regards weight and capacity generally for the seat. He has to bear in mind the date of the race for which he is preparing his men; many an oarsman may be admittedly unfit for a seat if the race were rowed to-morrow, and yet he may show promise of being fit for it six months hence. A may be better than B to-day; but A may be an old stager hardened in certain faults, and of whom no hope can now be entertained that he will suddenly reform. B may be as green as a gooseberry, and yet the recollection of what he was two or three weeks ago, compared to what he is now, may warrant the assumption that by the day of the race, some time hence, B will have become the better man of the two. A coach who takes a crew in hand halfway through their preparation should be prepared to hear evidence as to what was the standard of merit of certain men some time back, compared with their present form; otherwise he may delude himself as to the relative merits and prospects of the material which he has to mould into shape. Just as orators are said to learn at the expense of their audience, so coaches do undoubtedly learn much at the expense of the crews which they manage. Many a coach will agree that he has often felt in later years that, if he had his time over again with this or that oarsman or crew, he would now form a different judgment from what he formerly did. In concluding this chapter we cannot do better than extract from Dr. Warre's treatise on Athletics certain aphorisms for the benefit of coaches, which he has tersely compiled under the head of 'Notes on Coaching': NOTES ON COACHING. In teaching a crew you have to deal with-- A. Crew collectively. B. Crew individually. A. _Collective._ 1. _Time._--_a._ Oars in and out together. _b._ Feather, same height; keep it down. _c._ Stroke, same depth; cover the blades, but not above the blue. 2. _Swing._--_a._ Bodies forward and back together. _b._ Sliders together. _c._ Eyes in the boat. 3. _Work._--_a._ Beginning--together, sharp, hard. _b._ Turns of the wrist--on and off of the feather, sharp, but not too soon. _c._ Rise of the hands--sharp, just before stroke begins. _d._ Drop of the hands--sharp, just after it ends. _General Exhortations._--'Time!' 'Beginning!' 'Smite!' 'Keep it long!' and the like--to be given at the right moment, not used as mere parrot cries. B. _Individual._ 1. Faults of position. 2. Faults of movement. N.B.--These concern body, hands, arms, legs, and sometimes head and neck. 1. Point out when you easy, or when you come in, or best of all, in a gig. Show as well as say what is wrong and what is right. N.B.--Mind you are right. _Decipit exemplar vitiis imitabile._ 2. To be pointed out during the row and corrected. Apply the principles taught in 'E. W.'s' paper on the stroke, beginning with bow and working to stroke, interposing exhortations (A) at the proper time. N.B.--Never hammer at any one individual. If one or two admonitions don't bring him right, wait a bit and then try again. For coaching purposes, not too fast a stroke and not too slow. About thirty per minute is right. Before you start, see that your men have got their stretchers right and are sitting straight to their work. He teaches best who, while he is teaching, remembers that he has much to learn. [Illustration: MEDMENHAM ABBEY.] CHAPTER V. THE CAPTAIN. The captain of a boat club is the most important member of it, from a practical point of view. In some clubs, as with the Universities, he is nominally as well as practically supreme--is president as well as captain. In clubs on the Thames tideway, such as Leander, London, Thames, and as in the Kingston club higher up river, there is a president elected as the titular head of the club, but that functionary is chiefly ornamental, to add dignity to the society, and to instil sobriety into its councils. Such a president is usually some old oarsman of renown, long ago retired from active service, one whose name carries weight and influence, but who has neither time nor inclination to interfere with the oarsmanship of the members. It is the captain who can make or mar a club. He is the general officer in command of the forces, while the president (when such an extra official exists) is more of a field-marshal enjoying _otium cum dignitate_ at home. The qualifications upon which a captain is, or should be, selected by his club are, in the first place, personal merit as an oarsman and knowledge of his craft; in the second, a due seniority, so that he may have proper influence, both socially and in an aquatic sense, over those whom he is appointed to command; thirdly, tact and common sense. Deficiency in either one of these desiderata is often fatal to a captain's chances of success in his office. If he is a bad oar, and lacking in practical knowledge compared with those under him, it will little avail him to be a person of senior standing in the crews and of social position. He will fail to carry with him that prestige and confidence which should be the attribute of all commanders who expect to lead men to victory. If, on the other hand, he is a good oar, even the best of his club, and yet is a fledgling in age, he will find it difficult to maintain his command over sundry jealous seniors, and will, more than all, require the third requisite of tact, which is less liable to be found in a mere lad than in a man of the world who has well passed his majority. A captain should be self-reliant without being obstinate; he should be good-tempered but not facile; he should be firm but not tyrannical, energetic but not a busybody. A captain has usually a host of counsellors, and he too well realises the fallacy of the adage that in a multitude of counsels there is wisdom. If he were to pay attention to all the advice offered to him he would never be able to have a mind of his own. And yet he will do well not to run to the opposite extreme, nor to decline to listen to anyone who ventures to offer him a suggestion. If he is captain of a University crew he will find his bed anything but one of roses. The eyes of the sporting world are upon him from the commencement of Lent term. Daily he will receive letters from individuals of whom he has never before heard, offering him advice and criticising his line of action. Many of his correspondents will be anonymous, and too many of them splenetic. He must not be surprised to see himself anonymously attacked in print for the selections which he is making for a crew to represent his club. He will be accused of partiality if he selects some man of his own college in preference to an out-college man. He will find himself abused if he decides to take an important oar in his own hands, such as stroke or No. 7. He will be inundated with speculative appeals from vendors of commodities who hope for gratuitous advertisement of their wares. One of them will send him a nondescript garment, and will assure him that if he will allow his crew to row in dress of that build he and they shall be robed gratis in it, and be assured of victory. Quack medicines will be proffered him, and photographers will pester him and his crew daily with requests to stand for an hour in a nor'-easter for their portraits. Within the circle of his own club matters will not always run smoothly. Sometimes he finds himself in the unpleasant position of having, after due consideration and counsel, to dispense with the services of some old brother blue who has fallen off from his quondam form, or who, though good enough among an inferior crew of a preceding year, is not up to par compared with new oarsmen of merit who have come to the fore since the last spring. Nevertheless, with all these drawbacks to office, a University president or captain of a college has perhaps an easier task in managing his crew than a captain of an elective club on the Thames that is preparing for Henley or some similar contest. In college life the brevity of career gives a special standing and prestige to seniority, and the president of a U.B.C. is not likely to be a very junior man. _Esprit de corps_ does much to keep College and University crews together, and there is less likelihood of mutiny in such clubs than in those which are purely elective, and which compete with each other for securing the best oarsmen of the day. A malcontent college oar cannot throw himself, even if he will, into the arms of another college; still less can a dissatisfied candidate for one shade of blue 'rat' and desert to the enemy. But in tideway and other clubs on the Thames there is such a brisk competition for good oarsmen that a man who finds he is likely to lose his chance of selection in one club has opportunities for obtaining distinction under some rival flag, and very possibly he already belongs to more than one such club, and can put his services up to auction as it were. If he finds that he will be relegated to some comparatively unimportant seat in the club which has claims of longest standing upon him, he may, if he is unpatriotic and cantankerous, look out in some other club for a berth of greater distinction. Such men are not uncommon, and are thorns in the side of any captain. They tax his sixth sense of tact more than anything: if he gives way to them, he risks spoiling the arrangement of his crew; if he stands firm, he may send a valuable man over to the enemy. On the other hand, it must be said that many rival captains would decline to accept the services of a deserter of this sort, and would feel that if such an one would not be true to one flag, he could not be safely trusted for long to row under another. Beside this sort of malcontent, whose ambition is to be _aut Cæsar aut nullus_, the captain has to contend with obstructives of other classes. There is the habitual grumbler, who is never happy unless he has a grievance. To-day he cannot row properly because the boat is always down on his oar. Yesterday he was complaining that his rowlock was too high, and he had leave to lower it accordingly. He may not be really bad-tempered, nor mutinous; even his growls have a _triste bonhomie_ about them; in one sense he is a sort of acquisition to the social element of the crew, for his grumblings make him a butt for jokes and rallies. But when this system of grumbling goes beyond a certain point it sorely tries a captain's patience. Another sort of incubus is the old hand, who has never risen beyond mediocrity, who has plenty of faults, but who can be relied upon for a certain amount of honest work, and who fills a place better than some very backward oarsman. The old stager is case-hardened in his crimes; they are second nature to him, and, in spite of coaching, still he maunders on in the same old style, with the same set faults. He has a time-honoured screw, a dog's-eared elbow, and yet he possesses what many of the better-finished oarsmen do not--watermanship--and can keep on at work in a rolling boat when many neater oarsmen are all abroad if the ship gets off her even keel. Not to coach his too obvious faults may make visitors fancy that the old screw is a pattern fugleman to be copied for style; and yet to spend objurgation on one so stiff-necked is disheartening waste of wind. [Illustration: PROSE.] Discipline is all-important in a crew, and it usually requires tact to maintain it. If the captain is a triton among minnows, he can better afford to hector; but, as a rule, he runs the risk of mutiny, or at least of producing sulkiness, if he treats his crew as if they were galley-slaves. If he is in the boat, working with them, sharing their toils and privations, his task becomes easier on this score; for the crew realise that, however irksome the orders for the day may be, they are felt just as much by the commander as by the rank and file. If a member of the crew openly defies a captain, the bad example is too dangerous to be tolerated. To expel a mutineer may ruin the chance of victory for an impending race, but it will be best for the club in the long run, and will be likely to save many a defeat. The writer has in mind two such incidents which occurred to himself at different times while officiating as captain of a club. In each case the mutineer was the stroke, and the _spes gregis_. He resented being told to row slower, or faster, as the case might be, and presently flatly declined to be dictated to. In each case the boat was instantly ordered ashore, and the grumbler was asked to step out. His place was filled by some emergency man, he was left ashore, and was told at the end of the day that the captain regretted to be obliged to dispense with his services. In each case the rest of the crew buttonholed their late stroke, and put the screw upon him to beg pardon, and with success. The one stroke was reinstated at his old post; the other was also put back to the boat, but at No. 6. In both cases mutiny was stamped out once and for all. Of these two men it may be said that one eventually rose to be stroke of a winning University eight, and the other of a winning Grand Challenge crew. In each case they were great personal friends of the captain, and there was no interruption of social relations through the peremptory line of conduct pursued. Many old fellow-oarsmen of the writer will doubtless recognise these incidents, in which names are naturally omitted. Punctuality is an important detail of discipline in a crew. It is a good system to order a fine to be levied by the secretary upon anyone who exceeds a certain limit of grace from the hour fixed for practice. It is better that the secretary or treasurer should levy it than the captain, because thereby the captain in this detail places himself under the subordinate officer's jurisdiction, and is himself fined if he is late. He can do this without loss of dignity, and in fact adds to his influence by submitting as a matter of course to the general regulation. It spoils the discipline of a crew if a captain takes French leave for himself, and keeps his men dancing attendance upon him, and yet rates them when one of them similarly delays the practice. [Illustration: EMBARKING.] In making up a crew a captain is often in an invidious position. It is said by cricketers that the danger of having a leading bowler for captain of an eleven is that he is often judicially blind as to the right moment for taking himself off. Similarly, for a stroke to be captain, or rather for a likely candidate for strokeship to be captain, may be productive of misunderstandings and mischief to the crew. In old days stroke and captain were synonyms. The 'stroke' was elected by the club. He was supposed to be the best all-round oar, and as such to be capable of setting the best stroke to the crew. His office attached itself to his seat. In sundry old college records of rowing we find the expression 'a meeting of strokes,' where in modern times we should speak of a 'captains' meeting.' The U.B.C.'s departed from this tradition more than forty years ago. Since then captains have been found at all thwarts, even including that of the coxswain. Most college clubs followed the U.B.C. principle forthwith, but not all so. We can recall an incident to the contrary. At Queen's College, Oxon, there remained a written rule that stroke should be captain as late as about 1862. In or about that year a Mr. Godfrey was rowing stroke of the Queen's eight in the bumping races, and was _ex-officio_ captain. He had previously stroked the Queen's torpid, and with good success. One night during the summer races Queen's got bumped (or failed to effect a bump). Some of the crew laid the blame of their failure upon their stroke, for having rowed, as they alleged, too rapid a stroke. A college meeting had to be called, and a new stroke to be 'elected,' before a change could be made in the order of the boat for the next night's race! Mr. Godfrey was asked to resign his seat as stroke, which of course he did, and took the seat of No. 6. His successor was thus elected captain. Much sympathy for Mr. Godfrey's unfortunate statutory deposition from command was openly expressed by out-college oarsmen, and the result was before long that a change was made in the code of the Queen's College Boat Club, and its adaptation to that of the more advanced rules which found favour with the majority of the U.B.C. However, just as a bowler at cricket is prone to be blind to his own weaknesses, and to be imbued with ambition to do too much with his own hands at moments when they have lost their cunning, so when a captain has claims, not superlative, to the after-thwart, there is always some danger lest his eagerness to do all he can may blind him as to the best choice for that seat. In some cases, as with (of late) Messrs. West and Pitman, respectively strokes and presidents of their U.B.C'.s, or in the cases of such oarsmen as Messrs. W. Hoare, W. R. Griffiths, M. Brown, J. H. D. Goldie, R. Lesley, H. Rhodes, &c., all of whom had won their spurs as first-class strokes before they were elected to the presidency, the coincidence of stroke and captain has done no harm and has found the best man in the right place. Nevertheless, it is advisable to caution all captains on this score, and to suggest to them that, when they find themselves sharing a candidature for an important seat, they will do well to ask the advice of some impartial mentor, and abide by it. At Eton the traditional law of identity of stroke and captain held good, with natural Etonian conservatism, until a date even later than that of the previously related anecdote of Queen's College. So far as we can recollect, the first instance in which an Eton eight was not stroked by its captain was in 1864. In that year Mr. (now Colonel) Seymour Corkran was captain of Eton. He was a sort of pocket Hercules, of great breadth and weight, scaling close upon 13 st. Eton crews were not then so heavy as in these days, and the wondrous old Eton 'Mat-Taylor' boat, which then was still in her prime, would not satisfactorily carry so heavy a weight in the stern. Mr. Corkran placed himself at No. 7, and installed a light-weight, Mr. Mossop, at stroke. In this year Eton won the Ladies' Plate for the first time, University College leaving them to walk over for it, after University had had a severe losing race earlier in the day against the Kingston Rowing Club for the final heat of the Grand Challenge. The duties of a captain are not confined to the mere selection of his racing crew for the moment, nor to the preservation of order and _régime_ in the matter of training. If he is to do his duty by the club, he should be on duty pretty well all through the season. He should keep his eyes open to note any raw oarsman who shows signs of talent, and mark him to be tried and coached into form hereafter. A captain of an elective club can do much to maintain the credit of his flag by looking up suitable recruits who have not yet joined a leading club, and by inducing them to put themselves under his care, and to submit themselves for election. One of the best oars that ever rowed at Henley, who became an amateur champion (Mr. W. Long), was secured for the L.R.C. by the prompt energy of the then captain of that club, on the occasion of Mr. Long's _début_ at Henley Regatta. On that occasion he came from Ipswich, to row for the pairs, with a partner much inferior to himself. They did not win, but Mr. Long's hitherto unknown merits were at once seen, and his enlistment in the L.R.C. ranks had very much to do with the long series of victories, especially in Stewards' Cup and other four-oar races, which for some seasons afterwards attended the fortunes of the L.R.C. _Per contra_, to show how a good oarsman may be going begging, in 1867 Mr. F. Gulston was not asked to row either by London or Kingston; he went to Paris to row in a pair-oar, and still the L.R.C. overlooked him, though he was a member of their club, and though the L.R.C. were entered for the international regatta on the Seine. Mr. Gulston was nearly, probably quite, as good an oarsman then as in his very best days; but his light, though not hid under a bushel, was openly disregarded by his club. Through the minor regattas of the summer he took refuge with an 'Oscillators' crew, and shoved three inferior men behind along at such a pace that next season it was impossible to ignore him. He became stroke of the L.R.C. Grand Challenge crew in 1868, and won the prize easily. A president of a U.B.C. has not the responsibility of looking after recruits for his club. He has only to see that he does not overlook the merits of those who are in it, among the hundreds of young oarsmen who come out each season in the torpids, lower divisions, and college eights. The 'trial eights' of the winter term have to be made up by him. Each captain of a college crew is requested to send in the names of ten or more candidates for these trials; but it is not safe for a president to rely entirely upon the lists so furnished to him. He is morally bound to give a fair trial to all the candidates who are thus officially submitted to his notice; but he ought also on his own account to have taken stock during the summer races of the promising men of each college crew. The opinions of college captains as to who are likely to make the best candidates for University rowing must not always be relied upon. It has often happened that better men have been omitted than those whose names have been sent in to be tried. We have known a watchful president ask of a college captain to this effect: 'What has become of the man who rowed No. 6 in your torpid?' 'He played cricket all the summer, and did not row in the summer eights.' 'You have not sent in his name?' 'No, I thought him too backward; he has never been in a light boat in his life, and he only began to row last October when he came up as a freshman.' 'Can I see him to-morrow and try him?' says the president; and eventually this cricketer of the torpids is hammered into shape, and subsequently wears a double blue. The above is no exaggerated picture of what has been known to result from careful supervision by a president of the college rowing which comes under his notice. In 1862 Messrs. Jacobson and Wynne rowed in the Oxford crew; the writer believes, from the best of his recollection, that neither of these gentlemen was named in the two primary picked choices which had been sent in to represent Christ Church in the trial eights. But the then president, Mr. George Morrison, had observed them when they were rowing for their college earlier in the season, and took note of them as two strong men, who might be converted by coaching into University oars; and he proved to be correct. A captain of a large club usually has his hands so full of duties connected with representative or picked crews that he can hardly be expected to find much time for systematically coaching juniors. This preliminary work he is obliged to depute to subordinates. In a London club there is usually a sort of subaltern, or sometimes an ex-captain, who undertakes to instruct junior crews or those who are competing for the Thames Cup at Henley. In a college club it is a common practice to elect a 'captain of torpid,' who is usually some one who has rowed in the college eight, but who has not the physique to compete for a seat in the University crew. At Cambridge a large college club puts on so many crews for the bumping races that it is necessary to find separate coaches for nearly each boat. Even when this occurs, a really energetic captain will endeavour to spare a day now and then to supervise the efforts of his subalterns. At Oxford it is, or used to be, customary for the five committee men of the O.U.B.C. to make a point of coaching in turn, when asked, those college eights which had no 'blue,' nor old oarsmen of experience, to instruct them. All these arrangements tend to raise the standard of rowing in various colleges, and so in the U.B.C. generally. The time comes when a captain retires from office, but it is quite possible that he may find time to row again for his flag after he has laid down his bâton. In his new _rôle_ he can do, in another line, quite as much to preserve discipline as when he held the office in his own person. He should be the foremost to set an example of subordination and of strict observance of regulations and of training. Nothing does more to strengthen the hands of a new captain than the spectacle of his late chief serving loyally under him; and, on the other hand, nothing does more to weaken the new ruler's authority than the example of an ex-captain self-sufficient and too proud to acknowledge the sway of his successor. The ex-captain does not lose caste by strict subordination; unless his successor is a man devoid of tact, he will freely take his predecessor into his counsels; and, on the other hand, the predecessor should be careful not to support anarchy by interfering until he is asked to advise. We have known the entire _morale_ of a college crew upset because the ex-captain, a University oar, has taken French leave and ordered an extra half-glass of beer for himself (beyond the statutory allowance), without observing the formal etiquette of first asking the leave of his successor, whose standing was only that of college-eight oarsmanship. Such a proceeding at once made it more difficult than ever for the new captain to preserve discipline and strict attention to training orders among the thirsty souls with whom he had to deal. In some college boat clubs there is a rule that the captain must be resident in college. The object of this is to prevent the archives and trophies of the boat club, which are in custody of the captain, from passing outside the college gates, and so possibly getting astray in lodgings. Such a rule as this naturally prevents many a senior oarsman from holding the office (for after a certain standing undergraduates migrate from college walls to lodgings). In such cases those members of the college club who belong to the University eight constantly find themselves under the formal authority of one who does not pretend to equal their skill or knowledge of aquatics. As a rule these retired generals work harmoniously with their inferior but commanding in-college oarsman; but cases do occur where want of tact on the part of one or both parties has a very mischievous effect, and causes the club to take a lower place on the race-charts than it might have attained had all parties co-operated loyally for the support of the flag. The position of captain of a club, whether rowing, cricket, or athletics, is a very useful school for any young man, if he uses his opportunity aright. It teaches him to be self-reliant; to avoid vacillation on the one hand and obstinacy on the other; to exercise tact and forbearance, and to set a good example on his own part of observance of standing orders. All these lessons serve him well in after-life. No man is the worse, when fighting the battle of the world, for having learnt both how to obey orders implicitly and also how to govern others with firmness and tact. He will look back to many a decision which he came to, and will perhaps be able to console himself by reflecting that at the time he acted according to the best of his lights; but none the less he will perceive that he was then in error, and that as he sees more of aquatics, or of any other branch of sport, he finds that he is only beginning to learn the best of it when the time comes for him to take his departure from the scene of actual conflict. If he will apply the analogy to his career in life, whatever that may be, he will prosper therein all the more by reason of the practical lessons which he gained when his arena was purely athletic. [Illustration: BISHAM COURT REACH.] CHAPTER VI. THE COXSWAIN AND STEERING. The 'cock-swain' wins his place chiefly on account of his weight, provided that he can show a reasonable amount of nerve and skill of hand. A coxswain is seldom a very practical oarsman, although there have been special exceptions to this rule, e.g. in the case of T. H. Marshall, of Exeter, Arthur Shadwell, of Oriel, and a few others. But if he has been any length of time at his trade he very soon picks up a very considerable theoretical knowledge of what rowing should be, and is able to do very signal service in the matter of instructing the men whom he pilots. When a youth begins to handle the rudder-lines there is often some considerable difficulty in inducing him to open his mouth to give orders of any sort. Even such biddings as to tell one side of oars to hold her, or another to row or to back-water, come at first falteringly from his lips. It is but natural that he should feel his own physical inferiority to the men whom he is for the moment required to order about so peremptorily, and diffidence at first tends to make him dumb. But he soon picks up his _rôle_ when he listens to the audacious orders and objurgations of rival pilots, and he is pleased to find that the qualities of what he might modestly consider to be impudence and arrogance are the very things which are most required of him, and for the display of which he earns commendation. Having once found his tongue, he soon learns to use it. When there is a coach in attendance upon the crew, the pilot is not called upon to animadvert on any failings of oarsmen; but when the coach is absent the coxswain is bound to say something, and, if he has his wits about him, he soon picks up enough to make his remarks more or less to the purpose. The easiest detail on which he offers an opinion is that of time of oars. At first he feels guilty of 'cheek' in singing out to some oarsman of good standing that he is out of time. He feels as if he should hardly be surprised at a retort not to attempt to teach his grandmother; but, on the contrary, the admonition is meekly accepted, and the pilot begins at once to gain confidence in himself. Daily he picks up more and more theoretical knowledge; he notes what a coach may say of this or that man's faults, and he soon begins to see when certain admonitions are required. At least he can play the parrot, and can echo the coach's remarks when the mentor is absent, and before long he will have picked up enough to be able to discern when such a reproof is relevant and when it is not. In his spare time he often paddles a boat about on his own account, and this practice materially assists him in understanding the doctrines which he has to preach. As a rule, coxswains row in very good form, when they row at all; and before their career closes many of them, though they have never rowed in a race, can teach much more of the science of oarsmanship than many a winning oar of a University race or of a Grand Challenge Cup contest. A coxswain is the lightest item in the crew, but unless he sits properly he can do much harm in disturbing the balance of a light boat. He should sit with a straight back; if he slouches, he has not the necessary play of the loins to adapt himself to a roll of the boat. He should incline just a trifle forward; the spring of the boat at each stroke will swing him forward slightly, and he will recoil to an equal extent on the recovery. His legs should be crossed under him, like a tailor on a shop-board, with the outside of each instep resting on the floor of the boat. He should hold his rudder-lines just tight enough to feel the rudder. If he hangs too much weight upon them, he may jam the tiller upon the pin on which it revolves, so that, when the rudder has been put on and then taken off, the helm does not instantly swing back to the exact _status quo ante_; and in that case the calculation as to course may be disturbed, and a counter pull from the other line become necessary, in order to rectify the course. A coxswain will do best to rest his hand lightly on either gunwale, just opposite to his hips. He should give the lines a turn round his palms, to steady the hold on them. Many coxswains tie a loop at the required distance, and slip the thumb through it; but such a loop should not be knotted too tight, for when rudder-lines get wet they shrink; so that a loop which was properly adjusted when the line was dry will be too far behind in event of the strings becoming soaked. When a coxswain desires to set a crew in motion, the usual formula is to tell the men to 'get forward,' then to ask if they are 'ready,' and then to say 'go,' 'row,' or 'paddle,' as the case may be. When he wishes to stop the rowing, without otherwise to check the pace of the boat, the freshwater formula is 'easy all,' at which command the oars are laid flat on the water. In the navy the equivalent term is 'way enough.' 'Easy all' should be commanded at the beginning, or at latest at the middle, of a stroke, otherwise it is difficult for the men to stop all together and to avoid a half-commencement of the next stroke. If a boat has to be suddenly checked and her way stopped, the order is 'Hold her all.' The blades are then slightly inclined towards the bow of the boat, causing them to bury in the water, and at the same time not to present a square surface to back-water. The handle of the oar should then be elevated, and more and more so as the decreasing way enables each oarsman to offer more surface resistance to the water. So soon as the way of the boat has been sufficiently checked, she can be backed or turned, according to what may be necessary in the situation. In turning a long racing-boat care should be taken to do so gently, otherwise she may be strained. If there is plenty of room, she can be turned by one side of oars 'holding' her, while bow, and afterwards No. 3 also, paddle her gently round. If there is not room for a wide turn, then stroke and No. 6 should back water gently, against bow, &c. paddling. A coxswain, when he first begins his trade, is pleased to find how obedient his craft is to the touch of his hand; he pulls one string and her head turns that way; he takes a tug at the other line, and she reverses her direction. The ease with which he can by main force bring her, somehow or other, to the side of the river on which he desires to be tends at first to make him overlook how much extra distance he unnecessarily covers by rough-and-ready hauling at the lines. 'Argonaut'[7] very lucidly uses the expression 'a boat should be _coaxed_ by its rudder,' a maxim which all pilots will do well to make a cardinal point in their creed. [7] Mr. E. D. Brickwood. When a boat is once pointing in a required direction, and her true course is for the moment a straight one, the pilot should note some landmark, and endeavour to regulate his bows by aid of it, keeping the mark dead ahead, or so much to the right or to the left as occasion may require. In so doing he should feel his lines, and, so to speak, 'balance' his bows on his _point d'appui_. His action should be somewhat analogous to what the play of his hand would be if he were attempting to carry a stick end upwards on the tip of his finger. He would quickly but gently anticipate the declination denoted by each wavering motion of the stick, checking each such deviation the moment it is felt. In like manner when steering he should, as it were, 'hold' his bows on to his steering point, regulating his boat by gentle and timely touches; if he allows a wide deviation to occur, before he begins to correct his course, he has then a wide _détour_ to make before he can regain his lost position. All this means waste of distance and of rowing energy on the part of the crew. In steering by a distant landmark the coxswain must bear in mind that the parallax of the distant mark increases as he nears it; so that what may point a true course to him, for all intents and purposes, when it is half a mile away, may lead him too much to one side or other if he clings to it too long without observing its altered bearing upon his desired direction. When a coxswain has steered a course more than once he begins to know his landmarks and their bearing upon each part of the course. There is less strain upon his mind, and he becomes able to observe greater accuracy. There is nothing like having the 'eye well in' for any scene of action. A man plays relatively better upon a billiard-table or lawn-tennis ground to which he is well accustomed than on one to which he is a stranger; and a jockey rides a horse all the better for having crossed him before the day of a race. However good a coxswain may be, he will steer a course more accurately, on the average, in proportion as he knows it more or less mechanically. There is also a good deal in knowing the boat which has to be steered. No two ships steer exactly alike. Some come round more easily than others; some fetch up into the wind more freely than others. In modern times it has been a common practice for builders to affix a movable 'fin' of metal to the bottom of a racing eight or four, under the after canvas, which fin can be taken out or fixed in at option. In a cross wind this helps to steady the track of a boat; but, unless wind is strong and is abeam for a good moiety of the distance, the draw of the water all the way occasioned by the fin costs more than the extra drag of rudder which it obviates for just one part of the course. In steering round a corner a coxswain should bear in mind that he must not expect to see his boat pointing in the direction to which he desires to make. His boat is a tangent to a curve, the curve being the shore. His bows will be pointing to the shore which he is avoiding. It is the position of his midship to the shore which he is rounding that he should especially note. The boat should be brought round as gradually as the severity of the wave will allow. If the curve is very sharp, like the corners of the 'Gut' at Oxford, or 'Grassy' or Ditton corners at Cambridge, the inside oars should be told to row light for a stroke or two. It will ease their labour, and also that of the oars on the other side. When there is a stiff beam wind the bows of a racing craft tend to bear up into the wind's eye. The vessel is making leeway all the time; therefore if the coxswain on such an occasion steers by a landmark which would guide him were the water calm, he will before long find himself much to leeward of where he should be. In order to maintain his desired course he should humour his boat, and allow her bow to hold up somewhat into the wind (to windward of the landmark which otherwise would be guiding him). To what extent he should do so he must judge for himself, according to circumstances and to his own knowledge of the leeward propensities of his boat. To lay down a hard-and-fast rule on this point would be as much out of place as to attempt to frame a scale of allowance which a Wimbledon rifleman ought to make for mirage or cross-wind, when taking aim at a distant bull's-eye. Generally speaking a coxswain should hug the shore when going against tide or stream, and should keep in mid-stream when going with it. (Mid-stream does not necessarily imply mid-river.) Over the Henley course, until 1886, a coxswain on the Berks side used to make for the shelter of the bank below Poplar Point, where the stream ran with less force. The alteration (for good) of the Henley course which was inaugurated in 1886 has put an end to this, and both racing crews now take a mid-stream course. The course is to all intents and purposes straight, and yet it will not do to keep the bows fixed on one point from start to finish. There is just a fraction of curve to the left in it, but so slight that one finger's touch of a line will deflect a boat to the full extent required. The church tower offers a landmark by which all pilots can steer, keeping it more or less to the right hand of the bows, and allowing for the increase of its parallax as the boat nears her goal. Over the Putney water the best course has changed considerably during the writer's personal recollections. Twenty years ago the point entering to Horse Reach, and opposite to Chiswick Church, could be taken close. The Conservancy dredged the bed of the river, and also filled up a bight on the Surrey shore. This transferred the channel and the strongest current to the Middlesex side. In 1866 a head wind (against flood tide) off Chiswick raised the higher surf near to the towpath, showing that the main stream flowed there. It now runs much nearer to the Eyot. Also the removal of the centre arch of old Putney Bridge drew the main flood tide more into mid-river than of old; and since then the new bridge has been built and the old one altogether removed, still further affecting the current in the same direction. There is a noticeable tendency in the present day, on the part of all pilots, whether in sculling matches or in eight-oar races, to take Craven Point too wide and to bear off into the bay opposite, on the Surrey shore. The course should be kept rather more mid-stream than of old, up to Craven steps, but the point should be taken reasonably close when rounding; there should not be, as has often been seen during the last six years, room for a couple more boats to race between the one on the Fulham side and the Craven bank. In old days, when Craven Point used to be taken close, and when the set of the tide lay nearer to it than now, there ensued an important piece of pilotage called 'making the shoot.' It consisted in gradually sloping across the river, so as to take the Soapworks Point at a tangent, and thence to make for the Surrey arch of Hammersmith Bridge. This 'shoot' is now out of place: firstly, because the tide up the first reach from the start of itself now tends to bring the boat more into mid-river off the Grass Wharf and Walden's Wharf; secondly, because the Soapworks Point should now be taken _wide_, and not close. The reason for this latter injunction is that the races of to-day, by agreement, go through the centre arch of Hammersmith Bridge. Now the flood tide does not run through the bridge at right angles to the span. It is working hard across to the Surrey shore. Therefore, if a boat hugs Soapworks Point as of old, and as if the course lay through the shore arch, that boat will have to come out, _across_ tide, at an angle of about 25° to the set of the tide, in order to fetch the outer arch and to clear the buttress and the steamboat pier. Year after year the same blunder is seen. Pilots, of sculling boats and of eight-oars alike, wander away to the Surrey bay off Craven; then they hug the shore till they reach the Soapworks foot-bridge, and then they have to cross half the tide on their right before they can safely point for the outer arch of the Suspension Bridge. A pilot should endeavour to keep in mid-river off Rosebank and the Crab Tree, and after passing the latter point he will, while pointing his bows well to the right of the arch which he intends to pass under, find the river move to the left under him, until, with little or no use of rudder, he finds himself in front of his required arch just as he reaches the bridge. After passing the bridge a boat should keep straight on for another two hundred yards, else it will get into dead water caused by the eddy of the Surrey pier. At Chiswick the course may be taken wide (save and except, as in all cases, where force of wind alters circumstances). The main tide runs nearest to Chiswick Eyot. Horse Reach should be entered in mid-river; there is little or no tide on the Surrey point below it. Making for Barnes Bridge, the boat should keep fairly near to the Middlesex shore--how near depends upon whether the race is ordained to pass through the centre or the Middlesex arch of Barnes Bridge. Once through Barnes Bridge, the course should sheer in (if the centre arch has been taken) until the boat lies as if it had taken the shore arch. It should attain this position by the time it breasts the 'White Hart.' The river is here a horseshoe to the finish. In linear measure a boat on the Middlesex side has nearly two lengths less to travel than the one outside it between Barnes Bridge and the 'Ship.' The tide runs nearly as well within sixty feet of the shore as in mid-river at this point, hence it pays to keep about that distance from the Middlesex bank. The old Thames watermen who instruct young pilots over the Putney course are often inclined to run too much in the grooves which were good in their younger days, when they themselves were racing on the river. Their instruction would be sound enough if the features of the river had not undergone change, as aforesaid, in sundry details. The repeated blunders of navigation lately seen perpetrated by watermen as well as amateurs between Craven Steps and Hammersmith make us lose much faith in watermen's tuition for steering the metropolitan course. We would rather entrust a young pilot to some active member of the London or Thames Rowing Clubs. These gentlemen know the river well enough as it now is, and are not biassed by old memories of what it once was but is no longer. University coxswains have easier tasks in these days than their predecessors before 1868. Until the Thames Conservancy obtained statutory powers in 1868 to clear the course for boat-racing, it used to be a ticklish matter to pick a safe course on a flood tide. There would be strings of barges towed, and many more sailing, others 'sweeping,' up river. Traffic did not stop for sport. Coxswains often found themselves in awkward predicaments to avoid such itinerant craft, more so when barges were under sail against a head wind, and were tacking from shore to shore. In 1866 a barge of this sort most seriously interfered with the Cambridge crew in Horse Reach, just when Oxford had, after a stern race, given them the go-by off the Bathing-place. It extinguished any chance which might have been left for Cambridge. In the preceding year C. R. W. Tottenham immortalised himself by a great _coup_ with a barge. She was tacking right across his course (Oxford had just gone ahead after having been led by a clear length through Hammersmith Bridge). This was just below Barnes Bridge. Many a pilot would have tried to go round the bows of that barge. At the moment when she shaped her course to tack across tide there seemed to be ample room to pass in front of her. Tottenham never altered his course, and trusted to his own calculations. Presently the barge was broadside on to Oxford's bows, and only a few lengths ahead. Every one in the steamers astern stood aghast at what seemed to be an inevitable smash. The barge held on, and so did Oxford, and the barge passed clear away just before Oxford came up. Even if she had hung a little, in a lull of wind, it would have been easy for Oxford to deflect a trifle and pass under her stern. Anything was better than attempting to go round her bows, which at first seemed to be the simplest course to spectators not experts at pilotage. It must be admitted that so much nerve and judgment at a pinch have never before or since been displayed by any coxswain in a University match. Tottenham had his opportunity and made the most of it. He steered thrice afterwards, but even if he had never steered again he had made his reputation by this one _coup_. In justice to other crack coxswains, such as Shadwell and Egan of old, and, _par excellence_, G. L. Davis in the present day, we must assume that if they had been similarly tried they would have been equally triumphant. [Illustration: FEATHER 'UNDER' THE WATER.] CHAPTER VII. SLIDING SEATS. I. THEIR ORIGIN. When sliding seats were first used they completely revolutionised oarsmanship, and caused old coaches whose names were household words to stand aghast at the invention. The best use of them was but imperfectly realised by those who first adopted them; and many of the earliest examples of sliding-seat oarsmanship were sufficiently unorthodox, according to our improved use of them in the present day, to justify the declaration of more than one veteran whose opinion was always respected that--'if that is sliding, it is not rowing.' The mechanical power gained by a sliding seat is so great that even if he who uses it sets at defiance all recognised principles of fixed-seat rowing, he can still command more pace than if he adhered to fixed-seat work. It was the spectacle, in earlier days of the slide, of this unorthodox sliding style beating good specimens of fixed-seat oarsmanship which so horrified many of the retired good oarsmen of the fixed-seat school. Before long the true use of the slide became better understood, and thus oarsmen--at all events scientific amateurs--began to realise that, while bad sliding could manage to command more pace than good fixed rowing, yet at the same time good sliding (which will be explained hereafter) will beat bad sliding by even more than the latter can distance good fixed-seat work. Just a similar sort of prejudice was displayed against the earlier style of rowing in keelless boats. When these craft first came in, oarsmen had little or no idea of 'sitting' them; they rolled helplessly, and lost all form, but nevertheless they travelled faster in the new craft than when rowing in good style in old-fashioned iron-shod keeled boats. In a season or two style reasserted itself, and it was found that it was by no means impossible to row in as neat a shape in a keelless boat as in a keeled one. Sliding on the seat had been practised long before the sliding seat was invented, but only to a modified extent. Robert Chambers of St. Antony's, the quondam champion, tried it now and then, and when preparing for his 1865 match with Kelley he used to slide a trifle, especially for a spurt, and to grease his seat to facilitate his operations. Jack Clasper, according to Mr. E. D. Brickwood's well-known treatise on Boat-racing, used to slide to a small extent on a fixed seat when he rowed in a Newcastle four which won on the Thames in 1857. Of this detail the writer has himself no recollection. Also, in 1867, a Tyne sculler, Percy, tried sliding on a fixed seat in a sculling match against J. Sadler on the Thames (so Mr. Brickwood relates). But none of these earlier sliders made much good out of their novelty. The strain on the legs caused by the friction on the seat prevented the oarsman from maintaining the action for long, and meantime it took so much out of him that it prematurely exhausted his whole frame. In 1870 Renforth's champion four used to slide on the seat for a spurt, but not for a whole course. They beat the St. John's Canadian crew very easily while so rowing in a match at Lachine, but we believe that they would have won with about as much ease had they rowed on fixed seats. In the same year a 'John o' Gaunt' four from Lancaster came to Henley Regatta and rowed in this fashion, sliding on fixed seats. They had very little body swing, and their style showed all the worst features of the subsequent style which became too common when sliding seats were first established. They did almost all their work by the piston action of the legs, and their limbs tired under the strain at the end of three or four minutes. They led a light crew of Oxford 'Old Radleians' by three lengths past Fawley Court, and then began to come back to them. The Oxonians steadily gained on them, but had to come round outside them at the Point, and could never get past them, losing the race by less than a yard. Enough was seen on this occasion to convince oarsmen that the Lancastrian style was only good for half-mile racing. In the final heat for the Stewards' fours a good L.R.C. crew beat the Lancastrians with ease after going half a mile. The Radleians would doubtless have also gone well by the Lancastrians had the course been a hundred yards longer. So far the old fixed seat had vindicated itself for staying purposes. But in the following year a problem was practically solved. It seems that (so Mr. Brickwood tells us) an oarsman comparatively unknown to fame, one Mr. R. O. Birch, had used an actual sliding seat at King's Lynn Regatta in 1870. Mr. Brickwood seems to have been the only writer who took cognisance of this interesting fact. University men and tideway amateurs, also professionals so far as we can gather, seem not to have heard of, or at least not to have heeded, the experiment. Had Mr. Birch been a leading sculler of the day, possibly the innovation might have been adopted earlier than it was. Meantime in America the sliding seat had been better known, but had not been appreciated. Mr. Brickwood tells us that a Mr. J. C. Babcock, of the Nassau Boat Club, constructed a sliding seat as long ago as 1857. Also that W. Brown, the American sculler, tried one in 1861, but abandoned it. In 1869 Mr. Babcock once more devoted himself to the study and construction of sliding seats, and brought out a six-oared crew rowing on slides. But the invention did not obtain much recognition, although Mr. Babcock was of opinion that his crew gained in power of stroke through the new apparatus. How the seat came to be at length adopted arose thus. In 1871 two Tyne crews went to America to compete in regattas. One of these was Renforth's crew, and, as detailed elsewhere, Renforth died during a race against the St. John crew. Robert Chambers (not the ex-champion) took his place later on for sundry regattas. The Tyne crews rowed with a good average of success in America. Taylor, who commanded the other Tyne four, raced a States four, called the Biglin-Coulter crew, rowing with sliding seats. These Biglin-Coulter men did not prove themselves, as a whole, any better than, if so fast as, the British crew; consequently there was nothing to draw especial attention to their apparatus. Of the two British crews, that stroked by Chambers proved itself on the whole, through various regattas, faster than Taylor's four. Taylor bided his time. He proposed a match on the Tyne between the two British fours, and the offer was accepted. The match came off in the fall of the same year. Taylor's men had their boat fitted with sliding seats, and kept their apparatus 'dark' from the world and from their opponents. They used to cease sliding when watched, and kept their apparatus covered up. When the race came off, Taylor's crew decisively reversed the American regatta form, and beat Chambers's crew easily. This was ascribed to the slide, information as to which leaked out after the race. The next University race was not rowed with slides, but a couple of minor sculling races in the spring were rowed with them. In June of that year a very fine L.R.C. four (Messrs. J. B. Close, F. S. Gulston, A. de L. Long, and W. Stout) rowed a four-oared match on the Thames against the Atalanta Club of New York. The L.R.C. men used slides. That did not affect their victory; they were stronger and better oarsmen than the Americans, and could have won easily on fixed seats; but what gave a fillip to slides was the clear testimony of these four oarsmen of undoubted skill to the advantage which they felt themselves gain by their use. Instantly there was a run upon slides. Henley Regatta was impending. The L.R.C. crews were all fitted with them for that meeting. Several other crews took to them after reaching Henley, and after seeing the superiority which London obtained by them. Kingston and Pembroke (Oxon) had their boats fitted with slides less than a week before the race. Pembroke was a moderate crew, and only entered because they held the Ladies' Plate. At first, in practice, Pembroke did about equal time over the course with Lady Margaret, both crews being on fixed seats. But the day after Pembroke got their slides they improved some 15 secs. upon the time of Lady Margaret, who kept to their old seats. It must, however, be recorded that the Ladies' Plate was won by a fixed-seat crew--Jesus, Camb. This crew was by far the best in material of all the entries at the regatta. Their individual superiority enabled them to give away the slide to Pembroke, and had they taken to slides even for the last few days they would probably have also won the Grand Challenge. As it was, that prize fell to the L.R.C., a crew which had four good men, and then a weak tail. The sliding seat had now fairly established its claims. It should be added that Pembroke, with two good and two moderate men, won the Visitors' Plate from a very good Dublin four, about the best four that Dublin ever sent to Henley. Pembroke used slides, and the Dublin men had fixed seats. (Slides alone won this race for Pembroke.) The Pembroke slides were on wheels--a mechanism which was soon afterwards discarded by builders in favour of greased glass or steel grooves or tubes, but which seems to be returning to favour in 1886 and 1887. II. THEIR USE. In order to understand the true action in a slide, it will be well to recall the action of fixed-seat rowing. On the fixed seat the swing of the body does the main work, being supported by the legs, which are rigid and bent. On a slide the legs extend gradually, while at the same time they support the body. On a fixed seat the body moves as the radius of a circle that is stationary; on a slide the body moves as the radius of a circle which is itself in motion. Suppose a threepenny-piece and a half-crown placed alongside of each other, concentrically, with a common pivot. Let the threepenny-piece roll for a certain distance on the edge of a card. Then any point in the circumference of the half-crown will move through a curve called a 'trochoid.' This is practically the sort of curve described by the head or shoulders of an oarsman who rows upon a sliding seat. The actual gain of rowing power by means of this mechanism is considerable. The exact extent of it is not easy to arrive at, there being various factors to be taken into consideration. In the first place, the length of reach, or of the 'stroke,' is considerably increased. Mr. Brickwood in 1873 conducted some scientific experiments on dry land upon this subject, in conjunction with the editor of the 'Field' and Mr. F. Gulston. The result of these measurements was to demonstrate (in the person of Mr. F. Gulston) a gain of about 18 inches in length of stroke upon a 9-inch slide. In 1881 some casual experiments of a similar sort were conducted on a lawn at Marlow by the Oxford crew then training there. The writer was present, and, so far as he remembers, the results practically confirmed the estimate of Mr. Brickwood above recorded, allowance being made for the fact that the gentleman by means of whose body the ideal stroke was measured at Marlow was longer-bodied and longer in the leg than Mr. Gulston. As a second advantage, the sliding seat decidedly relieves the abdominal muscles and respiratory organs during the recovery. In dealing with scientific racing we have previously remarked that the point wherein a tiring oarsman first gives way is in his recovery, because of the relative weakness of the muscles which conduct that portion of the action of the stroke. It therefore is obvious that any contrivance which can enable a man to recover with less exertion to himself will enable him to do more work in the stroke over the whole course, and still more so if the very contrivance which aids recovery also gives extra power to the stroke. On the other hand, there are two drawbacks to the slide. One of these is, that when sliding full forward the legs are more bent than would be the case on a fixed seat. The body cannot reach quite so far forward over the toes on a full slide as it can on a properly regulated fixed seat. This slightly detracts from the work of the _body_ at the beginning of the stroke. Again, when a slide is used to best advantage, the greatest mechanical benefit occurs just when the body arrives at the perpendicular, and when the legs are beginning to do the greater portion of their extension. This causes the greater force of the stroke to be applied behind the rowlock, in contradiction of all old theories of fixed-seat oarsmanship. Taking all _pros_ and _cons_ together, it has been practically proved beyond doubt to every rowing man for more than a decade that the slide gains much more than it sacrifices. Even bad sliding secures sufficient advantage to beat fixed-seat rowing (_ceteris paribus_), and good sliding completely distances fixed-seat performances. It is often remarked that the 'times' performed by sliding-seat crews are not glaringly superior to those of fixed-seat annals. This is correct. Nevertheless the balance is clearly in favour of sliding performances. The actual difference is much greater than times happen to disclose; it is somewhat fallacious to draw deductions from averages of recorded times, unless the individual condition of wind and weather, and of close or hollow races, be also chronicled for each year. On p. 106 record is given of the actual gain attained by Pembroke College crew within ten days of their essaying the use of slides. It may be added that Kingston, who adopted slides about the same day, displayed much about the same increase of speed, as shown by clocking and by comparing their times with those of other crews before and after their adoption of slides. Another matter throws light on the question, and that is the records of practice times--which are, on the whole, more trustworthy to prove an average than race times. Races have to start at fixed hours, irrespective of weather, whereas practice can select smooth days for trials. The records of sliding trials--over Henley courses and tideway--when wind and water have been favourable, show a much greater advance over similar practice trials of fixed-seat crews than is disclosed by the racing times of sliders. The writer believes that he is not far wrong in estimating the difference between sliding and fixed seats, in an eight or four, over the Henley course at 15 secs. (rough), and at something well over half a minute over the Putney course. Scullers gain more by slides than oarsmen, because they can work square throughout to the stretcher, whereas the oarsman's handle tends to place the strain at different angles to his body as the stroke progresses. Not much importance need be attached to the fact that the first University race rowed on slides eclipsed all its predecessors (and successors) for time.[8] It is well known that a gig eight with fixed seats on a good flood could do much faster time than a racing and sliding ship on a neap. The 1873 race hit off a one-o'clock tide and fair weather; and it would equally have surpassed all or most predecessors if the crews had not used slides. But still it was fortuitous that the first race of this class in the U.B.C.'s series should thus indicate the novelty by time record. [8] See Tables. What is more striking is the ease with which times of about twenty minutes or under are now repeatedly accomplished, and by moderate crews, on moderate tides, and often with breezes unfavourable. Till slides came in twenty minutes had only once been beaten, and that was by the Oxford crew of 1857 in practice (19 min. 53 sec.); and as Mr. T. Egan, at that date editor of aquatics in 'Bell's Life,' then recorded in that journal, the oldest waterman could hardly recall such springs as foamed through Putney arches that week, and especially upon that day of trial. [Illustration: PRACTISING STROKE (1).] [Illustration: PRACTISING STROKE (2).] [Illustration: PRACTISING STROKE (3).] [Illustration: PRACTISING STROKE (4).] In 1871 Goldie's (third) crew were supposed to do wonderful time (20 min. 11 sec.), on a good spring and smooth day. It sufficed to make them hot favourites. In these days a sliding crew that could not beat 19 min. 40 sec. on a smooth spring tide would be reckoned to have a bad chance of success. The value of slides is therefore beyond dispute, but the oarsman should realise that good sliding distances bad sliding quite as far as bad sliding can beat fixed seats. Hence the importance of using the slide to the best advantage. To realise what he has to do, let a man test separately his two forces which he has presently to combine. Let him row an ordinary fixed-seat stroke: this shows him the power of his swing; then let him sit upright, holding his oar, and, having slid up forward, kick back with rigid back and arms. He will feel that he grips the water even more forcibly for the instant by the second than by the former process. The fallacy of bad sliders is to be content with this gain of power in the action last named, and to substitute slide for swing (the arms eventually rowing the stroke home in either case). The problem which an oarsman has to solve is to _combine_ the two actions. In order to do this, he should realise an important fact, viz. that the body cannot work effectually unless it receives support from the extensor muscles of the legs. Therefore, if he slides before he swings, or if he completes his slide before he completes his swing, any swing which he attempts after the slide is played out is practically powerless. Also, if the swing is thus rendered helpless, so also is the finish of the stroke with the arms, for these depend upon the body for support, and the body cannot supply them with this support unless the legs in their turn are doing their duty to the body. Bearing this amount of theory in mind, the oarsman should put it into practice thus. He should get forward (and immerse his blade, as on a fixed seat). Then, at the moment he touches the water, he should bring his body to bear upon the handle, just as if he were for the instant rowing on a fixed seat; his legs should be rigid, though bent, at the instant of catch. (See No. 1, p. 110.) So soon as the catch has been applied, the oar-handle begins to come in to the operator. Now comes a bit of watermanship and management of the limbs which require special attention, and which few oarsmen, even in these days of improved sliding, carry out to exact perfection. The knees have been elevated by the slide (if it is anything over 4 inches) to a height over which the oar-handle cannot pass without being elevated in its turn. Therefore, having once made his catch with rigid knees, the pupil should then begin to slide, contemporaneously with his swing, for a small distance, until he has brought his knees to such a level that the oar-loom can pass over them (No. 2, p. 110). He should during this period of the stroke slide only just so much as is required in order to bring his knees to the necessary height before the oar reaches them. By the time that the oar comes over them he will be about the perpendicular (No. 3, p. 111). Now comes that part of the stroke which, on a slide, is the most effective. The body should from this point swing well back, much further so than would be orthodox upon a fixed seat; all the time that the body is thus swinging back the legs should be extending, and the pace of extension should be regulated according to the length of slide. In any case the slide and swing should terminate contemporaneously (No. 4, p. 111). The arms, as in fixed-seat rowing, should contract and row the stroke home while the body is still swinging back. They should not begin to bend until the trunk has well passed the perpendicular. The oarsman must bear in mind that the moment for finishing his slide should be regulated, not by the length of the _slide_, but by _the length of his swing_, and the latter should go well back until his body is at an angle of about thirty degrees beyond the perpendicular. Suppose he has a long slide, say of 10 inches or more, and he decides, either from fatigue or because he need not fully extend himself, to use only part of his slide; or suppose he is changed from a boat fitted with 11-inch slides to one with 9-inch ditto, he must not, when using the shorter slide, allow his legs to extend as rapidly as they did when they had a longer distance to cover. If he fails to observe this he will 'hurry' his slide, and will bring it to an end before the swing is completed, thus rendering the latter part of the swing helpless for want of due leg-support. If slide and swing are not arranged contemporaneously, it is far better that a balance of slide should remain to be run out after the swing has finished than _vice versâ_. The legs can always push, and so continue the stroke, even if the body is rigid; but the body cannot conversely do anything effective for the stroke when once the legs have run their course. The recovery on a sliding seat is not quite the counterpart of that on a fixed seat. On the fixed seat the recovery should be the converse of the stroke: i.e. the arms, which came in latest, while the body was still swinging back, should shoot out first, while the body is beginning its return swing; and just as the first part of the stroke was performed with straight arms and swinging body, so the last part of the recovery should disclose a similar pose of arms and body. But upon a slide there is not exactly such a transposition on the recovery of the motions which are correct for the stroke. The hands play the same part as before; they cannot well be too lively off the chest and in extension, because the knees require more clearing on slides, and the sooner the hands are on the safe side of them the less chance is there of fouling the water on the return of the blade. But, as regards the relations between slide and swing, these should _not_ bear the same relation conversely which they did to each other during the stroke. The pupil was enjoined not to let his slide run ahead of his swing while rowing the stroke through; but on the recovery he may, and should, let his slide get well ahead, and be completed before the body has attained its full reach forward. The body should not _wait_ for the swing to do its duty first, but it should begin at once to recover, though more leisurely than the legs. The reasons for this are:-- 1. The pace of the slide lends impetus to the trunk, and eases the labour of the forward swing; it transfers some of the exertion of recovering the trunk from the abdominal muscles, which are weak, to the flexors of legs and loins, which are much more powerful, and are better able to stand the strain. 2. The body needs some purchase upon which to depend for its recovery, and the legs can aid it in this respect much more effectually when bent than when rigid. Therefore, since staying power is greatly affected by the amount of exertion involved in recovery (as explained in previous pages), the oarsman will last longer in proportion as he thus omits the recovery of his trunk, by accelerating his slide on the return. Many good oarsmen slide until the knees are quite straight. In the writer's opinion, this is waste of power: the knees should never _quite_ straighten; the recovery is, for anatomical reasons, much stronger if the joint is slightly bent when the reversal of the machinery commences (No. 4, p. 111). The extra half-inch of kick gained by quite straightening the knees hardly compensates for the extra strain of recovery; also leg-work to the last fraction of a second of swing is better preserved by this retention of a slight bend, and an open chest and clean finish are thereby better attained. Engineers, who know what is meant by a 'dead point' in machinery, will at once grasp the reason for not allowing the legs to shoot quite straight. When a crew are being coached upon slides, it is of great importance to get the slide simultaneous, and as nearly as possible equal. A long-legged man, sculling, may use a much longer slide than a short man. But in an eight, if the long man fits his stretcher as if for sculling, he will be doing more than his share, and may be unable to shoot so long a slide through in the required time, except by dint of 'hurrying' it; and, if he does this latter, the result is to cripple his swing, as shown _supra_. There must be a certain amount of give-and-take in arranging slides in an eight or four oar. That length of slide is best which all the crew can work simultaneously and effectively, preserving uniformity of swing and slide. When tiros are being taught their first lesson in sliding, they should be placed on very short slides, say 3 inches at most. The centre of the slide only should be used. The runners should be blocked fore and aft, so that when the slide stands half way (1-1/2 inch from foremost block), the distance from the seat to the stretcher should be just as much as the man would require if he were on a fixed seat. Young hands are less likely to make their stroke all slide and no swing if they have at first only such length of slide as above indicated. When the slide of 3 inches has been mastered, it may be lengthened, inch by inch. In thus lengthening the slide, it is best to add, at first, more to the forward part of the slide than to the back part, i.e. say, for a 4-inch slide, 2-1/2 inches before and 1-1/2 inch behind, the point of seat for fixed-seat work, to the same stretcher. This arrangement prevents the pupil from lacking leg-support at the end of his swing, and teaches him to feel his legs well against the stretcher till the hands have come home to the chest. When 4 inches have been mastered, add another inch forward and about half an inch back, and so on. In time the beginner will reach the full range of his slide forward, while yet he is 'blocked' from using the full distance back. When he becomes proficient in this pose, his slide back can be increased by degrees until he attains a full slide. The great thing is to induce him from the first to combine his slide with his swing, and not to substitute the former for the latter. When slides first came in shocking form was seen upon them, as previously stated. This was a venial result of oarsmen being driven--by emulation to win prizes in races immediately impending--to attempt to run before they had learnt to walk, so to speak. The year 1873 saw worse form among amateurs than the writer can recall in any season. In 1874 matters began to mend. The two University strokes of that year, Messrs. Rhodes and Way, had each been at pains to improve his style since he had last been seen in public at Henley. Each seemed to realise that he had been on a wrong tack, and set to work to alter his style radically. These same gentlemen were strokes of their respective U.B.C.'s in 1875, and the improvement was still more palpable. The Oxonian had an exceptionally fine lot of men behind him; the Cantab had two or three weak men in the bows who did not do justice to him. But none the less, when these crews performed at Putney, old-fashioned critics, who had been till then prejudiced against the new machinery, as being destructive to form, were fain to admit that after all, when properly managed, slides could produce as good form of body and shoulders as in the best of the old days. The Leander crew which won the G.C.C. at Henley in that year showed admirable sliding form. It was stroked by Mr. Goldie, who had rowed all his University races on a fixed seat. When he first took to a slide (for sculling) he fell into the same error as many other amateurs, almost entirely substituting slide for swing. But for this oversight he might have won both Diamond and Wingfield sculls. He soon saw his error, like Messrs. Rhodes and Way, and when he stroked Leander in 1875 no one could have recognised him as the same man who had been contesting the Diamonds in 1872. These three fuglemen strokes did much to elevate the standard of sliding among amateurs; it was chiefly through their examples, crowned with success, that the earlier samples of sliding oarsmanship became better realised. Professionals remained blind in their own conceit, as is shown in another chapter, but from this date amateur oarsmanship completely gave the go-by to professional exhibitions of skill and science in aquatics. [Illustration: A COLLEGE FOUR.] CHAPTER VIII. FOUR-OARS. The fewer the number of performers in a boat the longer does it take (with material of uniform quality) to acquire absolute evenness of action. This may seem paradoxical, but none the less all practical oarsmen will, from their own personal experiences, endorse the statement. It has been said that it takes twice as long to perfect a four as an eight, twice as long to perfect a pair as a four, and twice as long to perfect a sculler as a pair. This scale may be fanciful, but it is approximately truthful; it refers, of course, to the education of oarsmen for work in the respective craft, from their earliest days of instruction. It means that a higher standard of watermanship has to be attained, in order to do justice to the style of craft rowed in, according as the ship carries more or fewer performers. Many an oarsman who by honest tugging can improve the go of an eight-oar will do more harm than good in a light four, and will be simply helpless in a racing pair. Four-oar races, with the exception of some junior contests, are now rowed in coxswainless craft. The first of these seen in Europe was that of the St. John's Canadian crew (professional, but admitted for the nonce as amateurs) at the Paris International Regatta 1867. All the other crews carried steerers. The Canadians had the windward station in a stiff wind, and won easily. Next year the B.N.C. Oxon Club produced a four thus constructed at Henley. The rules did not forbid this; but the novelty scared other competitors and threatened to spoil the racing in that class. The stewards accordingly passed a resolution forbidding any of the entries to dispense with a coxswain, and under cover of this disqualified the B.N.C. four when it came in ahead. Next year the resolution referred to remained in force (as regards the Challenge Cups), but a presentation prize for fours without coxswains was given, and was won by the Oxford Radleian Club. In 1871 the chief professional matches were rowed without coxswains; but no more prizes were given for this class of rowing at Henley until 1873, when the Stewards' Cup was classed for 'no coxswains.' At Oxford college fours were similarly altered, but the steering was so bad that it was seriously proposed to revert to the old system. A similar proposal was made with regard to Henley. Fortunately, wiser counsels prevailed, and oarsmen realised that it was better to attempt to raise their own talents to the standard required for the improved build than to detract from the build to suit the failings of mediocrity. In 1875 the Visitors and Wyfold Cups were emancipated from coxswains, and since then the standard of amateur four-oar rowing has gradually risen to the requirements of the improved class of build. Steerage is of course the main difficulty in these pairs. Three different sorts of apparatus have been used in them. Two of these are much of the same sort. One, generally in use to this day, consists of two bars projecting from the stretcher, and working horizontally in slits cut in the board. The foot presses against one bar or other to direct the rudder, Another process is to fix a shoe to the stretcher, in which the oarsman places his foot. This shoe works laterally. The third is one tried by the writer in 1868. Every inventor thinks his goose a swan, and possibly the writer is over-sanguine as to the merits of his own hobby. It consists of two bars laid on the stretcher, like a very widely opened letter V, the arms of the V pointing in the direction of the sitter. Each arm is hinged at the apex of the V. The stretcher is grooved, so that either arm can be pressed into the groove, flush with the surface of the stretcher. Behind each bar is a spring. The bars cross the stretcher just about the ball of the foot. The hinge is sunk deep in the wood, so that the arms of the levers do not begin to project above the wood till some 5 inches on either side of the centre of the stretcher. The feet are placed in ordinary rowing pose, in the middle of the V, where the levers lie below the flush surface of the stretcher. The strap, though tight, has a _wide_ loop, to admit of slight lateral movement of the feet. To put on rudder either foot is slipped half an inch or so outward. This brings it on to the lever of that side, and the pressure of the foot drives the lever flush. This pressure and movement of the lever, by means of another small lever and swivel outside the gunwale, in connection with it, works the rudder line. When steerage enough has been obtained, a half-inch return of the foot to its normal pose releases the lever, and the spring behind it at once brings it to _status quo ante_. Now in the other two mechanisms above cited, the same foot has to steer _both_ ways. Hence, for one of the two directions, the toe must turn in like a pigeon's. This must, for the moment, cripple leg-work, especially on slides. Again, with lateral movement in first and second machines, it is difficult for the steerer to know to exactness when his rudder is 'off.' He may, in returning it after steerage, leave it a trifle on, or carry it the other way too far. If so, he has to counter-steer a stroke or two later, till he feels that his rudder is free and trailing. The writer claims for his own invention that it never removes the feet from the proper outward-turned pose against the stretcher, and that the springs under the lever ensure the rudder swinging back and 'trailing' so soon as a lever is released. Whatever apparatus is used, _wires_, not strings, should lead the rudder, and should not be too tight; they will pull enough, though slightly loose. Anyone may steer; the best waterman, if not too short-sighted, should do so, but stroke should not take the task if anyone else is at all fit for it. [Illustration: FOUR-OAR.] The steerer should not be repeatedly looking round, as regards his course. If he is sure of no obstacles lying in his path, he can, when once he has laid his boat straight for a reach, watch her stern-post, and keep touch on it, to hold it to some landmark. A coxswainless four really facilitates oarsmanship. It recovers from a roll more freely than the old-fashioned build with a pilot. It is uneven rowing which causes a roll, but when once equilibrium has been disturbed the coxswain has more difficulty than the crew in regaining balance. The oarsmen aid themselves with their oars, as with balancing poles. The removal of the coxswain therefore tends to reduce the rolling, and facilitates the speedy return of the ship to her keel when momentarily thrown off it. Coxswainless fours at Henley travel now much more steadily than did those with coxswains fifteen years ago. A runner on the bank, to look out for obstructive craft, is useful in practice. It enables the steerer to keep his eyes on his stern-post, and to guide his course thereby in confidence, without repeated twists round to see if any loafing duffer is going to smash his timbers. The pace of a first-class coxswainless four, in smooth water, for half a mile is quite as great as that of a second-class eight-oar with a coxswain. The abolition of coxswain has improved the speed of fours some forty seconds over the Henley course. One good resulted from the attempt of B.N.C. in 1868 to row without a coxswain. It opened the eyes of the regatta executive to the unfairness of tolerating boy coxswains. The University clubs used to carry boys of four or five stone. In that very year the 'Oscillators' had a four-stone lad, while University College carried an eight-stone man. There was just as much difference between these two fours in dead weight carried as between B.N.C. (with no coxswain) and the Oscillators. University clubs are _ex officio_ debarred from obtaining boys to steer. This inequality had been complained of by college crews time after time. Old Mr. Lane, the usual vice-chairman, used to sneer at the complaint, and say, 'If a boy can do in one boat what it takes a man to do in another, it is not fair to prohibit the boy.' If this were logical, then, _pari passu_, there could be no unfairness for one man to do single-handed what in other boats it took a man and a boy (or two men) to do, viz. both row and steer. Mr. Lane's fallacy was exploded by this _reductio ad absurdum_ of his tenets, and regulation weights for coxswains were initiated for following years. [Illustration: NEAR MEDMENHAM.] CHAPTER IX. PAIR-OARS. More than one master of oarsmanship has declared that good pair-oar rowing is the acme of oarsmanship. Just as there are fewer oarsmen who can do justice to a four-oar than to an eight, so when we come to pair-oars we find still fewer performers who can really show first-class style in this line of rowing. Much as watermanship is needed in a four, it is still more important to possess it when rowing in a pair. One, or even two men, out of a four-oared crew may be what would be considered bad watermen, i.e. not _au fait_ at sitting a rolling boat, and not instinctively time-keepers. Yet, if the other two men have the quality of watermanship, the four may speedily fall together, provided the two outsiders show sound general principles of style. In a pair-oar, if either of the hands is a bad waterman, the combination will never rise above mediocrity. In pair-oar rowing there is needed a _je-ne-sais-quoi_ sort of mutual concession of style. One man is stroke and the other bow, but there is in good pair-oarsmen an indefinite and almost unconscious give-and-take action on the part of both men. The style of the two is a sort of blend. Old Harry Clasper, when asked which steered, of himself and his son Jack, in a pair, said that 'both steered.' To do this is the acme of homogeneous rowing. Of two partners one may, and should, act as chief; but his colleague should be co-operating with him, and almost anticipating his motions and orders. When two strange partners commence work, they should make up their minds not to row 'jealous.' If each begins by trying to row the other round, they will disagree like Richard Penlake and his wife. They had better each try to see who can do least work: sit the boat, paddle gently, studying to drop into the water together, to catch the water together, to finish together, to feather together (and cleanly), and to recover together. The less work they try to do, while thus seeking to assimilate their motions to each other, the quicker will they settle down. As to rowing each other round, such emulation should never enter their heads. To row a partner round is no proof of having done more work than he towards propelling the boat. One man may catch sharply and row cleanly, and in a style calculated to make a boat travel; his colleague may slither the beginning and tug at the end, staying a fraction of a second later in the water than the other, but rowing no longer in reach. The latter will probably row the boat round! A tug at the end of a stroke turns a boat much more than a catch at the beginning; yet the latter propels the racing boat far more. Of course, if two men row alike in style and reach from end to end, and one puts on all through the stroke a trifle more pressure, the ship will turn from the greater pressure. But, unless it can be guaranteed that the style of each partner is identical all through the stroke, 'rowing round' does not prove a superiority of work. [Illustration: PAIR OARS--AN IMMINENT FOUL.] We have said that good watermen will sit a pair where bad ones will roll. So far so good. But good watermen, first beginning practice with each other, must not assume that because they do not roll their uniformity is therefore proved. Their power of balance can keep the boat upright, even though there may be at first some inaccuracies of work. Thus to balance a boat requires a certain amount of exertion; in a race, at this stage, this labour of balancing would take something off the power of the stroke. Besides, until the two oars work with similar pressure through the whole stroke, the keel cannot be travelling dead straight. Steady though good men may be at scratch, they will gain in pace as they continue to practise, and insensibly assimilate their action. With bad watermen cessation of rolling is a sign that the styles have at last assimilated; with good watermen the deduction is not necessarily sound. In old days pair-oars rowed without rudders. The two oars guided the ship. It was best to let the stronger man steer. He could thus set his partner to do his best all the way in a race, could ease an over or two, or lay on that much extra, from stroke to stroke, according as the stern-post required balancing on the landmark which had been selected as its _point d'appui_. To learn each other's strength and to know the course, to know by heart when to lay on for this corner, or to row off for that, was the study of practice and tested watermanship. In modern times a thin metal rudder is usually used, steered as in coxswainless fours. In a beam wind this materially aids pace, it enables the leeward oar to do his full share, instead of paddling while his partner is toiling. Even in still water it is some gain, provided the helm can be easily 'trailed' when not wanted. The facility with which such a pair can be steered tempts men to omit to study that delicate balance of a boat's stern on its point which was the acme of art before rudders came in. We have seen a (rudderless) pair leave a wake up Henley reach, from island to point, on a glassy evening, as straight as if a surveyor's line had been stretched there. In fact, to steer such a pair, with a practical partner, was, if anything, easier to some men than to steer an eight. The stern-post lay in view of the oarsman, and could be adjusted on its point like a gun barrel, whereas the actual bows of an eight are unseen by a coxswain. Except a sculling boat, a pair-oar is the fastest starting of all craft; but if it is thus easy to set in motion at the outset of a race, it is plain that it can be spurted later on as suddenly. Bearing this in mind, there is no object in starting a pair in a race at a speed which cannot go all the way. There is as much scope for staying in a pair as in an eight; more in fact, for the pair takes the longer to do the same distance as the eight. The start should be quick, but it is best to keep a stroke or two per minute in hand for a rush hereafter, if needed, when the pulse of the enemy has been felt, and when partners have warmed to their work. Pairs are best rowed with oars somewhat smaller all round than those which are used for eights or fours. The pair, more than any other craft, requires to be caught sharp and light; an oar that is not too long in the shank nor too big in the blade best accomplishes this. 'Dimensions' recommended for 'work' in various craft will be found scheduled elsewhere in this volume. To conclude the subject of pairs, it may be added, if partners wish to assimilate, they must make up their minds to avoid recrimination. If the boat goes amiss say, or assume, 'it is I,' not 'you,' who is to blame. Keep cool and keep your head in a race. If the steersman bids 'easy' half a stroke, be prompt in so doing. To delay to right the course at the correct instant may take the ship lengths out of her course. A stroke eased in time, like a stitch, often saves nine, and perhaps obviates sticking in the bank. [Illustration: CLOSE QUARTERS.] CHAPTER X. SCULLING. Sculling needs more precision and more watermanship than rowing. The strongest man only wastes his strength in sculling if he fails to obtain even work for each hand. A pair-oar requires more practice to bring it to perfection than any other boat manned by oars, but a sculler requires considerably more practice than any pair of oarsmen. Strength he must have in proportion to his weight, if he is to soar above mediocrity, but strength alone will not avail him unless he gets his hands well together. His sculls will overlap more or less. It is practically immaterial which hand he rows uppermost; the upper hand has a trifle of advantage, and for this reason Oxonians, whose course is a left-hand one, usually scull left hand over. The first difficulty which an embryo sculler has to contend with is that of attaining uniform pressure with square body and square legs upon a pair of arms which are not uniformly placed. One arm has to give way to another to enable the hands to clear each other when they cross; and yet while they do this the blades which they control should be buried to a uniform depth. How to attain this give-and-take action of the arms is better shown by even a moderate performer in five minutes of practical illustration than by reams of book instruction. The aspirant to sculling honours had better, when commencing to learn, take his first lesson in a gig. A wager boat will be too unsteady, and will retard his practice; 'skiffs' are usually to be obtained only as teach boats with work at sixes and sevens. A dingey buries too much on the stroke, and spoils style. The beginner should find a stiff pair of sculls, true made, and overlapping about the width of his hands. He should ask some proficient to examine and to try his sculls, and to tell him by the feel whether they are really a pair. The best makers of oars and sculls too often turn out sculls which are not 'pairs,' and when this is the case the action of him who uses them cannot be expected to be even on both sides of his frame. Having got suitable sculls, let the sculler arrange his stretcher just a shade shorter than he would have it for rowing. He can clear his knees with a shorter stretcher when sculling than when rowing, as he can easily see for himself. A stretcher should always be as short as is compatible with clearing the knees. Whether or not the pupil is proficient in sliding, he had better keep a fixed seat while learning the rudiments of sculling; it will give him less to think about; he might unconsciously contract faults in sliding while fixing his mind elsewhere--in the direction of his new implements. He should see that his rowlocks are roomy. In most gigs there is a want of room between thowl and stopper. A sculler requires a wider rowlock than an oarsman, because his scull goes forward to an acuter angle than an oar, with the same reach of body. Nothing puts out a sculler's hands more than a recoil of the scull from the stopper, for want of room to reach out. The sculler should examine whether his rowlocks are true; the sills of them should be horizontal, not inclined, and most of all not inclined from stern to bow; the latter defect will at once make him scull deep. Next, let him examine his thowl. This should be clean faced, not 'grooved' by the upper edge of the loom of oars which have been handled by operators who feather under water, and who thus force at the finish with the upper edge and not with the flat back of the loom. Half the hack gigs that are on hire will be found to have rowlocks so worn, grooved, and disfigured, that not the best sculler in the world can lay his strength out on them until he has filed them into shape. The thowl should show a flush surface, and rake just the smallest trifle aft, so as to hold the blade just a fraction of an angle less than a rectangle to the water, but this 'rake' should be very slight. Having now got his tools correct, the workman will have no excuse for grumbling at them if he fails to do well. Let him begin by paddling gently and slowly. He had better not attempt to work hard. If he sees some other sculler shooting past him in a similar boat, he must sink all jealousy. Every motion which he makes in a stroke is now laying the foundation of habit and of mechanical action hereafter; hence he must give his whole mind to each stroke, and be content to go to work steadily and carefully. He must feel his feet against his stretcher, both legs pressing evenly. He must hold his sculls in his fingers (not his fists), and let the top joint of each thumb cap the scull. This is better than bringing the thumb under the scull; it gives the wrists more play, and tends to avoid cramp of the forearm. He must endeavour to do his main work with his body and legs, when he has laid hold of the water. He should keep his arms rigid, and lean well back. Just as he passes the perpendicular his hands will begin to cross each other. Whichever hand he prefers to row over, he should stick to. When the hands begin to cross, he should still try to keep the arms stiff, and to clear the way by slightly lowering one hand and raising the other. Not until his hands have opened out again after having crossed should he begin to bend his arms and to bring the stroke home to the chest. He should try to bend each arm simultaneously and to the same extent, and to bring each hand up to his breast almost at his ribs, at equal elevations. He must try to feather both sculls sharply and simultaneously. If he finds any difficulty in this, he will do well to give himself a private lesson on this point before he proceeds further. He can sit still and lay his sculls in the rowlocks, and thus practise turning the wrists sharply, on and off the feather, till he begins to feel more handy in this motion. On the recovery he should shoot his hands out briskly, the body following but not waiting for the hands to extend--just as in a 'rowing' recovery. When the recovering hands begin to cross each other the lower and upper must respectively give way, and so soon as they open out after the cross, they should once more resume the same plane, and extend equally, so as to be ready to grip the water simultaneously for the succeeding stroke. Very few scullers realise the great importance of even action of wrists. If one scull hangs in the water a fraction of a second more than another, or buries deeper, or skims lighter, the two hands at that moment are not working evenly. Therefore the boat is not travelling in a straight line; therefore she will sooner or later, may be in the latter half of the very same stroke, have to be brought back to her course. In order to bring her back, the hand which, earlier, was doing the greater work, must now do less. Therefore the boat has not only performed a zigzag during the stroke, but also she has been, while so meandering, propelled by less than her full available forces, first one hand falling off through clumsiness, and afterwards the other hand shutting off some work, in order to equalise matters. As the sculler becomes more used to his action, he will find his boat keep more even. At first he will be repeatedly putting more force on one hand than on another, and will have to rectify his course by counterwork with the neglected hand. Some scullers, though otherwise good, never steer well. They do not watch their stern-post, to see if they go evenly at each stroke; still less, if they see a slight deflection to one hand after one stroke, do they at once rectify the deviation by extra pressure on the other hand during the ensuing stroke. A good steerer in sculling will correct his course even to half a stroke; if through a bend, or a wave, or other cause, he sees one hand has taken the other a little round by the time that the sculls are crossing, he will row the other hand home a trifle sharper, and so bring the keel straight by the time he feathers. When a sculler gets more settled to his work, and has got over the first difficulty of clearing his hands at the crossing, he will begin to acquire the knack of bringing the boat round to one hand, without any distinct extra tug of that scull. He will press a trifle more with the one foot, and will throw a little more of his weight on to the one scull, and so produce the desired effect on his boat. When a sculler promotes himself to a light boat, he must be very careful not to lose the knack of even turns of wrists which he has been so assiduously studying in his tub. In the wager boat, far more than in the tub, is the action of the sculler's body affected and his labour crippled by any uneven action of either hand. The gig did not roll if one hand went into the water an infinitesimal fraction of a second sooner, or came out that much later than the other hand. But the fragile sculling boat, with no keel, and about thirteen inches of beam, resents these liberties, and requires 'sitting' in addition, whenever any inequality of work takes her off her balance. The sculler must especially guard against feathering under water. He is more tempted to do so now, while he is in an unsteady boat, than when he was in his sober-going gig. He feels instinctively that if he lets his blades rest flat on the water for the instant, when his stroke concludes, he obtains for the moment a rectification of balance; the flat blades stop rolling to either side; when he has thus steadied his craft, then he can essay to lift his blades and to get forward. If he once yields to this insidious temptation, he runs the risk of spoiling himself as a sculler, and of ensuring that he will never rise beyond mediocrity. The hang back, and the sloppy feather, which are to be seen in so many second-class scullers, may almost invariably, if the history of the sculler be known, be traced to want of nerve and of confidence in early days to feather boldly, and to lift the sculls sharp from the water, regardless of rolling. Of course, for the nonce, the sculler can sit steadier, and therefore make more progress, if he thus steadies his craft with his blades momentarily flat; and it is because of this fact that so many beginners are seduced into the trick. But let the sculler pluck up courage, and endeavour to imagine himself still afloat in his gig. Let him turn his wrists as sharply as when he was in her, and lift his blades boldly out, not even caring if he rolls clean over. There really is little chance of his so capsizing. If he rolls, his one blade or other floats in the water, and being strung over at the rowlock, cannot well let his boat turn over, so long as he holds on to the handle. Meantime, he must sit tight to his boat, and use his feet to balance her with his body. He must not try to row too fast a stroke; a quick stroke hides faults, and speed tends to keep a light craft on an even keel so long as her crew are fresh; but style is not learned while oarsmen or scullers are straining their utmost. If the sculler finds that he really cannot make progress in his wager boat, he must assume that he wants another spell of practice in his tub, and must revert again to her for a week or two, or more. If he will only persevere in studying even and simultaneous action of hands, he will get his reward in time. He should not be ambitious to race too soon. Many a young sculler spoils himself by aspiring to junior scullers' races before he is ripe for racing. It is a temptation to have a 'flutter,' just to see how one gets on, but it is of no use to race unless the competitor has had some gallops beforehand; and it is in trying to row a fast stroke before they can thoroughly sit a boat that so many scullers sow seeds of bad style, which stick to them long afterwards, and perhaps always. When at last the sculler has learned to sit his boat, to drop his hands in simultaneously, to feel an even pressure with both blades, to see his stern-post hold on true, and not waver from side to side; when he is able to drop and turn both wrists at the same instant, to lift both blades clean away from the water, and to shoot out his hands without fouling either his knees or the water, then he has mastered more than half the scullers of the day--even though he can only perform thus for half-a-dozen strokes at a time without encountering a roll. He can now lay his weight well on his sculls, and can make his boat travel. He will have done well if all this time he has abstained from indulging in a slide; he does not need one as yet, he is not racing, and the fewer things he has to think about the better chance he has of being able to devote his attention to acquiring even hands and a tight seat. Once let him gain these accomplishments, and he can then take to his slide, and in his first race go by many an opponent who started sculling long before him, but who began at once in a wager boat and on a slide. [Illustration: A SPILL.] A very good amateur sculler--J. E. Parker, winner of the Wingfield Sculls in 1863--used to say that he always went back until his sculls came out of the water of their own accord. As a piece of chaff, it used to be said of him, by his friends, that there was a greasy patch on his fore canvas, where his head came in contact with it at the end of his stroke. Of course this was only a jest, but undoubtedly Parker swung farther back than most scullers, perhaps more than any amateur. The secret of his pace, which was indisputable, as also his staying power, probably lay to a great extent in this long back swing of his. He also sculled exceedingly cleanly, his hands worked in perfect unison, and his blades came out clean and sharp. The writer cannot recall any sculler whose blades were so clean, save Hanlan and also W. S. Unwin in 1886. Much of the secret of each of these scullers lay in the evenness of their hands; they wasted no power. F. Playford, junior, was a more powerful sculler, and apparently faster than either of the above-named amateurs (_ceteris paribus_ as to slides, _quâ_ Parker); but taking his reach and weight into consideration, it is not to be wondered if Playford was in his day the best of all Wingfield winners. The late Mr. Casamajor was a great sculler. He also had a very long back swing, and clean blades. He never had such tough opponents to beat as had Playford, but at least it could be said of him that he was unbeaten in public in any race. Steerage apparatus is in these days fitted to many a sculling boat. The writer, as an old stager, is bound to admit that he had retired from active work before such mechanism was used, he therefore cannot speak practically as to its value for racing. So far as he has watched its use by scullers, he is induced to look upon the contrivance with suspicion. On a stormy day, with beam wind for a considerable part of the course, such an appendage will undoubtedly assist a sculler. It will save him from having an arm almost idle in his lap during heavy squalls. But on fairly smooth days, or when wind is simply ahead, a rudder must surely detract more from pace (by reason of the water which it catches; even when simply on the trail) than it ever will save by obviating the operation of rowing a boat round by the hand to direct her course. Again, the fittings which carry the rudder must, when the rudder is unshipped, hold a certain amount of water to the detriment of speed. Also, if a boat is pressed for a spurt, there must be some risk of the tiller of the rudder (however delicately made), and the wires which control it, pulling and drawing the water. When the canvas ducks under water on recovery, it is important that the water should run off freely when the boat springs to the stroke. If a post stands up at the stern, however thin and metallic, this must to some degree check the flow off of the water. Again, the feet must be moved to guide this rudder; while they are thus shifting, the fullest power of the legs can hardly be applied. A sculler who is in good practice, and who is at home with his boat and sculls, should be able to feel his boat's course through each stroke, and to adjust her at any one stroke if she has deviated during the preceding one. On the whole, barring circumstances such as a stiff westerly wind at Henley, or a gale on the tideway course, scullers will do best without rudders; and if a competitor desires to provide against the contingency of weather which will make a rudder advantageous, he had better, if he can, have a spare boat fitted for that purpose, so that if the water after all is smooth he will not be carrying any projecting metal at his stern to draw the water and to check his pace. There is another objection to the use of rudders, especially for young scullers. It tempts them to rely on the rudder to rectify their course, instead of studying even play of hands so that the boat may have no excuse for deviating at all in smooth water. All that has been said of the use of slides applies equally to sculling as to rowing. The leg action, as compared to swing, should be just the same when sculling as in rowing. That is, the slide should last as long as the swing. Now, in sculling, a man should go back much further than he does when rowing an oar. When he has an oar in his hand there is a limit to the distance to which he can spring back with good effect. His oar describes an arc; when he has gone back beyond a certain distance the butt of his oar-handle will come at the middle of his breast or even more inside the boat. In such a position he cannot finish squarely and with good effect. Therefore he cannot go back _ad lib_. But the sculler is always placed evenly to his work, it is not on one side of him more than another. He should, when laying himself out for pace, swing back so far that his sculls come out just as his hands touch his ribs. In a wager boat, when well practised, he can afford to let his sculls overlap as much as six or even seven inches. But, after all, the extent of overlap is a matter of taste with so many scullers, that it would be unwise to lay down any hard and fast rule, beyond saying that at least the handles should overlap four inches, or, what is much the same, one hand should at least cover the other when the sculls lie in the rowlocks at right angles to the keel. To return to the slide in sculling. Since the back swing should be longer in sculling than in rowing, and as there is a limit to the length which any pair of legs can slide, and since also it has been laid down as a rule that both when sculling and when rowing the slide should be economised so that it may last as long as the swing lasts, the reader will gather that the legs will have to extend more gradually when sliding to sculls than when sliding to oars. Therefore a man accustomed to row on slides, and whose legs are more or less habituated to a certain extension coupled with swing when rowing, must keep a watch upon himself when sculling lest his rowing habits should make him finish his slide prematurely, when he needs to prolong his swing for sculling. Unless his slide lasts out his swing, his finish, after legs have been extended, will only press the boat without propelling her. In rowing an oarsman is guilty of fault if he meets or even pulls up to his oar. In sculling, with a very long swing back it is not a fault to commence the recovery of the body while the hands are still completing their journey home to the ribs. The body should not drop, nor slouch over the sculls while thus meeting them. It should recover with open chest and head well up, simply pulling itself up slightly, to start the back swing, by the handles of the sculls as they come home for the last three or four inches of their journey. Casamajor always recovered then, so did Hanlan, so did Parker, and any sculler who does likewise will sin (if he does sin in the opinion of some hypercritics of style) in first-class company. The fact is, this very long swing back (with straight arms) entails much recovery, and yet materially adds to pace. The sculler can afford to ease his recovery in return for the strain of his long stroke. Also lest his long swing should press the boat's bows, he can ease her recovery as well as his own, so soon as the main force of the long drag comes to an end. In the writer's opinion, unless a sculler really does go back _à la_ Casamajor & Co. with straight arms and stiff back, and until his sculls come out of the water almost of their own accord as he brings his hands in, it is not an advantage for him to pull himself up to his handles to this trifling extent at the finish. A sculler who does not swing back further than when he is rowing, will do best to row his sculls home just as he would an oar. In racing all men like a lead. If a sculler can take a lead with his longest stroke, swinging back as far as he can, and can feel that he is not doing a stroke too fast for his stamina, by all means let him do so; but let him be careful not to hurry his stroke and thereby to shorten his back swing simply for the sake of a lead. Many a long-swing sculler spoils his style, at all events for the moment, by sprinting and trying to cut his opponent down. It is almost best for him if he finds that his opponent has the pace of him, and if he therefore relapses to his proper style, and bides his time. If he does so, he will go all the faster over the course for sticking to his style regardless of momentary lead. Some scullers lay out their work for pace, regardless of lasting power. When Chambers rowed Green in 1863, he tried to head the Australian, flurried himself, shortened his giant reach, lost pace, and, after all, lost the lead. When he realised that, force pace as much as he could, Green was too speedy, the Tyne man settled to his long sweep, and at once went all the faster, though now sculling a slower stroke. It was not long before Green began to come back to him, and the result of that match is history. Similarly, the writer recollects seeing the celebrated Casamajor win the Diamonds for the last time, in 1861. He was opposed by Messrs. G. R. Cox and E. D. Brickwood. Cox was a sculler who laid himself out for fast starting: he used very small blades, he did not swing further back than when rowing, and he sculled a very rapid stroke. He had led both Casamajor and H. Kelley in a friendly spin earlier in the year, and it was said that it was to vindicate his reputation as being still the best sculler of the day that the old unbeaten amateur once more entered for the Diamonds, where he knew he would encounter Cox in earnest, and no longer in play. (Casamajor was by no means in good health, and the grave closed over him in the following August.) In the race in question Cox darted away with the lead. Casamajor had hitherto led all opponents in real racing, and _amour propre_ seemed to prompt him to bid for the lead against the new flyer; he quickened and quickened his stroke, till his long swing back vanished, and his boat danced up and down, but he could not hold Cox. Brickwood was last, rowing his own style, and sculling longest of the three. After passing the Farm gate, Casamajor suddenly changed his style, and went back to his old swing. Maybe, Cox had already begun to come to the end of his tether; but, be that as it may, from the instant that Casamajor re-adopted his old swing back, he held Cox. (It did not look as if the pace was really falling off, for both the leaders were still drawing away from Brickwood.) In another minute Casamajor began to draw up to the leader, still swinging back as before. Then he went ahead, and all was over. Brickwood in the end rowed down Cox, and came in a good second. Casamajor at that time edited the 'Field' aquatics. His own description therein of himself in the race seems to imply that he realised how he had at first thrown away his speed by bidding for the lead, and that he purposely, and not unconsciously, changed his style about the end of the first minute and a half of the race. His description of his own sculling at that juncture (modestly penned) was 'now rowing longer and with all his power.' This was quite true--he was not using his full power until he relapsed to his old style. These illustrations of two of the best scullers ever seen bidding for impossible leads, and then realising their mistakes in time, may be taken to heart by all modern and future aspirants to sculling honour. [Illustration: SCULLING RACE, WITH PILOTS IN EIGHT-OARS.] Another reason why scullers like a lead is that it saves them from being 'washed' by a leader, and, conversely, enables them to 'wash an opponent.' In old days of boat-racing under the old code, lead was of importance, to save water being taken. Under new rules of boat-racing (which figure elsewhere in this volume), water can only be taken at peril. There is not, therefore, so much importance in lead as of old. As to 'wash,' if a man can sit a sculling boat, he does not care much for wash. Anyhow, he can, if in his own water, and if his adversary crosses him, steer exactly in his leader's wake; the wash then spreads like a swallow's tail on either side of the sternmost man, and does not affect him. His opponent must get out of his way, if not overtaken, so he need not disturb himself; and if the leader insists on steering to right or left simply to direct the wash, he loses more ground by this meandering than even the pursuer will lose by the slight perturbations of a sculling boat's wash for a few strokes. It is good practice for any sculler to take his boat now and then in the wake of another sculler, and try to 'bump' him. It will teach him how to sit his boat under such circumstances, and he will be surprised before long to find out how little he cares for being washed by another sculler. A sculler, when practising over a course, especially when water is smooth, may with advantage time himself from day to day at various points of the course. He will thus find out what his best pace is, and will ascertain whether his speed materially falls off towards the end, if he forces extra pace at the start or halfway or so on. He must be careful to judge _proportionately_ of times and distances, and not positively; for streams may vary, and so may wind. On the tideway in sculling matches, it is usual for pilots to conduct scullers. The pilot sits in the bow of an eight. The sculler may rely on the pilot to signal to him whether he is in the required direction; but when he once knows that his boat points right, he should note where her stern points, just as if he were steering upon his own resources, and should endeavour so to regulate his hands that his stern keeps straight, as shown by some distant landmark which he selects. This straight line he should then maintain to the best of his ability, bringing his stern-post back to it, if it deflects, until his pilot again signals to him to change his course, for rounding some curve or for clearing some obstacle. The pilot cannot inform his charge of each small inaccuracy which leads eventually to deflection from the correct line; this the sculler must provide against on his own account. It is only when the course has to be changed, or when the sculler has palpably gone out of his course, that the signals of the pilot come into play. Some scullers seem to make up their minds to leave everything to their pilots; the result is that their boats are never in a straight line; first they go astray to one side, and then, when signalled back, they take a stroll to the other side. Such scullers naturally handicap themselves greatly by thus losing ground through these tortuous wanderings. The simplest method of signalling by pilot is to hold a white handkerchief. In the right or left hand it means 'pull right or left,' respectively. When down, it means 'boat straight and keep it so.' If the pilot gets far astern, or if dangers are ahead which are beyond pilotage, taking off the hat means 'look out for yourself.' When wind is abeam, a pilot cutter can materially aid a sculler by bringing its bow close on his windward quarter, thereby sheltering his stern from the action of the wind. Races such as that of Messrs. Lowndes and Payne for the Wingfield Sculls in 1880, when Mr. Payne did not row his opponent down until the last mile had well begun, should remind all scullers that a race is never lost till it is won, and that, however beaten you may feel, it is possible that your opponent feels even worse, and that he may show it in the next few strokes. [Illustration: PUMPED OUT.] [Illustration: THE LAST OF THE THAMES WHERRIES.] CHAPTER XI. BOAT-BUILDING AND DIMENSIONS. The 'trim built wherry' of song has been improved off the face of the Thames. Originally it was purely a passenger craft: it contained space for two or more sitters in the stern, and was fitted for two pair of sculls or a pair of oars at option. Larger wherries were also built, 'randan' rig (for a pair of oars with a sculler amidships, or three pairs of sculls at option). Such boats were the passenger craft of the silent highway before steamers destroyed the watermen's trade. When match racing came into vogue, wherries began to be constructed for purely racing purposes; they had but one seat, for the sculler, and were carried as fine as they could be, at either end, with regard to the surf which they often had to encounter. Their beam on the waterline was reduced to a minimum; but at the same time it was necessary, for mechanical purposes, that the gunwale, at the points where the rowlocks were placed, should be of sufficient width to enable the sculler to obtain the necessary leverage and elevation of his sculls. The gunwale was accordingly flared out wide at these points, above the waterline. This flared gunwale had nothing to do with the flotation of the boat; it was in effect nothing more than a wooden outrigger, and it was this which eventually suggested to the brain of old Harry Clasper the idea of constructing an iron outrigger, thereby enabling the beam to be reduced, and at the same time the sculling leverage to be preserved without the encumbrance of the top hamper of these flared gunwales. Such was the old wager wherry, and its later development of the wager outrigger. We have said that the wherry is obsolete. Modern watermen use, for passenger purposes, a craft called a 'skiff.' She is an improvement on the 'gig,' a vessel which came into vogue on the Thames for amateur pleasure purposes about the year 1830. The 'gig' was originally adopted from naval ideas. She had a flush gunwale, and the rowlocks were placed on the top of it. So soon as the outrigger came in, oarsmen realised the advantage to be gained by applying it to the gig, in a modified form. Half-outrigged gigs became common; they had a reduced beam, and commanded more speed; they were used for cruising purposes as well as for racing. Many regattas offered prizes for pair oars with coxswains in outrigged gigs. Theoretically a gig was supposed to be 'clinker' built, i.e. each of her timbers were so attached to each other that the lower edge of each upper timber overlapped the upper edge of the timber below it, the timbers being 'clincked,' hence the name. 'Carvel' (or caravel) build is that in which the timbers lie flush to each other, presenting a smooth surface. This offers less resistance, and before long builders constructed so-called 'gigs' for racing purposes, which were carvel built. From this it was but a step to build racing gigs with but two or even one 'streak' only, i.e. the side of the hull, instead of being constructed of several planks fastened together, was made of one, or at most two planks. The ends of the vessel were open--uncanvassed, and in this respect only was there anything in common with a 'gig' proper. This system of stealing advantages by tricks of build caused gig races to be fruitful sources of squabbles, until regatta committees recognised the importance of laying down conditions as to build when advertising their races. To return to gigs proper. This craft did not find the same favour fifty years ago with the professional classes that it did with amateurs. The wherry was still adhered to for traffic; but meantime Thames fishermen, especially those who plied flounder fishery on the upper tideway, used what is called a skiff; a shorter boat, with as much beam as the largest wherry, a bluff bow, and flared rowlocks. She was strongly built, adapted to carry heavy burdens, and, by reason of being shorter, was easier to turn, and handier for short cruises. A similar class of boat, but often rougher and more provincial in construction, was to be found in use at some of the up-river ferries. The wherry, when once under way, had more speed than the skiff, but when long row-boat voyages ceased in consequence of the introduction of steamers, the advantage of the skiff over the wherry was recognised by watermen. Their jobs came down to ferrying, to taking passengers on board vessels lying in the stream, and such like work; and for these services speed was not so important as handiness in turning. During the last fifteen years the skiff build has found more favour for pleasure purposes than the gig. The outrigged gig is liable to entanglement of rowlock in locks, and where craft are crowded, as at regattas. (It would be a salutary matter if the Thames Conservancy would peremptorily forbid the presence of any such craft at Henley Regatta.) Inrigged craft glide off each other when gunwales collide, whereas outriggers foul rowlocks of other boats, and cause delay and even accidents. An outrigged gig has two alternative disadvantages, compared to the skiff build; if she is as narrow at the waterline as the skiff, her flush gunwale reduces the leverage for oar or scull. If, on the other hand, she is built to afford full leverage, this entails more beam on the waterline than in a skiff, the rowlocks of which are raised and flared above the gunwale. Hence it is that the skiff build is gradually superseding the once universally popular gig. A dingey is a short craft, originally designed as a sort of tender to a yacht, but adopted for pleasure purposes on the Thames for nearly half a century. It is sometimes built with a flush gunwale like a gig, but more commonly with flared rowlocks like a skiff, thereby affording the required leverage for swells, while at the same time reducing the beam on the waterline. Besides the above mentioned craft, which are designed to carry at least two oarsmen (or scullers) and a coxswain, modern boat-builders construct what are called sculling dingies and gigs, which are fitted with only one pair of rowlocks, and are intended mainly for occupation by a single sculler, though they will at a pinch carry sitters both in the stern sheets and in the bows. They also build sailing gigs and dingies, which are usually fitted with a 'centreboard,' and are of greater beam than those specially designed for rowing or sculling; though they can be also propelled by oars or sculls when required, they are less handy for the latter purposes, in consequence of their construction for the double duties of both sailing and oarsmanship. The following are dimensions commonly adopted by builders, such as Messrs. Salter of Oxford, for various classes of gigs, dingies, and pleasure skiffs:-- Length. Beam. Gig, pair-oared, inrigged 22 ft. 3 ft. 9 in. ditto randan 25 ft. 3 ft. 9 in. Skiffs, pair-oared 25 ft. 4 ft. 0 in. ditto 23 ft. 4 ft. 6 in. ditto 20 ft. 5 ft. 0 in. The variations in beam being in such vessels designed conversely as regards the lengths, in order to obtain approximate equivalent of displacement-- Length. Beam. Skiffs, randan 26 ft. to 27 ft. 4 ft. 0 in. ditto 25 ft. 4 ft. 6 in. to 5 ft Where the beam ranges as high as 5 feet the vessel will carry about four sitters in the stern. The narrower craft carry about two, sitting abreast in the stern. Dingies (inrigged) range from about 12 feet in length with 4 feet beam to 16 feet in length with about 3 ft. 6 in. beam. Some dingies are built as short as 9 feet, but they command but little speed, and are useful only as tenders to larger vessels for the purpose of going ashore, &c. Their shortness makes them handy to turn, and compensates in short journeys for their want of speed. The prices of the various builds enumerated above depend much upon the materials used, whether oak, mahogany, cedar, or pine; and also upon length of keel, and upon fittings, such as oars, sculls, cushions, stern-rails, &c., masts and sails. Figures vary from about 40_l._ for a best quality randan skiff, all found, to as low as 20_l._ for a gig, and 12_l._ for a dingey, turned out new from the builder's yard. It is customary to fit all rowing boats such as above described with a hole in the bow seat, and also in the flooring below, in order to carry a lug or sprit sail when required; but the shallow draught of such vessels as are not fitted with centreboards causes them to make a good deal of leeway and so disables them from sailing near the wind. Racing boats are generally built of cedar, sometimes of white pine. The history of the introduction of the various improvements of outriggers, keelless boats, and sliding seats, has been given in other chapters. We propose here simply to give a few samples of dimensions of racing boats. Various builders have various lines, and no exact fixed scale can be laid down as correct more than another. _Dimensions of a sculling-boat recently used by Bubear in a sculling match for the 'Sportsman Challenge Cup,' built by Jack Clasper._ Length 31 ft. 0 in. Width 0 ft. 11 in. Depth, amidships 0 ft. 5-3/4 in. " forward 0 ft. 3-1/2 in. " sternpost 0 ft. 2-1/4 in. _Historical Eight-oars (Keelless)._ Length. Beam. Builder. 1. Oxford boat,[9] 1857 54 ft. 0 in. 2 ft. 2-1/2 in. Mat Taylor. (at No. 3's rowlock) 2. Eton, 1863 57 ft. 0 in. 2 ft. 1 in. Mat Taylor. Depth at stern 6 in. 3. Radley, 1858 56 ft. 0 in. 2 ft. 0-3/4 in. Sewell, Depth at stern 7-1/2 in. for King. 4. Oxford, 1878 57 ft. 0 in. 1 ft. 10 in. Swaddell & Depth at stern 6 in. Winship. 5. Oxford, 1883 58 ft. 0 in. 1 ft. 10-1/2 in. J. Clasper. Depth at stern 6-1/2 in. [9] The first keelless eight that won a University match. These boats are selected because each in its turn won some reputation, and also because they exemplify the builds of different constructors. No. 1 was always highly esteemed by those who rowed in her. No. 2 carried Eton at Henley Regatta from 1863 to 1870 or 1871. No 3 was eulogised by Mr. T. Egan in 'Bell's Life,' on the occasion of her _début_ in the above-mentioned school match _v._ Eton. She retained a high reputation for several seasons, was once specially borrowed by Corpus (Oxon) during the summer eights, and was said by that crew to be a vast improvement on their own ship. No 4 carried Oxford from 1878 to 1882 inclusive, losing only the match in 1879, in which year the crew and not the boat were to blame. No. 5, after one or two trials, was in 1883 found to be faster than No. 4 (which was then getting old!), and in her the Oxonians won a rather unexpected victory; odds of 3 to 1 being laid against them. In addition to these builds, the dimensions recorded by the well-known authority 'Argonaut,' in his standard work on 'Boat Racing,' are here given. That writer does not commit himself to saying that they are the _best_, but simply states that they are the 'average dimensions' of modern racing boats. Unfortunately, the writer cannot trace the dimensions of the celebrated 'Chester' boat, Mat Taylor's first keelless _chef-d'[oe]uvre_, but he recollects that her length was only 54 feet; and her stretchers were built into her and were fixed. The cost of a racing eight, with all fittings, is about 55_l._ Some builders will build at as low a price as 50_l._, especially for a crack crew, or for an important race, because the notoriety of the vessel, if successful, naturally acts as an advertisement. A four-oar costs 35_l._ to 40_l._; a pair-oar 20_l._ to 25_l._; and a sculling boat 12_l._ We have known some builders ask 15_l._ for a sculling boat. On the whole, racing boats are from eight to ten per cent. cheaper nowadays than they were a quarter of a century ago. Although the introduction of sliding seats necessarily adds to the expense of making them, competition seems to have brought down the prices somewhat. _'Argonaut's' Dimensions of Modern Boats._ +-------------------+---------+-------------------+---------+---------+ | | | Racing Fours | Pair | Sculling| | | Racing +---------+---------+---------+---------+ | Particulars | Eight | With | Without | Oars | Boats | | | | Cox. | Cox. | | | +-------------------+---------+---------+---------+---------+---------+ | |ft. in. |ft. in. |ft. in. |ft. in. |ft. in. | |Length of boat |58 6 |41 0 |40 0 |34 4 |30 0 | |Breadth (over all) | 2 0 | 1 9 | 1 8 | 1 4-3/8| 1 4[10]| |Depth, amidships | 1 1-1/2| 1 0-1/2| 1 0 | 0 10-1/2| 0 8-1/2| | " stem | 0 8 | 0 7-1/4| 0 7-1/2| 0 4-1/4| 0 3-1/2| | " stern | 0 7-1/4| 0 6-3/4| 0 6-1/2| 0 3-3/4| 0 2-3/4| |Distance from seat | | | | | | |to thowl[11] | 0 5 | 0 5 | 0 5 | 0 4-1/2| 0 4 | |Height of work from| | | | | | |level of slide | 0 7-3/4| 0 7-3/4| 0 7-3/4| 0 7-1/2| 0 7-1/2| |Length of slide | 1 4 | 1 4 | 1 4 | 1 5 | 1 5-1/2| |Length of amidship{| | | | | | |oars {|12 6 |12 6 |12 6 | -- | -- | | Buttoned at {| 3 6 | 3 5-1/2| 3 5-1/2| -- | -- | |Length of bow and{ | | | | | | |stroke oars { |12 4 |12 4 |12 4 |12 3 | -- | | Buttoned at { | 3 4-1/2| 3 4-1/2| 3 4-1/2| 3 4 | -- | |Length of sculls {| -- | -- | -- | -- {|10 0 | | Buttoned at {| -- | -- | -- | -- {| 2 8 | |Space between }| | | | | | |cox.'s thwart and }| | | | | | |stroke's stretcher}| 1 8 | 1 8 | -- | -- | -- | |(cox.'s thwart }| | | | | | |18 inches deep) }| | | | | | +-------------------+---------+---------+---------+---------+---------+ [10] Breadth on boat, 11-1/4 inches. [11] Measured from front edge of slide to plane of thowl. The writer thinks, and believes that 'Argonaut' would agree with him, that these recorded average dimensions could be improved upon in divers respects, e.g. as to oars, for sliding seats the length 'inboard' should not be less than 3 ft. 7-1/2 in. to 3 ft. 8 in.; otherwise, when the oarsman swings back there is not sufficient length of handle to enable his outside hand to finish square to his chest, and with the elbow well past the side. The sliding-seat oar requires to be at least 10 inches longer inboard than the fixed-seat oar, for the above reason; and in order to counterpoise this extra leverage, it is customary to use blades an inch wider for slides than for fixed seats, viz. 6 inches wide at the greatest breadth, instead of 5 inches as of old. Again, as to distance of the plane of the thowl perpendicularly from that of the front of the slide when full forward. This should not be less than 6-1/2 inches, in the writer's opinion, even with a 16-inch slide. If the oarsman slides nearer than the above to his work, he does not gain; for much of his force is thus expended in jamming the oar back against the rowlock, rather than in propelling the boat. He 'feels' extra resistance, and may accordingly delude himself that he is doing more work, if the slides close up; but in reality he is wasting his powers. In modern racing boats, the men slide too close to their work; and if any builder will have the courage to set his men further aft than is the custom (say about 6-1/2 to 7 inches), he will find his ship travel all the faster. As to shapes of hull: the earliest Mat Taylor boats have never been surpassed, in the writer's opinion, and were much faster than the modern builds. The peculiarity of Mat Taylor's build was that he put his greatest beam well forward, about No. 3's middle or seat. Such boats held more 'way' than more modern craft, which are fullest amidships. Builders of the present day construct as if the only problem which they had to solve was to force a hole through the water in front of the boat. This is not all that is necessary in order to get a boat to travel well. A racing boat leaves a vacuum behind her, and until that is filled she is sucked back into that vacuum. A boat built like the half of a split porcupine's quill could enter the water with the least resistance, but would leave it with the greatest; in fact, she would not travel at all, because her bluff stern would create a sudden vacuum behind her, which would retard her progress. This is a _reductio ad absurdum_, but it shows the effect of having the greatest beam too far aft. The problem to be solved in designing the lines of a boat is so to arrange her entry into the water, that what she displaces in front may with greatest ease flow aft to fill the vacuum aft which she leaves as she progresses. Otherwise she pushes a heavy wave in front of her, and drags another behind her. If anyone will watch the bank as a racing eight passes, noting the level of the water at a rathole, he will see the level of the stream first rise as the boat comes nearly abreast of his point of observation. Then, as she passes, the water will sink, and after she has passed it will rise again higher than before she neared the spot. The first rise is caused by the boat pushing a wave in front of her: the following depression is caused by the vacuum which she is leaving behind her, and the final rise by the wave which runs behind her to fill her vacuum. Obviously, the less water the vessel moves the easier she travels. If by any designing the wave pushed in front could be induced to run more or less back to the stern, then the second (following) wave would be more or less reduced in bulk, and the labour would be proportionately lighter. The finer the lines taper aft, the easier the front wave displaced finds its way to the vacuum aft. _Per contra_, the more bluff the midship and stern sections, the greater the difficulty in filling the vacuum aft. Builders hamper themselves by adhering to a red-tape idea that all oarsmen in a boat should be seated at equal distances from each other. So long as designers adhere to this, they require a good deal of beam aft, if Nos. 6, 7 and stroke are of anything like average size. Of course, there must be a minimum of space for each man to reach out in; but there is no reason why in some of the seats the space should not exceed this minimum, e.g. to set the first four men at the minimum, and then to place No. 5 and extra inch past No. 4 and so on, with perhaps stroke and 7 1-1/2 inches further apart than the forward men, would enable the builder to attain a greater longitudinal displacement at the sternmost part of the boat than he would otherwise require to carry his men. In lieu of this gain, he can then reduce his beam and depth aft, and so make his lines taper more to the stern. Mat Taylor built on this principle. Detractors used to laugh sometimes to see him chalk off his seats, and say, 'A rowlock here--a seat there.' The fact was, Mat Taylor placed his men, man for man, over the section of vessel built to carry them, allowing the minimum distance for reach in all cases, but by no means tying himself down to that distance where in his opinion the boat required elongating aft. They said he built by rule of thumb; so, perhaps, he did, but his builds have never been surpassed. Modern eights travel faster than of old, thanks to sliding seats and good oarsmanship, but if some of the old lost lines could be now reproduced, the speedy crews of modern days would be speedier still. We offer one more illustration to show the effect of having too sudden a termination to a boat aft of her greatest beam, or of a certain amount of beam. Let anyone construct two models of racing boat hulls; probably he will not succeed in making two of equal speed, but such as they are he can handicap the speedier in his experiment. Let him place the two models to race, each towed by a line carried over a pulley, with a weight at the end of the line. The weights which tow the two models can be adjusted till the two run dead heats. Then cut off the stern of one of the models, and bulkhead her, say about coxswain's seat, and let them race once more with the forces which previously produced a dead heat. The model with a docked stern will have become the smaller vessel, and will now weigh less. Nevertheless, she will become decidedly slower than she was before, and will be beaten by her late duplicate. In order to do justice to this experiment, the weights should tow at a pace equivalent to about four miles or more an hour. It will then be seen that this docked model leaves a whirlpool behind her stern, which is retarding her. This experiment of course exaggerates the principle of full afterlines, and their evil, but it may none the less serve to illustrate the importance of a finer run aft from a point further forward than amidships. _En passant_, the boat built by Salter of Oxford for the O.U.B.C. in 1865 may be mentioned; her dimensions are not to be traced, but she was specially designed to carry the heaviest man (E. F. Henley) at bow. She was certainly never surpassed by any other boat which Salter built. She won in 1865. In 1866 a heavier crew were in training, and the 1865 boat was supposed to be too small. She was not tried at all at Oxford with the crew. A new boat was built, this time to carry E. F. Henley at 5. When the crew reached Putney the writer felt dissatisfied with the movement of the new boat, and persuaded the crew to try the old one, even though she would be rather too small for them. They sent for her, and launched for a trial paddle the Monday before the race; so soon as they had rowed a dozen strokes in her they stopped, and declared she was the only light boat they had felt that season. They rowed the race in her, and won, and never took the trouble to set foot again in the new and rejected boat. This victorious boat was then bought by the Oxford Etonians. They won the Grand Challenge of 1866 and 1867 in her, took her to Paris, and there won the eight-oared race at the International Regatta. She was sold and left behind in Paris. The writer suspects that her undeniable speed was mainly owing to the fact that Salter designed some extra displacement at No. 3, in order to carry E. F. Henley at that seat. [Illustration: 'POETRY.'] CHAPTER XII. TRAINING. DIET. That 'condition' tells in all contests, whether in brain labours such as chess matches or in athletics, is known to children in the schoolroom. Training is the _régime_ by means of which condition is attained. Its dogmas are of two orders: (1) Those which relate to exercise, (2) those which refer to diet. Diet of itself does not train a man for rowing or any other kind of athletics. What trains is hard work; proper diet keeps the subject up to that work. The effect of a course of training is twofold. It develops those muscles which are in use for the exercise in question, and it also prepares the internal organs of heart and lungs for the extra strain which will be put upon them during the contest. All muscles tend to develop under exercise, and to dwindle under inaction. The right shoulder and arm of a nail-maker are often out of all proportion to the left; the fingers of a pianist develop activity with practice, or lose it if the instrument be discontinued. Training is a thorough science, and it is much better understood in these days than when the writer was in active work; and again, the trainers of his day were in their turn far ahead of those of the early years of amateur oarsmanship. From the earliest recorded days of athletic contests, there seems to have been much faith pinned to beefsteaks. When Socrates rebukes Thrasymachus, in the opening pages of Plato's 'Republic,' he speaks of beefsteaks as being the chief subject of interest to Polydamos, who seems to have been a champion of the P.R. of Athens of those days. The beefsteak retains its prestige to the present day, but it is not the _ne plus ultra_ which it was in 1830. The earliest amateur crews seem to have rowed in many instances without undergoing a course of training and of reduction of fat. But when important matches began to be made, the value of condition was appreciated. Prizefighters had then practical training longer than any other branch of athletics, and it was by no means uncommon for watermen, when matched by their patrons, to be placed under the supervision of some mentor from the P.R. as regards their diet and exercise. But before long watermen began to take care of themselves in this respect. Their system of training did not differ materially from that in vogue with the P.R. It consisted of hard work in thick clothing, early during the course of preparation, to reduce weight; and a good deal of pedestrian exercise formed part of the day's programme; a material result of the association of the P.R. system of preparation. The diet was less varied and liberal than in these days, but abstinence from fluid to as great an extent as possible was from the outset recognised as all-important for reducing bulk and clearing the wind. A prizefighter or waterman used to commence his training with a liberal dose of physic. The idea seems to have a stable origin, analogous to the principle of physic balls for a hunter on being taken up from grass. The system was not amiss for men of mature years, who had probably been leading a life of self-indulgence since the time when they had last been in training. But when University crews began to put themselves under the care of professional trainers, those worthies used to treat these half-grown lads as they would some gin-sodden senior of forty, and would physic their insides before they set them to work. They would try to sweat them down to fiddle-strings, and were not happy unless they could show considerable reduction of weight in the scale, even with a lad who had not attained his full growth. Still, though many a young athlete naturally went amiss under this severe handling, there is no doubt that these professional trainers used to turn out their charges in very fine condition, on the average. No trainer of horses would work a two-year-old on the same system that he would an aged horse; and the error of these old professional trainers lay in their not realising the difference in age between University men and the ordinary classes of professional athletes. In time University men began to think and to act for themselves in the matter of training. When college eights first began to row against each other, there were only three or four clubs which manned eights; and these eights now and then were filled up with a waterman or two. (In these days few college crews would take an Oxford waterman as a gift--_quâ_ his oarsmanship!) These crews, when they began to adopt training, employed watermen as mentors. Before long there were more eights than watermen, and some crews could not obtain this assistance. The result was, a rule against employing professional tuition within a certain date of the race. This regulation threw University men upon their own resources, and before long they came to the conclusion that good amateur coaching and training was more effective than that of professionals. Mr. F. Menzies, the late Mr. G. Hughes, and the Rev. A. Shadwell, had much to do in converting the O.U.B.C. to these wholesome doctrines. From that time amateurs of all rowing clubs have very much depended on themselves and their _confrères_ for tuition in oarsmanship and training. The usual _régime_ of amateur training is now very much to the following effect. Réveille at 6.30 or 7 A.M.--Generally a brief morning walk; and if so, the 'tub' is usually postponed until the return from the walk. If it is summer, and there are swimming facilities, a header or two does no harm, but men should not be allowed to strike out hard in swimming, when under hard rowing rules. For some reason, which medical science can better explain, there seems to be a risk of straining the suspensory or some other ligaments, when they are suddenly relaxed in water, and then extended by a jerk. (This refers to arms that have lately been bearing the strain of rowing.) Also, the soakage in water for any length of time tends to relax the whole of the muscular system. Whether tub or swim be the order of the morning, the skin should be well rubbed down with rough towels after the immersion. In old days there used to be a _furore_ for running before breakfast. Many young men find their stomachs and appetites upset by hard work on an empty stomach, more especially in sultry weather. The Oxford U.B.C. eight at Henley in 1857 and 1859 used to go for a run up Remenham Hill before breakfast, and this within two or three days of the regatta. Such a system would now be tabooed as unsound. Breakfast consists of grilled chops or steaks; cold meat may be allowed if a man prefers it. If possible, it is well to let a roast joint cool _uncut_, to supply cold meat for a crew. The gravy is thus retained in the meat. Bread should be one day old; toast is better than bread. Many crews allow butter, but as a rule a man is better without it. It adds a trifle to adipose deposit, and does not do any special service towards strengthening his tissues or purifying his blood. Some green meat at breakfast is a good thing. Watercress for choice--next best are small salad and lettuce (plain). Tea is the recognised beverage; two cups are ample for a man. If he can dispense with sugar it will save him some ounces of fat, if he is at all of a flesh-forming habit of body. A boiled egg is often allowed, to wind up the repast. [Illustration: GOING TO SCALE.] Luncheon depends, as to its substance, very much upon the time of year and the hours of exercise. If the work can be done in two sections, forenoon and afternoon, all the better. In hot summer weather it may be too sultry to take men out between breakfast and the mid-day meal. Luncheon now usually consists of cold meat, to a reasonable amount, stale bread, green meat, and a glass of ale. In the days when the writer was at Oxford, the rule of the O.U.B.C. was to allow no meat at luncheon (only bread, butter, and watercress). This was a mistake; young men, daily wasting a large amount of tissue under hard work, had a natural craving for substantial food to supply the hiatus in the system. By being docked of it at luncheon, they gorged all the more at breakfast and dinner, where there was no limit as to quantity (of solids) to be consumed. They would have done better had their supply of animal food been divided into three instead of two daily allowances. They used to be allowed one slice of cold meat during their nine days' stay at Putney; it would have been well to have allowed this all through training. Dinner consists mainly of roast beef or mutton, or choice of both. It is the custom to allow 'luxuries' of some sort every other day, e.g. fish one day, and a course of roast poultry (chicken) on another. 'Pudding' is sometimes allowed daily, sometimes it only appears in its turn with 'luxuries.' It generally consists of stewed fruit, with plain boiled rice, or else calves'-foot jelly. A crust, or biscuit, with a little butter and some watercress or lettuce, make a final course before the cloth is cleared. Drink is ale, for a standard; light claret, with water, is nowadays allowed for choice, and no harm in it. A pint is the normal measure; sometimes an extra half-pint may be conceded on thirsty days. An orange and biscuit for dessert usually follow. In the writer's days every man had two glasses of port wine. He thinks this was perhaps more than was required (as regards alcohol); one glass may suffice, but there may be no reason against the second wineglass being conceded, with water substituted, if the patient is really dry. Claret also may take the place of port after dinner. Fashions change; in the writer's active days, claret would have been scorned as un-English for athletes. Such is the usual nature of training diet; of the exercise of the day, more anon. There does not seem to be much fault to find with the _régime_ above sketched; in fact, the proof of soundness of the diet may be seen in the good condition usually displayed by those who adopt it. All the same, the writer, when he has trained crews, has slightly modified the above in a few details. He has allowed (a little) fish or poultry daily, as an extra course, and for the same reason has always endeavoured to have both beef and mutton on the table. He believes that change of dish aids appetite, so long as the varieties of food do not clash in digestion. Men become tired with a monotony of food, however wholesome. Puddings the writer does not think much of, provided that other varieties of dish can be obtained. A certain amount of vegetable food is necessary to blend with the animal food, else boils are likely to break out; but green vegetables such as are in season are far better than puddings for this purpose. Salad, daily _with the joint_, will do good. It is unusual to see it, that is all. The salad should not be dressed. Lettuce, endive, watercress, smallcress, beetroot, and some minced spring onions to flavour the whole, make a passable dish, which a hungry athlete will much relish. Asparagus, spinach, and French beans may be supplied when obtainable. Green peas are not so good, and broad beans worse. The tops of young nettles, when emerald green, make a capital dish, like spinach, rather more tasty than the latter vegetable. Such nettles can only be picked when they first shoot; old nettles are as bad as flowered asparagus. If a crew train in the fruit season, fruit to a small amount will not harm them, as a finale to either breakfast or dinner. But the fruit should be _very_ fresh, not bruised nor decomposed; strawberries, gooseberries, grapes, peaches, nectarines, apricots (say one of the last three, or a dozen of the smaller fruits, for a man's allowance), all are admissible. Not so melons, nor pines--so medical friends assert. In hot summer weather it is as well to dine about 2 P.M., to row in the cool of the evening, towards 7 P.M., and to sup about 8.30 or 9 P.M. It is a mistake to assume that because a regatta will come off midday, therefore those who train for it should accustom themselves to a burning sun for practice. With all due deference to Herodotus (who avers that the skeleton skulls of quondam combatant Persians and Egyptians could be known apart on the battle-field, because the turban-clad heads of Persians produced soft skulls which crumbled to a kick, while the sun-baked heads of Egyptians were hard as bricks), we do not believe in this sort of acclimatisation. If men have to be trained to row a midnight race, they would be best prepared for it by working at their ordinary daylight hours, not by turning night into day for weeks beforehand. On the same principle it would seem to be a mistake to expose oarsmen in practice to excessive heat to which they have not been accustomed, solely because they are likely eventually to row their race under a similar sun. In really oppressive weather at Henley the writer and his crews used to dine about 2 P.M. as aforesaid, finish supper at 9 or 9.30, and go to bed two hours later. They rose proportionately later next day, taking a good nine hours in bed before they turned out. So far as their records read, those crews do not seem on the whole to have suffered in condition by this system of training. Many men are parched with thirst at night. The heat of the stomach, rather overladen with food, tends to this. The waste of the system has been abnormal during the day; the appetite, i.e. instinct to replenish the waste, has also been abnormal, and yet the capacity of the stomach is only normal. Hence the stomach finds it hard work to keep pace with the demands upon it. Next morning these men feel 'coppered,' as if they had drunk too much overnight, and yet it is needless to say they have not in any way exceeded the moderate scale of alcohol already propounded above as being customary. The best preventive of this tendency to fevered mouths is a cup of 'water gruel,' or even a small slop-basin of it, the last thing before bedtime. It should not contain any milk; millet seed and oatmeal grits are best for its composition. The consumption of this light supper should be _compulsory_, whether it suits palates or not. The effect of it is very striking; it seems to soothe and promote digestion, and to allay thirst more than three times its amount of water would do. Some few men cannot, or profess to be unable to, stomach this gruel. The writer has had to deal with one or two such in his time. He had his doubts whether their stomach or their whims were to blame; but in such cases he gave way, and allowed a cup of chocolate instead--_without milk_. (Milk blends badly with meat and wine at the end of a hard day.) Chocolate is rather more fattening than gruel, otherwise it answers the same purpose, of checking any disposition to 'coppers.' It has been a time-honoured maxim with all trainers, that it is the fluids which lay on fat and which spoil the wind. Accordingly, reduction in the consumption of fluid has always been one of the first principles of training, and it is a sound one so long as it is not carried to excess. It is not at the outset of training that thirst so oppresses the patient, but at the end of the first week and afterwards, especially when temperature rises and days are sultry. Vinegar over greens at dinner tends to allay thirst; the use of pepper rather promotes it. In time the oarsman begins to accustom himself somewhat to his diminished allowance of fluid, and he learns to economise it during his meals, to wash down his solids. A coach should be reasonably firm in resisting unnecessary petitions for extra fluid, but he must exercise discretion, and need not be always obdurate. On this subject the writer reproduces his opinion as expressed in 'Oars and Sculls' in 1873:-- The tendency to 'coppers' in training is no proof of insobriety. The whole system of training is unnatural to the body. It is an excess of nature. Regular exercise and plain food are not in themselves unnatural, but the amount of each taken by the subject in training is what is unnatural. The wear and tear of tissue is more than would go on at ordinary times, and consequently the body requires more commissariat than usual to replenish the system. The stomach has all its work cut out to supply the commissariat, and leave the tendency to indigestion and heat in the stomach. A cup of gruel seldom fails to set this to rights, and a glass of water besides may also be allowed if the coach is satisfied that a complaint of thirst is genuine. There is no greater folly than stinting a man in his liquid. He should not be allowed to blow himself out with drink, taking up the room of good solid food; but to go to the other extreme, and to spoil his appetite for want of an extra half-pint at dinner, or a glass of water at bedtime, is a relic of barbarism. The appetite is generally greatest about the end of the first week of training. By that time the frame has got sufficiently into trim to stand long spells of work at not too rapid a pace. The stomach has begun to accustom itself to the extra demands put upon it, and as at this time the daily waste and loss of flesh is greater than later on, when there is less flesh to lose, so the natural craving to replenish the waste of the day is greater than at a later period. At this time the thirst is great, and though drinking out of hours should be forbidden, yet the appetite should not, for reasons previously stated, be suffered to grow stale for want of sufficient liquid at meal times in proportion to the solids consumed. Such views would have been reckoned scandalously heretical twenty-five or more years ago, but the writer feels that he is unorthodox in good company, and is glad to find Mr. E. D. Brickwood, in his treatise on 'Boat-racing,' 1875, laying down his own experiences on the same subject to just the same effect. Mr. Brickwood's remarks on the subject of 'thirst' (as per his index) may be studied with advantage by modern trainers. He says (page 201):-- As hunger is the warning voice of nature telling us that our bodies are in need of a fresh supply of food, so thirst is the same voice warning us that a fresh supply of liquid is required. Thirst, then, being, like hunger, a natural demand, may safely be gratified, and with water in preference to any other fluid. The prohibition often put upon the use of water or fluid in training may often be carried too far. To limit a man to a pint or two of liquid per day, when his system is throwing off three or four times that quantity through the medium of the ordinary secretions, is as unreasonable as to keep him on half-rations. The general thirst experienced by the whole system, consequent upon great bodily exertion or extreme external heat, has but one means of cure--drink, in the simplest form attainable. Local thirst, usually limited to the mucous linings, of the mouth and throat, may be allayed by rinsing the mouth and gargling the throat, sucking the stone of stone fruit, or a pebble, by which to excite the glands in the affected part, or even by dipping the hands into cold water. Fruit is here of very little benefit, as the fluid passes at once to the stomach, and affords no relief to the parts affected; but after rinsing the mouth, small quantities may be swallowed slowly. The field for the selection of food to meet the waste of the body under any condition of physical exertions is by no means restricted. All that the exceptional requirements of training call for is to make a judicious selection; but, in recognising this principle, rowing men have formed a dietary composed almost wholly of restrictions the effect of which has been to produce a sameness in diet which has almost been as injurious in some cases as the entire absence of any laws would be in others. It should be borne in mind that Mr. Brickwood's field as an amateur lay principally in sculling, which entailed solitary training, unlike that of a member of an eight or four. He had therefore to train himself, and to trust to his own judgment when so doing, blending self-denial with discretion. He is, in the above quotation, apparently speaking of the principles under which he governed himself when training. That they were crowned with good success his record as an athlete shows, for he twice won the Diamond Sculls, and also held the Wingfield (amateur championship) in 1861. Such testimony therefore is the more valuable coming from a successful and self-trained sculler. As regards sleep, the writer lays great stress upon obtaining a good amount of it. Even if a night is sultry, and sleep does not come easily, still the oarsman can gain something by mere physical repose, though his brain may now and then not obtain rest so speedily as he could wish. The adage ascribed to King George III. as to hours of sleep, 'six for a man, seven for a woman, and eight for a fool,' is unsound. He who is credited with having propounded it, showed in his later years that, either his brain had suffered from deficiency of rest, or that it never had been sufficiently brilliant to justify much attention being bestowed on his philosophy. Probably he never did a really hard day's (still less a week's) labour, of either brain or body, in his life. Had he done so, he would have found that not six, nor seven, and often not eight hours, are too much to enable the wasted tissues of brain or body, or both, to recuperate. It is when in a state of repose that the blood, newly made from the latest meal, courses through the system and replenishes what has been wasted during the day. Recruits are never measured for the standard at the end of a day's march, but next day--after a good rest. Cartilage, sinew, muscle, alike waste. The writer used, after racing the Henley course, perhaps thrice in an evening's practice (twice in a four or eight and afterwards in a pair-oar or sculling boat, &c), to take a good nine hours' sound sleep, and awoke all the better for it. Some men keep on growing to a comparatively late age in life; such men require more sleep, while thus increasing in size, than others who have earlier attained full bulk and maturity. As a rule, and regardless of what many other trainers may say to the contrary, the writer believes that the majority of men in training may sleep nine hours with advantage. The period of training varies according to circumstances. A man of twenty-five and upwards, who has been lying by for months, it may be for a year or two, can do with three months of it. The first half should be less severe than the last. He can begin with steady work, to redevelop his muscles, and to reduce his bulk (if he is much over weight) by degrees. The last six weeks should be 'strict' in every sense. He can get into 'hunting' condition in the first six weeks, and progress to 'racing' condition in the succeeding six. University crews train from five to six weeks. The men are young, and have, most of them, been in good exercise some time before strict training begins. College crews cannot give much more than three weeks to train for the summer bumping races; tideway crews have been doing a certain amount of work for weeks before they go into strict training for Henley; this last stage usually lasts about four weeks. It is often supposed that a man needs less training for a short than for a long course. This is a mistake. The longer he prepares himself, so long as he does not overdo himself, the better he will be. Long and gradual training is better than short and severe reductions. Over a long course, when an untrained man once finds nature fail him, more ground will be lost than over a short course: _cela va sans dire_: but that is no argument against being thoroughly fit for even a half-mile row. The shorter the course, the higher the pressure of pace, and the crew that cracks first for want of condition--loses (_ceteris paribus_). Athletes of the running path will agree that it is as important to train a man thoroughly for a quarter-mile race as for a three-mile struggle. Pace kills, and it is condition which enables the athlete to endure the pace. [Illustration: SMOKING IS FORBIDDEN.] Smoking is, as every schoolboy knows, forbidden in training. However, _pro formâ_, the fact must be recorded that it is illicit. It spoils the freedom of the lungs, which should be as elastic as possible, in order to enable them to oxygenate properly the extra amount of blood which circulates under violent exertions. Aperients at the commencement of training used to be _de rigueur_. Young men of active habits hardly need them. Anyhow, no trainer should attempt to administer them on his own account; if he thinks the men need physic at the outset, let him call in a medical man to prescribe for them. WORK. We have said that proper diet keeps an oarsman up to the work which is necessary to bring him into good condition. Having detailed the _régime_ of diet, and its appurtenances, such as sleep, we may now deal with the system of work itself. One item of work we have incidentally dealt with, to wit, the morning walk; but it was necessary to handle this detail at that stage because it had a reference to the morning tub and morning meal. The work which is set for a crew should be guided by the distance of time from the race. If possible, oarsmen should have their work lightened somewhat towards the close of training, and it is best to get over the heavy work, which is designed to reduce weight as well as to clear the wind, at a comparatively early stage of the training. There is also another factor to be taken into calculation by the trainer, and that is whether, at the time when sharp work is necessary to produce condition, his crew are sufficiently advanced as oarsmen to justify him in setting them to perform that work at a fast stroke in the boat. Not all crews require to be worked upon the same system, irrespective of the question of stamina and health. Suppose a crew are backward as oarsmen and also behindhand in condition. If such a crew are set to row a fast stroke in order to blow themselves and to accustom their vascular system to high pressure, their style may be damaged. If on the other hand they do no work except rowing at a slow stroke until within a few days of the race, they will come to the post short of condition. Such a crew should be kept at a slow stroke in the boat, in order to enable them to learn style, for a fortnight or so; but meantime the trainer should put them through some sharp work upon their legs. He should set them to run a mile or so after the day's rowing. This will get off flesh, and will clear the wind, and meantime style can be studied in the boat. Long rows without an easy are a mistake for backward men who are also short of work. When the pupil gets blown at the end of a few minutes he relapses into his old faults, and makes his last state worse than the first. [Illustration: 'RUN A MILE OR TWO.'] Training not only gets off superfluous flesh, but also lays on muscle. The sooner the fat is off the sooner does the muscle lay on. The commissariat feeds the newly developing muscles better if there is no tax upon it to replenish the fat as well. For this reason, apart from the importance of clearing the wind, heavy work should come early in training. When a crew who have been considerably reduced in weight early in their course of training, feed up towards the last, and gain in weight, it is a good sign, and shows that their labours have been judiciously adjusted; the weight which they pick up at the close of training is new muscle replacing the discarded fat. In training college eights for summer races there is not scope for training on the above system. The time is too short, some of the men are already half-fit, and have been in work of some sort or other during the spring; while one or two of them may have been lying idle for a twelvemonth. In such cases a captain must use his own discretion; he can set his grosser men to do some running while he confines those who are fitter to work only in the ship. As a rule, however, unless men have no surplus flesh to take off, all oarsmen are the better for a little running at the end of the day during the early part of training. It prepares their wind for the time when a quick stroke will be required of them. A crew who have been rowing a slow stroke and who have meantime been improved in condition by running, will take to the quick stroke later on more kindly than a ditto class crew who have done no running, and whose condition has been obtained only by rowing exercise. The latter crew have been rowing all abroad while short of wind, and have thereby not corrected, and probably have contracted, faults. The former crew will have had better opportunities of improving their style, will be more like machinery, and will be less blown when they are at last asked to gallop in the boat. For the first few days it will be well to row an untrained crew over easy half-miles. A long day's work in the boat will not harm them: on the contrary, it will tend to shake them together; tired men can row well as to style, but men out of breath cannot row. At the end of a week or so, the men can cover a mile at a hard slow grind without an easy. If there is plenty of time, i.e. some five weeks of training, a good deal of paddling can be done, alternating with hard rowing at a slow stroke. If there are only three weeks to train, and men are gross, much paddling cannot be spared. If again time is short and men have already been in work for other races, and do not want much if any reduction in weight, then a good deal of the day's work may be done at a paddle. Thirty strokes a minute is plenty for slow rowing. Some strokes, though good to race behind, have a difficulty in rowing slow; especially after having had a spell at a fast stroke. It is important to inculcate upon the stroke that thirty a minute should be his 'walking' pace, and should always be maintained except when he is set to do a course, or a part of one, or to row a start. When once he is told to do something like racing over a distance, he must calculate his stroke to orders, whether thirty-two, -four, -six, -eight, &c. But when the 'gallop' is over, then the normal 'thirty' should resume. It is during the 'off' work, when rowing or paddling to or from a course, that there is most scope for coaching, and faults are best cured at a slow stroke. In training for a short course, such as Henley and college races, a crew may be taken twice each day backwards and forwards over the distance; the first time at thirty a minute each way, the second time at the 'set' pace of the day, over the course, relapsing into the usual 'thirty' on the reverse journey. The 'set' stroke depends on the stage of training. A fortnight before the race the crew may begin to cover the course, on the second journey, at about thirty-one a minute. A stroke a day can be added to this, until racing pace is reached. If men seem stale, an off-day should be given at light work. Meantime, each day, attention should be paid to 'starting,' so that all may learn to get hold of the first stroke well together. In order to accustom the men to a quicker stroke and to getting forward faster, a few strokes may be rowed, in each start, at a pace somewhat in advance of the rate of stroke set for the day's grind over the course. A couple such starts as this per diem benefit both crew and coach. The crew begin to feel what a faster stroke will be like, without being called upon to perform it over the whole distance before they are fit to go; the coach will be able to observe each man's work at the faster stroke. Many a green oarsman looks promising while the stroke is slow, but becomes all abroad when called upon to row fast. It is best to have some insight to these possible failings early in training, else it may be too late to remedy them or to change the man on the eve of battle. Towards the close of training the crew should do their level best once or twice over the course, to accustom them to being rowed out, and to give them confidence in their recuperative powers; also to enable the stroke to feel the power of his crew, and to form an opinion as to how much he can ask them to do in the race. The day before the racing begins, work should be light. In bumping races, if a college has no immediate fear of foes from the rear, it is well not to bring men too fine to the post; else, though they may do well enough for the first day or two, they may work stale or lose power before the end of the six days of the contest. It is better that a crew should row itself into condition than out of it. In training for long-distance racing, it is customary to make about every alternate day a light one, of about the same work as for college racing. The other days are long-course days of long grinds, to get men together, and to reduce weight. When men have settled to a light boat, and have begun to row courses against time, and especially when they reach Putney water, two long courses in each week are about enough. Many crews do not do even so much as this. As a rule a crew are better for not being taken for more than ten or eleven minutes of hard, uninterrupted racing, within three days of the race. A long course wastes much tissue, and it takes a day or two to feed up what they have wasted. Nevertheless, crews have been known to do long courses within 48 hours of a Putney match, and to win withal: e.g. the Oxonians of 1883, who came racing pace from Barnes to Putney two days before the race, and 'beat record' over that stretch of water. [Illustration: BUMPING RACE--WAITING FOR THE GUN.] Strokes and coaches do a crew much harm if they are jealous of 'times' prematurely in practice. Suppose an opponent does a fast time, there is no need to go to the starting point and endeavour to eclipse time. Possibly his rapid time has been accomplished by dint of a prematurely rapid stroke, while the pace of our own boat, with regard to the rate of stroke employed, discloses promise of better pace than our opponents, when racing shall arrive in real earnest. Now if we, for jealousy, take our own men at a gallop before they are ripe for it, we run great risk of injuring their style, and of throwing them back instead of improving them. After the day's race, the body should be well washed in tepid water, and rubbed dry with rough towels. It is a good thing for an oarsman to keep a toothbrush in his dressing-room. He will find it a great relief against thirst to wash his mouth out with it when dressing, more especially so if he also uses a little tincture of myrrh. One 'odd man' is of great service to training, even if he cannot spare time to row in the actual race. Many a man in a crew is the better for a day's, or half a day's, rest now and then. Yet his gain is loss of practice to the rest, unless a stop-gap can be found to keep the machinery going. The berth of ninth man in a University eight often leads to promotion to the full colours in a following season, as U.B.C. records can show. With college eights there used to be a _furore_, some twenty years ago, for taking them over the long course in a gig eight. These martyrs, half fit, were made to row the regulation long course, from 'first gate' to lasher, or at least to Nuneham railway bridge, at a hard and without an easy. The idea was to 'shake them together.' The latter desideratum could have been attained just as well by taking them to the lasher and back again, but allowing them to be eased once in each mile or so. Many crews that adopted the process met with undoubted success, but we fancy that their success would have been greater had their long row been judiciously broken by rest every five minutes. To behold a half-trained college eight labouring past Nuneham, at the end of some fifteen minutes of toil, jealous to beat the time of some rival crew, used to be a pitiable sight. More crews were marred than made by this fanaticism. On the morning of a race it is a good thing to send a crew to run sprints of seventy or eighty yards, twice. This clears the wind greatly for the rest of the day, without taking any appreciable strength out of the man. A crew thus 'aired' do not so much feel the severity of a sharp start in the subsequent race, and they gain their second wind much sooner. The meal before a race should be a light one, comparatively: something that can be digested very easily. Mutton is digested sooner than beef. H. Kelley used to swear by a wing of boiled chicken (without sauce) before a race. The fluid should be kept as low as possible just before a race; and there should be about three hours between the last meal and the start. A preliminary canter in the boat is advisable; it tests all oars and stretchers, and warms up the muscles. Even when men are rowing a second or third race in the day, they should not be chary of extending themselves for a few strokes on the way to the post. Muscles stiffen after a second race, and are all the better for being warmed up a trifle before they are again placed on the rack. Between races a little food may be taken, even if there is only an hour to spare: biscuit soaked in port wine stays the stomach; and if there is more than an hour cold mutton and stale bread (no butter), to the extent of a couple of sandwiches or more (according to time for digestion), will be of service. Such a meal may be washed down with a little cold tea and brandy. The tea deadens the pain of stiffened muscles; the brandy helps to keep the pulse up. If young hands are fidgetty and nervous, a little brandy and water may be given them; or brandy and tea, not exceeding a wine-glass, rather more tea than brandy. The writer used often to pick up his crew thus, and was sometimes laughed at for it in old days. He is relieved to find no less an authority than Mr. E. D. Brickwood, on page 219 of 'Boat-racing,' holding the same view as himself, and commending the same system of 'pick-me-up.' AILMENTS. A rowing man seems somehow to be heir to nearly as many ailments as a racehorse. Except that he does not turn 'roarer,' and that there is no such hereditary taint in rowing clubs, he may almost be likened to a Derby favourite. _Boils_ are one of the most common afflictions. They used to be seen more frequently in the writer's days than now. The modern recognition of the importance of a due proportion of vegetable food blended with the animal food has tended to reduce the proportion of oarsmen annually laid up by this complaint. A man is not carnivorous purely, but omnivorous, like a pig or a bear. If he gorges too much animal food meat, he disorders his blood, and his blood seeks to throw off its humours. If there is a sore anywhere on the frame at the time, the blood will select this as a safety valve, and will raise a fester there. If there is no such existing safety valve, the blood soon broaches a volcano of its own, and has an unpleasant habit of selecting most inconvenient sites for these eruptions. Where there is most wear and tear going on to the cuticle is a likely spot for the volcano to open, and nature in this respect is prone to favour the seat of honour more than any other portions of the frame. Next in fashion, perhaps, comes the neck; the friction of a comforter when the neck is dripping with perspiration tends often to make the skin of the neck tender and to induce a boil to break out there. A blistered hand is not unlikely to be selected as the scene of outbreak, or a shoulder chafed by a wet jersey. A crew should be under strict orders to report _all_ ailments, if only a blister, _instantly_ to the coach. It is better to leave _no_ discretion in this matter to the oarsman, even at the risk of troubling the mentor with trifles. If a man is once allowed to decide for himself whether he will report some petty and incipient ailment, he is likely to try to hush it up lest it should militate against his coach's selection of him; the effect of this is that mischief which might otherwise have been checked in the bud, is allowed to assume dangerous proportions for want of a stitch in time. An oarsman should be impressed that nothing is more likely to militate against his dream of being selected than disobedience to this or any other standing order. The smallest pimple should be shown forthwith to the coach, the slightest hoarseness or tendency to snuffle reported; any tenderness of joint or sinew instantly made known. To return to boils. If a boil is observed in the pimple stage, it may be scotched and killed. Painting it with iodine will drive it away, in the writer's experience. 'Stonehenge' advises a wash of nitrate of silver, of fifteen to twenty grains to the ounce, to be painted over the spot. Mr. Brickwood also, while quoting 'Stonehenge' on this point, recommends bathing with bay salt and water. Anyhow, these external means of repression do not of themselves suffice. They only bung up the volcano; the best step is to cure the blood, otherwise it will break out somewhere else. The writer's favourite remedy is a dose of syrup of iodide of iron; one teaspoonful in a wineglass of water, just before or after a meal, is about the best thing. A second dose of half the amount may be taken twenty-four hours later. This medicine is rather constipating; a slight aperient, if only a dose of Carlsbad salts before breakfast or a seidlitz powder, may be taken to counteract it in this respect. It is a strong but prompt remedy; anything is better than to have a member of a crew eventually unable to sit down for a week or so! An extra glass of port after dinner, _and plenty of green food_, will help to rectify the disordered blood. Another good internal remedy is brewer's yeast, a tablespoonful twice a day after meals. Watermen swear by this, and Mr. Brickwood personally recommends it. If care is taken a boil can be thus nipped in the bud (figuratively); to do this _literally_ is the very worst thing. Some people pinch off the head of a small boil. This only adds fuel to the fire. If a boil has become large, red, and angry before any remedies are applied, it is too late to drive it in, and the next best thing is to coax it out. This is done with strong linseed poultices. A doctor should be called in, and be persuaded to lance it, to the core, and to squeeze it, so soon as he judges it to be well filled with pus. _Raws_ used to be more common twenty-five years ago than now: boat cushions had much to do with them. Few oarsmen in these days use cushions. Raws are best anointed with a mixture of oxide of zinc, spermaceti and glycerine, which any chemist can make up, to the consistency of cold cream. It should be buttered on thickly, especially at bed-time. _Blisters_ should be pricked with a needle (_never_ with _pin_); the water should be squeezed out, and the old skin left on to shield the young skin below. Festers are only another version of boils. The internal remedies, to rectify the blood, should be the same as for boils. Cuts or wounds of broken skin may be treated like raws if slight; if deeper, then wrapped in lint, soaked in cold water, and bound with oilskin to keep the lint moist. _Abdominal strains_ sometimes occur (i.e. of the abdominal muscles of recovery) if a man does a hard day's work before he is fairly fit. A day's rest is the best thing; an hour's sitting in a hot hip bath, replenishing the heat as the water cools, gives much relief. The strain works off while the oarsman is warm to his work, but recurs with extra pain when he starts cold for the next row. If there is any suspicion of hernia (or 'rupture') work should instantly stop, even ten miles from home; the patient should row no more, walk gently to a resting-place, and send for a doctor. Once only has the writer known of real hernia in a day's row, and then the results were painfully serious. Inspection of the abdomen will show if there is any hernia. _Diarrh[oe]a_ is a common complaint. It is best to call in a doctor if the attack does not pass off in half a day. If a man has to go to the post while thus affected, it is a good thing to give him some _raw_ arrowroot (three or four table-spoonfuls) in _cold_ water. The dose should be well stirred, to make the arrowroot swill down the throat. To put the arrowroot into hot water spoils the effect which is desired. Many doctors have a tender horror of consenting to any patient rowing, even for a day, so long as he is under their care, though only for a boil which does not affect his action. Professional instinct prompts them to feel that the speediest possible cure is the chief desideratum, and of course that object is best attained by lying on the shelf. A doctor who will consent to do his best to cure, subject to assenting to his patient's continuing at work so long as actual danger is not thereby incurred, and so long as disablement for the more important race day is not risked, is sometimes, but too rarely, found. _Sprains_, _colds_, _coughs_, &c., had better be submitted at once to a doctor. A cold on the chest may become much more serious than it appears at first, and should never be trifled with. Slightly sprained wrists weaken, but need not necessarily cripple a man. Mr. W. Hoare, stroke of Oxford boat in 1862, had a sprained wrist at Putney, and rowed half the race with only one hand, as also much of the practice. He was none the worse after Easter, when the tendons had rested and recuperated. Oarsmen should be careful to wrap up warmly the instant that they cease work. Many a cold has been caught by men sitting in their jerseys--cold wind suddenly checking perspiration after a sharp row--while some chatter is going on about the time which the trial has taken, or why No. So-and-so caught a small crab halfway. A woollen comforter should always be at hand to wrap promptly round the neck and over the chest when exertion ceases, and so soon as men land they should clothe up in warm flannel, until the time comes to strip and work. Siestas should not be allowed. There is a temptation to doze on a full stomach after a hard day, or even when fresh after a midday meal. No one should be allowed to give way to this; it only makes men 'slack,' and spoils digestion. If a man can keep his bedclothes on all night, and keep warm, he will do himself good if he sleeps with an open window, winter or summer. He thereby gets more fresh air, and accordingly has not to tax the respiratory muscles so much, in order to inhale the necessary amount of oxygen. Eight hours sleep with open windows refresh the frame more than nine hours and upwards in a stuffy bedroom. A roaring fire may obviate an open window, for it forces a constant current of air through the apartment. The writer has slept with windows wide open, winter and summer, since he first matriculated at his University, save once or twice for a night or two when suffering from cold (not contracted by having slept with open windows). If a bed is well tucked up, and the frame well covered, the chest cannot be chilled, and the mouth and nose are none the worse for inhaling cool fresh air, even below freezing-point. This refers to men of sound chests. Men of weak constitution have no business to train or to race. [Illustration: FOUR-OAR.] CHAPTER XIII. ROWING CLUBS. The formation of a 'club' for the pursuit of any branch of sport gives a local stimulus at once to the game, and lends facilities for the acquisition of merit in the performance. This is peculiarly the case with rowing, and for more than one reason. Theoretically a man might, by unaided scientific study, elaborate for himself the most improved system or principle of oarsmanship. Practically he will do nothing of the sort, and if left to teach himself will develop all sorts of faults of style, which tend to the outlay of a maximum of exertion for a minimum of progress. The tiro in oarsmanship requires instruction from the outset; the sooner he is taught, the more likely is he to become proficient. If he begins to teach himself, he will certainly acquire faulty action, which will settle to habit. If later on he has recourse to a mentor, the labours of both pupil and tutor will be more arduous than if the pupil were a complete beginner; the pupil will require first to be _un_taught from his bad style before he is adapted for instruction in good action of limbs and body. Moreover, all rowing becomes so mechanical that the polished oarsman is almost as unconscious of merit in his style (save from what others may tell him of himself) as the duffer is of his various inelegancies. The very best oarsman is liable insidiously to develop faults in his own style which he himself, or a less scientific performer, would readily notice in another person. Hence, where men row together in a club, each can be of service to the other, in pointing out faults, of which the performer is unconscious. So that half-a-dozen oarsmen or scullers of equal class, if they will thus mutually assist each other, can attain between them a higher standard than if each had rowed like a hermit. Still more is the standard of oarsmanship raised among juniors when the older hands of a club take them in charge and coach them. In addition to this system of reciprocal education, a club fosters rivalry, and organises club races; and, in like manner, a plurality of clubs stimulates competition between clubs, and produces open racing between members of the rival institutions. College clubs seem to be the oldest on record. Some of them go back as early as the concluding years of George the Third. The rise of British oarsmanship has been traced in a preceding chapter. The oldest 'open' rowing club is the 'Leander.' When it originated seems to be uncertain, but it was considered relatively to be an 'old' club in 1837. Mr. G. D. Rowe, Hon. Secretary of the Club, has kindly extracted the following memoranda from the Club's history of its records:-- It would seem that the earliest known metropolitan rowing clubs were 'The Star' and 'The Arrow,' which existed at the end of the last century, and expired somewhere about 1820. Out of the ruins sprang the Leander Club, which is still a flourishing institution, and which includes amongst its members most of the great University oarsmen of the last thirty years or so. So far as can be ascertained, the Leander Club did not exist in 1820, but it was in full swing in 1825, and in 1830 was looked upon as a well-known and long-established boat club. In 1837, 1838, and 1841 Leander rowed races against Cambridge, losing the first and winning the last, whilst in 1838 the race was declared a draw owing to fouling. In all three the course was from Westminster to Putney. In 1839 Leander was beaten for the Grand Challenge Cup at Henley by the Oxford Etonians; but in 1840 the Leander crew won the Cup, whilst in 1841 they came in first, but were disqualified on a foul. In consequence of this Leander did not again compete for the G.C.C. till 1858,[12] as the Club considered the ruling of the Umpire unfair. [12] The Leander entry at Henley, 1858, arose thus. A mixed team of old Blues of _both_ colours got up an eight, and qualified by rowing under the Leander flag. Meanwhile, however, in 1843, -4, and -5 Leander won the Challenge Cup at the Thames Regatta, and between 1845 and 1855 Leander won the Presentation Cup at Erith for Four-oars, several times. Leander, however, was as much a social association as a competing rowing club. Up till 1856 the number of members was limited to twenty-five men, who used to meet at Westminster once or twice a week, and row to Putney or Greenwich, and take dinner together. Sometimes they would go to the Albert Docks, and dine on board a ship, at the expense of one of their members, who was a large shipowner. After 1856 the number of members was increased to thirty-five, and in 1862 the Club was put on a more modern footing after the example of the London Rowing Club, and no limit was put on the number of members. The Club quarters were moved to Putney, where a small piece of ground was rented on which a tent was erected for housing boats. This piece of ground was acquired by the London Rowing Club in 1864, and on it was built the present L.R.C. boat-house. Leander, however, were able to get a lease of a piece of land adjoining, and in 1866 built a boat-house, which still exists, though the Club has of late thought of departing from Putney and establishing themselves on one of the upper reaches of the Thames. The rowing successes of Leander of late years have not been very great, though a Leander crew is always formidable 'on paper' and comprises a good selection of 'Varsity oars. Want of practice and of combination usually outweighs individual skill. In 1875 and 1880 the Grand Challenge Cup was won by Leander under the leadership of Goldie and Edwardes-Moss respectively, but since 1880 all attempts to carry off the much-coveted prize have proved futile. It must have been a curious sight in old days to see a Leander crew rowing in front of the 'Varsity race in their 'cutter' steered by Jim Parish, their waterman coxswain. The crew used to wear the orthodox top-hats on their heads, whilst the coxswain was arrayed in all the glories of 'green plush kneebreeches, silk stockings, "Brummagem" coat, and tall white silk hat.' The match between Oxford and Leander in 1831 had ended in the defeat of Oxford, and when, six years later, Cambridge challenged Leander, it was thought by the London division to be a rash venture on the part of the Cantabs. But we read in the Brasenose B.C. records that in the opinion of some experts the Leander oarsmanship was observed to have rather fallen off of late, and that there were not wanting good judges who were prepared for the Cantab victory in which the match resulted. This casual remark seems to show that Leander was a club of some years' standing at the time of this match. There seems to have been a 'scullers' club, hailing from Wandsworth, even earlier than this. But if it had a name, the title is lost. There must have been a fair amount of sculling among amateurs prior to 1830, in order to induce Mr. Lewis Wingfield in 1830 to present the silver challenge sculls which still bear his name, and which to this day carry with them the title of Amateur Championship. The University clubs, when once founded, rapidly developed strength; new college clubs were founded, and eights were manned by colleges and halls which hitherto had not entered for the annual bumping races. But London oarsmanship gradually deteriorated between 1835 and 1855. The cause of this decay is intelligible. The tideway was churned up by steamers, rowing from Westminster was no longer the pleasant sport which it had been, and railway facilities for suburban rowing had hardly developed. Leander made one show at Henley after its foundation and failed to score a win. After that Leander crews absented themselves from the scene until the days of their modern revival. There was a club called the 'St. George's' which put on a good four-oar or two in the 'forties' at Henley; and after them came a 'Thames' club, which lasted some seasons, and chiefly distinguished itself by winning thrice running the 'Gold Cup' of the old Thames Regatta of the 'forties.' The Thames Club also won the Grand at Henley; but they died out, and a lot of local small-fry clubs dismembered the rowing talent of the metropolis for the next few years. Of these, the most distinguished were the 'Argonauts,' between 1853 and 1856. They were not numerically strong, but they made up in quality for quantity. They were not enough to man an eight, and the Grand Challenge Cup at Henley was farmed for several seasons by the Universities. The Chester men came and went like a meteor in 1856. Their performances will be found under the description of the first keelless eight. In that year the London Rowing Club was founded, and in 1857, being then a year old, it made its _début_ at Henley, and won the Grand Challenge, Mr. Wood in the Oxford crew breaking an oar in the last two hundred yards of the race. The foundation of the London Club did more to raise the standard of amateur rowing than anything in modern times. It created a third great factor in eight-oared rowing, and served to keep the Universities up to the mark. It also encouraged other clubs. Kingston soon followed suit, first with a four and afterwards with an eight. After them the new (modern) Thames Club also made its appearance at Henley, beginning like Kingston with fours before aspiring to eights. In these days Thames are rivals with London for the pick of the rowing talent of the tideway, and each acts as a stimulus to the other. It is no exaggeration to say that at an average Henley Regatta, during the present decade, four or five eights may often be seen, any one of which would, _ceteris paribus_ (and sliding seats barred), have been considered a good winner of the Grand Challenge a quarter of a century ago, so great has been the advance in the standard of amateur rowing. The Leander Club has been a practical reality once more for nearly twenty years; it has competed periodically for the Grand Challenge and Stewards' Cups, and has twice won the Grand, but its composition is now widely different from what it was in the palmy 'Brilliant' days of fifty years ago. In those times it represented the rowing talent of the metropolitan element; it filled the same position that the London and Thames Clubs now jointly occupy. In these days it is almost entirely composed of University men, past and present. Having vacated its old functions, it has in turn filled those formerly performed by the 'Subscription Rooms' of the Universities, which in the 'forties' used to hail from Stangate. There is but little junior rowing done or taught in Leander; most of its recruits are already more or less proficient before they join it. It is not a nursery of oarsmanship, but a colony, to which rowing men from the Universities resort. It is of value in promoting sport and competition, but it does not, from the very nature of its elements, fill the same sort of position that the London and Thames Clubs hold in the rowing world--as nurseries of junior talent on the tideway. On the upper Thames, Kingston holds a position of much the same nature as London and Thames. Twickenham are an old club, but it is only of late years that they have aspired to Grand Challenge form; they owe this aspiration to a reinforcement from Hertford College, Oxon. Besides these leading clubs there are sundry smaller bodies, which content themselves chiefly with junior rowing. Such are the 'West London' and 'Grove Park,'[13] the 'East Sheen,' and others of this class. Five-and-thirty years ago it was a rarity to see even a scratch amateur eight on the tideway, so much had London rowing gone downhill. In the present day, on a June or July evening, especially on Saturday, half-a-dozen or more may be seen between Wandsworth and Richmond. [13] Since the above was written, West London and Grove Park Clubs have become extinct. Provincial oarsmanship has made considerable advance during the last thirty years. The Chester Club was the first to make a great mark, as mentioned elsewhere. The Eastern Counties are the most behindhand in the science, although they have good rivers in the Orwell and Yare. Newcastle produces strong local clubs, and once a champion, Mr. Fawcus, came from the Tyne. Mr. Wallace, a high-class sculler, also came south, but without absolute success, some years before Mr. Fawcus. Durham, what with its school, its University, and its town, shows plenty of sport on the Wear. Lancashire sent a fair 'Mersey' four to Henley in 1862, and in 1870 the 'John o' Gaunt' men from the same river made a decided hit at Henley, although they failed to win. Bath has produced some good men before now, chiefly under the tuition of Mr. C. Herbert, a London oarsman. The Severn has woke up considerably. In 1850 we doubt whether four men could have been found on the whole river who could sit in an outrigger; but during the last fifteen years amateur rowing has made great advances at Worcester, Bewdley, Bridgnorth, and other towns. Tewkesbury started a regatta about a quarter of a century ago, and other towns on the Severn have followed suit. At present the Severn clubs confine their rowing very much to contests among themselves, and do not try their luck on the Thames in the leading regattas. The time may come when they will acquire sufficient talent to enable them to make a creditable display against the greater clubs of the Thames. The Trent, though one of the finest of our English rivers, does very little for oarsmanship. Some very second-class rowing is now and then seen at Nottingham, and also at Burton-on-Trent. The latter, many years ago, sent a pair-oar to Henley Regatta; but, so far as we can recall, the men, or one of them, was a Cantab (Mr. Nadin), and we may surmise that he owed his oarsmanship to the Cam rather than to the Trent. One curious feature in provincial rowing is, and has been, the absence of any professional talent. The Tyne alone has really rivalled the Thames in respect of producing leading professionals. A good four once or twice came from Glasgow to the Thames Regatta about sixteen years ago, and now and then a fair second-class sculler (such as Strong, of Barrow-in-Furness) has appeared from the provinces, but in other respects great apathy seems to prevail as regards professional oarsmanship on all our rivers except Thames and Tyne. The later decadence of professional talent on these once famous rivers will be treated in another chapter. Mr. Brickwood, in his book on 'Boat-racing,' gives some admirable suggestions for the formation of rowing clubs, which should be read by all who aspire to found such institutions. For the benefit of those who may hereafter take the lead in establishing new boat clubs, or in remodelling old ones, he propounds a 'draft' code of general rules; it would be presumptuous to attempt to improve upon them, and we take the liberty of giving them _in extenso_, as sketched by this eminent authority. DRAFT RULES. 1. This club shall be called the ---- Rowing (or Boat) Club; and the colours shall be ----. 2. The object of this club shall be the encouragement of rowing on the river ---- amongst gentlemen amateurs. 3. Any gentleman desirous of becoming a member shall cause a notice in writing, containing his name, occupation, and address, together with the names of his proposer and seconder (both of whom must be members of the club, and personally acquainted with him, and one of whom must be present at the ballot), to be forwarded to the secretary fourteen days prior to the general meeting at which the candidate shall be balloted for; one black ball in five shall exclude. In the case of neither the proposer nor seconder being able to attend the ballot for a new member, the committee may institute such inquiries as they may deem requisite, and on the receipt of satisfactory replies in writing from both proposer and seconder such attendance may be waived, and the election may proceed in the usual manner. 4. The annual subscription shall be ----, due and payable on February 1 in each year. 5. Subscriptions becoming due on February 1 shall be paid by April 1, and subscriptions becoming due after February 1 be paid within two months; or, in default, the names of the members whose subscriptions are in arrears may be placed conspicuously in the club-room, with a notice that they are not entitled to the benefits of the club. 6. The name of any member whose subscriptions shall be in arrear twelve months shall be posted in the club-room as a defaulter, and published in the circular next issued. 7. The proposer of any candidate shall (upon his election) be responsible to the club for the entrance-fee and first annual subscription of such candidate. 8. Members wishing to resign shall tender their resignation in writing to the secretary before February 1, otherwise they will be liable for the year's subscription; the receipt of such resignation shall be acknowledged by the secretary. 9. The officers of the club shall consist of a president, vice-president, captain, and secretary, to be elected by ballot at the first general meeting in February in each year; the same to be _ex-officio_ members of the committee. 10. The captain shall be at liberty, from time to time, to appoint a member of the club to act as his deputy, such appointment to be notified in the club-room. 11. The general management of the club shall be entrusted to a committee of ---- members, and ---- shall form a quorum; such committee to be chosen by ballot at the first general meeting in February in each year. 12. A general meeting shall be held in every month, in the club-room, during the rowing season, and at such time and place during the winter as may be selected by the committee. 13. A notice containing the names of candidates for election at the general meeting shall be sent to every member of the club. 14. Any member who shall wilfully or by gross negligence damage any property belonging the club shall immediately have the same repaired at his own expense. The question of the damage being or not being accidental shall be decided by the committee from such evidence as they may be able to obtain. 15. A general meeting shall have power to expel any member from the club who has made himself generally obnoxious; but no ballot shall be taken until fourteen days' notice shall have been given; one black ball to three white to expel such member. This rule shall not be enforced except in extraordinary cases, and until the member complained of shall have been requested by the committee to resign. 16. No crew shall contend for any public prize, under the name of the club, without the sanction of the committee. All races for money are strictly prohibited. 17. The committee shall have the management of all club matches. 18. The rules and by-laws of the club shall be printed, and posted in the club-room, and the copy sent to every member; and any member who shall wilfully persist in the infraction of any such rules or by-laws shall be liable to be expelled. 19. Any member wishing to propose any alteration in the rules of the club shall give notice in writing to the secretary, two weeks prior to the question being discussed, when, if the notice be seconded, a ballot shall be taken, and to carry the proposed alteration the majority in favour must be two to one. 20. The committee shall have power to make, alter, and repeal by-laws. _By-Laws._ 1. The boats of the club shall be for the general use of the members on all days during the season (Sundays excepted), subject to the following by-laws. 2. That no visitor be permitted to row in a club boat to the exclusion of a member of the club. 3. That the club day be ---- in each week during the season, and the hour of meeting ----. 4. That on club days members be selected by the captain (or in his absence by his deputy) to form crews; the members present at the hour of meeting to have priority of claim. Should the decision of the captain or his deputy be considered unsatisfactory by the majority of members present, the matter in dispute shall be settled by lot. 5. All boats shall be returned to the boathouse by ten o'clock at night, except on club days, when club boats taken out before the usual hour must be returned half an hour before the time fixed for meeting. Any expense incurred by the club through an infringement of this by-law shall be paid by the member offending. 6. Any dispute as regards rowing in any particular boat or boats shall be settled by lot, this provision having reference more particularly to club days. 7. In the event of there being more members present than can be accommodated in the club boats, it shall be at the discretion of the captain or his deputy, or of such members of the committee as may be present, to hire extra boats at the expense of the club. 8. The committee shall from time to time appoint one of their number to superintend the management of the boathouse, and to make all necessary arrangements for keeping the boats of the club in a thorough state of repair and cleanliness. 9. All crews sent by the club to contend at a public regatta shall be formed by the captain and two other experienced members to be named by the committee, such crews when formed to be subject to the approval of the committee. 10. In the event of a crew being chosen to contend in any public race or match, such crew shall be provided by the club with a boat for their exclusive use during their time of training, and shall have their entrance-fees paid by the club. 11. The expense of conveying boats to public regattas at which crews of the club contend shall be paid by the crews, but the committee shall have power to repay the whole or any part of such expenses out of the club funds. 12. The committee, on the occasion of a club race or other special event, shall appoint a member of the club to take charge of and conduct all arrangements connected with the same. 13. The member pulling the stroke-oar in any club boat shall have command of the crew. 14. Upon the arrival of a crew at the place appointed for stopping, the captain of the boat shall (if required) fix the time for returning; and, if any member be absent at the appointed time, the crew shall be at liberty to hire a substitute at the expense of the absentee. 15. Every member, on landing from a club boat, shall be bound to assist in housing such boat, and in doing so shall follow the direction of the captain or other officer. 16. Any member using a private boat without the consent of its owner shall thereby render himself liable to a vote of censure, and, if need be, expulsion. Clubs are often but ephemeral. Some leading spirit founds one, and, when his influence vanishes with himself, the club wanes; perhaps it pales before a rival, perhaps it amalgamates with another. From various causes many minor clubs have risen and set on the Thames within the writer's memory during the last two decades; others which were in full swing when he was at school or college have ceased to exist. In the summer of 1886 this question of extinction of small clubs became a subject of correspondence in the aquatic columns of the 'Field.' Subsequently the writer of this chapter discussed the question in the following leading article, published in the 'Field' on July 17, 1886, and now reproduced by the courtesy of the proprietors. It is given _in extenso_ for the sake of the history and reminiscences embodied in it. _The Extinction of Small Rowing Clubs._ We published a fortnight ago a letter of complaint on this subject from a correspondent who signed himself 'Senior Oarsman.' We quite admit the fact that the tendency of the great rowing clubs of the Thames has been to absorb the numerous petty clubs which at one time abounded on the tideway, but we entirely fail to agree with his view that this consummation is to be deprecated, either in the interests of oarsmanship or of regattas. Our own opinion is, that four or five strong clubs raise the standard of rowing and the prestige of regattas to a far greater extent than if these same societies were split up into a dozen or more minor associations. We can remember when there were a large number of petty clubs of that description, many of them hailing from Putney. The ground-floor doors of the annexe to the 'Star and Garter' at Putney still commemorate the names of some of them, though the clubs have been extinct for ages. 'Nautilus' and 'Star' are among the titles which are still painted on the doors. Prior to the founding of the London Rowing Club in 1856, the rowing talent of the Thames was split up into many such small sections. None of them, save the 'Argonauts,' were fit to man one decent four between them. The L.R.C. consolidated these small societies for the time being; but there are always to be found oarsmen who prefer to pose as leaders of small-fry clubs rather than play second or third fiddle in first-class clubs. Hence, no sooner had the L.R.C. consolidated one batch of small clubs than others sprang into existence. At the date of the founding of the Metropolitan Regatta in 1866 there were once more a host of these minor societies on the Thames, and one of the causes of weakness in the executive of that regatta arose from the recognition of these small clubs by the L.R.C. as factors to be consulted in its organisation. These petty clubs had no chance of winning the open prizes, but they were keen to distinguish themselves and have a hand in the gathering, and accordingly the 'metropolitan' eights and pairs for local second-raters had to be established, in order to induce the small clubs to join the undertaking. The result of this policy was, that before long the L.R.C. provided by far the larger proportion of the funds for the regatta, and yet had to defer to the majority of votes of the small clubs in the matter of executive. At that date Kingston was the only other club (except those of the U.B.C's.) which was up to Grand Challenge form, like the L.R.C. Since that date there has been an expansion of other strong clubs, and, as a necessary corollary, a gradual decay of minor ones. Thames has grown to be a worthy rival of London, and has done much to raise the standard of oarsmanship. Leander has been revived, and Twickenham, which at one time (in the sixties) was quite a small local club, now comes out also in Grand Challenge form. This club have not yet actually landed the great prize, but they have more than once been good enough to win it, had they been fortunate enough to draw the best station. Besides these clubs, there has been the Molesey Club, which in 1875 and 1876 was capable of making the best crews gallop at Henley, and won the Senior fours at sundry minor Thames regattas later in the season. Its later absence from Henley is due to the retirement from active oarsmanship of Mr. H. Chinnery and others, whose personal energies alone sufficed to combat the difficulty of distance from London. Meantime, clubs like the Ariel, Corsair West London, Ino, and others have become 'fine by degrees and beautifully less,' until they expired of inanition. There are, and always will be, sundry ambitious second-class oarsmen who regret the extinction of societies of this sort, and who recall with regret the pot-hunting for junior prizes which sometimes fell in their way. But when we recollect that clubs of this stamp were conspicuously absent from the winning roll, and usually even from the competition in senior races in minor Thames regattas, we fail to see wherein rowing science suffers by their absorption. Junior oarsmen obtain far better instruction in the ranks of the crack clubs than they could hope to find in the small-fry institutions, and they have found this out. When men have matriculated as oarsmen in weak clubs, they constantly contract insidious faults of style, the result of being put to race in light boats before they have mastered the first principles of oarsmanship. If such men subsequently aspire to join the better clubs, they have a worse chance of attaining a seat in a first or even a second crew than if they had joined the big club at the outset, and had been carefully taught in tubs till they were fairly proficient. They have to be 'untaught' from a bad style before they can be moulded in a good one. The Thames cup eights at Henley are of a higher order now than they were seven or eight years ago, and we are inclined to ascribe this fact to the 'absorption' system, which not only strengthens the large clubs, but also provides better instruction for the rising generation than was the case when talent was more split up. Oarsmen of good standard who are really desirous of distinguishing themselves, and are not too proud to serve in the ranks of a big club after having held office in a smaller one, freely gravitate from minor to leading clubs. The juniors of their clubs follow their leaders, and so the minor clubs become gradually depleted. We do not consider that regatta entries are practically injured by the development of the large clubs at the expense of the smaller ones. We have already said that these small clubs are of little or no use for senior races, whereas their ingredients, consolidated in larger bodies, create one or two more strong clubs which are good enough to produce competent senior crews, and so swell senior entries. We admit that to some extent junior entries may fall off in numbers, in consequence of the breaking up of petty clubs; but, even allowing this, we hold that the quality of junior entries increases in proportion as those juniors hail from a good club endowed with scientific coaching. Clubs whose powers are limited to the production of junior crews do not contribute much to the standard of oarsmanship, and at the same time they divert material which in good hands might attain a good standard. The many petty clubs of fifteen or twenty years ago used to labour, each by itself, through a whole season to produce just one junior crew; and this possibly won a race at last, on a sort of tontine principle, through the gradual victories of former opponents in junior races, which on each occasion removed a rival from the field of the future. The modern strong and first class clubs turn out one junior crew after another in the season; so that batch after batch of juniors are thus taken in hand, and competently coached during the season. Besides regatta rowing, there are club contests, and these are to be found in even greater abundance and variety under the management of the leading clubs, and afford more scope for rising oarsmen, than ever was the case in the expiring and expired minor clubs. We gave publicity to our correspondent's complaint, as a matter of fair play in a subject that might be of interest to many; but, all things considered, we come to the conclusion that his deductions break down in every respect, and that rowing and regattas alike benefit rather than lose by consolidation of material in the first-class clubs of the day. [Illustration: EARLY AMATEURS.] CHAPTER XIV. THE AMATEUR, HIS HISTORY AND DESCRIPTION. The old theory of an amateur was that he was a 'gentleman,' and that the two were simply convertible terms. The amateur of old might make rowing his sport, so long as he did not actually make it his ostensible means of livelihood. The Leander oarsmen who matched themselves against University crews between 1830 and 1840 did not consider that they lost caste by rowing for a stake. In 1831 Oxford and Leander rowed at Henley for 200_l._ a side, with watermen steering them. Much later than this it was not considered improper for two 'gentlemen' to row a match (or race one) for a mutual _stake_ (not a bet). Until 1861, when the conditions of the Wingfield Sculls were remodelled at a meeting of ex-champions and old competitors, it had been the custom for all entries for that prize to pay a fee of 5_l._, and the winner swept the pool! No one dreamed of suggesting that this was in any way derogatory to the status of an amateur. But as rowing became more popular, and more widely adopted as a pastime, it began to be felt that it was invidious to leave the question 'Is he an amateur?' to the local opinion of the regatta committee, before whom such a question might be raised. Oarsmen came to the conclusion that some written definition of the qualification was necessary; some hard and fast rule, prospective, if not retrospective. Till then, various executives had adopted various opinions as to what constituted an amateur. One year, about 1871, the Henley executive declined to recognise one of the local crews engaged in the 'Town Cup' as 'amateurs;' and on this ground refused to allow them to start for the Wyfold Cup. It was not alleged that any of this crew had ever laboured as a mechanic, or rowed for money. The allegation of the Henley executive was that this crew were not 'gentlemen amateurs,' and as such they declined to admit them. A few days later another regatta executive freely admitted this same crew, and none of the recognised amateur clubs opposed to them raised any objection to the local crew's status. This variety of opinion led to consultation among certain old amateurs whose ideas were universally respected, and as a result, on April 10, 1878, a meeting was held at Putney, at which there were present-- FRANCIS PLAYFORD, L.R.C., _Chairman_. T. EDMUND HOCKIN, Secretary, C.U.B.C. T. C. EDWARDES-MOSS, President, O.U.B.C. F. S. GULSTON, Captain, London R.C. HENRY P. MARRIOTT, for Secretary, O.U.B C. C. GURDON, President, C.U.B.C. JAMES HASTIE, Captain, Thames R.C. M. G. FARRER, Captain, Leander B.C. C. D. HEATLEY, Captain, Kingston R.C. ROBERT W. RISLEY, O.U.B.C. FRANK WILLAN, O.U.B.C. J. G. CHAMBERS, C.U.B.C. EDWARD H. FARRIE, C.U.B.C. JNO. IRELAND, L.R.C. H. H. PLAYFORD, Vice-President, L.R.C. E. D. BRICKWOOD, L.R.C., _Secretary_. These gentlemen drew up and passed the following:-- _Definition of an Amateur._ An amateur oarsman or sculler must be an officer of her Majesty's Army, or Navy, or Civil Service, a member of the Liberal Professions, or of the Universities or Public Schools, or of any established boat or rowing club not containing mechanics or professionals; and must not have competed in any competition for either a stake, or money, or entrance-fee, or with or against a professional for any prize; nor ever taught, pursued, or assisted in the pursuit of athletic exercises of any kind as a means of livelihood, nor have ever been employed in or about boats, or in manual labour; nor be a mechanic, artisan, or labourer. In the following year the Henley executive drew up a definition of their own, much to the same effect, but slightly different in phraseology (this was on April 8, 1879). It read thus:-- No person shall be considered as an amateur oarsman or sculler-- 1. Who has ever competed in any open competition for a stake, money, or entrance-fee. 2. Who has competed with or against a professional for any prize. 3. Who has ever taught, pursued, or assisted in the practice of athletic exercise of any kind as a means of gaining a livelihood. 4. Who has been employed in or about boats for money or wages. 5. Who is or has been, by trade or employment for wages, a mechanic, artisan, or labourer. This definition, with a further slight verbal alteration, will be found still embodied in the rules of Henley regatta, which are given at p. 48. This new definition was adopted by the 'Amateur Rowing Association.' This latter body arose in 1879. The original object of its constitution was to found a general club which could comprise all the best amateur talent of Britain, and from which, in the event of any foreign or colonial crew, composed of the full force of its own country, coming to these shores, could be put forward to represent the honour of the mother country; so that the individual clubs of Britain should never hereafter be in danger of being attacked separately, with forces divided, by the concentrated resources of some foreign or colonial country. The association was first called the 'Metropolitan Rowing Association,' but eventually it took its present name. The rules of this association are here given _in extenso_, and sufficiently explain the _raison d'être_. RULES OF THE AMATEUR ROWING ASSOCIATION, LATE METROPOLITAN ROWING ASSOCIATION. _Committee._ The President of the Oxford University Boat Club. } The President of the Cambridge University Boat Club. } The Captain of the Dublin University Boat Club. } The Captain of the Dublin University Rowing Club. } _Ex_ The Captain of the Leander Boat Club. } _Officio._ The Captain of the London Rowing Club. } The Captain of the Kingston Rowing Club. } The Captain of the Thames Rowing Club. } JAMES CATTY, T.R.C. | F. S. GULSTON, L.R.C. H. J. CHINNERY, L.R.C. | JAMES HASTIE, T.R.C. F. FENNER, L.R.C. | Rev. R. W. RISLEY, O.U.B.C. J. H. D. GOLDIE, C.U.B.C. | S. LE BLANC SMITH, L.R.C. _Hon. Secretary._ S. LE BLANC SMITH, Esq. _Head Quarters, pro tem._ LONDON ROWING CLUB, PUTNEY. 1. That this Club be called 'The Amateur Rowing Association.' 2. That the object of the Association be to associate members of existing amateur rowing clubs for the purpose of forming representative British crews to compete against Foreign and Colonial representative crews, in the event of such entering at any regattas in the United Kingdom, or challenging this country. 3. That the government and management of the Association be vested in a committee of fifteen members (of whom five shall be a quorum), with power to add to their number, who, except the _ex-officio_ members, shall retire annually, and be eligible for re-election. 4. That the Presidents of the Oxford University Boat Club and Cambridge University Boat Club, the Captains of the Dublin University Boat Club, Dublin University Rowing Club, Leander Boat Club, London Rowing Club, Kingston Rowing Club, and Thames Rowing Club, for the time being be _ex-officio_ members of the committee. 5. That no one be eligible as a member of the Association unless he be a member of a recognised Amateur Rowing Club. 6. That candidates for election must be proposed and seconded by two members of the committee, and unanimously elected by the committee. 7. That, when members of different clubs are selected to form a crew, they must, for the time being, place themselves exclusively at the disposal of the Association. 8. That general meetings of the members be summoned by the Honorary Secretary at such times as not less than five of the committee think fit, and that committee meetings be held once, at least, in every three months, and as much oftener as a quorum shall, from time to time, decide. This Amateur Rowing Association began modestly, and without any assumption, to dictate to the rowing world. It was content to take the patriotic part of guarding national amateur prestige in aquatics. But all leading clubs so fully recognised the value of the new association, that pressure was often put upon it to make a _coup d'état_, and to take the sceptre of amateur rowing and the control of amateur regattas, a position analogous to that held respectively by the 'Jockey Club' on the turf, the 'Grand National Hunt Committee' in steeple-chasing, and the 'Amateur Athletic Association' on the running path. To some extent the Association have followed the course urged upon them, and last season (1886) they propounded a code of regatta rules, which will doubtless be adopted by all regattas that desire to entice first-class amateur competitions on their waters. These rules read thus:-- AMATEUR ROWING ASSOCIATION. _Established 1879._ (Hon. Sec, S. LE BLANC SMITH, Esq., Coombeside, Sydenham, S.E.) Cambridge University Boat Club--Cambridge. Kingston Rowing Club--Surbiton. Leander Club--Putney. London Rowing Club--Putney. Oxford University Boat Club--Oxford. Reading Rowing Club--Reading. Royal Chester Rowing Club--Chester. Thames Rowing Club--Putney. Twickenham Rowing Club--Twickenham. West London Rowing Club--Putney. Marlow Boat Club--Marlow. Henley Rowing Club--Henley. _Rules for Amateur Regattas._ 1. The committee shall state on their programmes, and all other official notices and advertisements, that their regatta is held under the Rules of the A.R.A. 2. No 'value' prize (_i.e._ a cheque on a tradesman) shall be offered for competition, nor shall a prize and money be offered as alternatives. 3. Entries shall close at least three clear days before the date of the regatta. 4. No assumed name shall be given to the secretary unless accompanied by the real name of the competitor. 5. No one shall be allowed to enter twice for the same race. 6. The secretary of the regatta shall not be permitted to divulge any entry, nor to report the state of the entrance list, until such list be closed. 7. The committee shall investigate any questionable entry irrespective of protest. 8. The committee shall have absolute power to refuse or return any entry up to the time of starting, without being bound to assign a reason. 9. The captain or secretary of each club or crew entered shall, at least three clear days before the day of the regatta, deliver to the secretary of the regatta a list containing the names of the actual crew appointed to compete, to which list the names of not more than four other members for an eight-oar and two for a four-oar may be added as substitutes; provided that no person may be substituted for another who has already rowed a heat. 10. The secretary of the regatta, after receiving the list of the crews entered, and of the substitutes, shall, if required, furnish a copy of the same with the names, real and assumed, to the captain or secretary of each club, or in the case of pairs or scullers to each competitor entered. 11. The committee shall appoint one or more umpires, to act under the Laws of Boat Racing. 12. The committee shall appoint one or more judges, whose decision as to the order in which the boats pass the post shall be final. 13. Objections to the qualification of a competitor should be made in writing to the secretary of the regatta at the earliest moment practicable. No protest shall be entertained unless lodged before the prizes are distributed. 14. Every competitor must wear complete clothing from the shoulders to the knees--including a sleeved jersey. 15. In the event of there being but one crew or competitor entered for any prize, or if more than one enter and all withdraw but one, the sole competitor must row over the course to become entitled to such prize. 16. Boats shall be held to have completed the course when their bows reach the winning post. 17. The whole course must be completed by a competitor before he can be held to have won a trial or final heat. 18. In the event of a dead heat any competitor refusing to row again, as may be directed by the committee, shall be adjudged to have lost. 19. A junior oarsman is one (A) who has never won any race at a regatta other than a school race, a race in which the construction of the boats was restricted, or a race limited to numbers of one club; (B) who has never been a competitor in any International or Inter-University match. A junior sculler is one (A) who has never won any sculling race at a regatta other than a race in which the construction of the boats was restricted, or a race limited to members of one club; (B) who has never competed for the Diamond Sculls at Henley, or for the Amateur Championship of any country. N.B.--The qualification shall in every case relate to the day of the regatta. 20. All questions not specially provided for shall be decided by the committee. With these safeguards, and with the guidance of this leading Association, it is to be hoped that the status of amateurs in England will be preserved at that high standard which alone can properly demarcate the amateur from the professional. Foreign crews which seek to compete at our regattas are often of a very dubious character as regards amateurship. The imposture of Lee, the Yankee professional, at Henley regatta in 1878, was not discovered until too late; and his case has been by no means an isolated one. The Henley executive now impose certain conditions upon foreign countries, which enable our own authorities to make timely inquiries as to the real status of proposed visitors. These conditions will be found under No. 4 of the 'General Rules' of Henley (p. 49). [Illustration: WINDSOR.] CHAPTER XV. ROWING AT ETON COLLEGE. The River Thames flows so near the College of Eton that it necessarily affords an attraction to the boys at least equal to the playing fields, and has always been frequented for bathing and rowing as well as other aquatic pursuits. All such amusements have been styled from time immemorial 'Wet bobbing,' as distinguished from cricket, which is 'Dry bobbing:' the boys who boat are called 'Wet bobs' and the cricketers 'Dry bobs.' In the good old times, by which we mean the times told of by old men of our early acquaintance, extending to the end of the last and beginning of this century, the river was used by the boys for some other delightful though unlawful sports. Fishing was in those times more attractive to them than it has been in recent years, and many boys who did not join the boats would go out gudgeon, pike, or trout fishing with persistent zeal. Old gentlemen have told us of getting up in the early morning in the summer half, breaking out through the windows of their dame's or tutor's houses, and getting on the river to fish before the early school. Shooting was also practised on the river both at such times and during the legitimate play hours. The watermen took care of guns for sporting boys, and went with them in pursuit of water-hens, kingfishers, swallows, or any bird that might be found about the eyots, in the willow beds, or up the backwaters of Clewer or Cuckoo Weir. Of course these sports were interdicted; but the use of the river for any purpose whatever was so far forbidden that masters must be shirked in going to or coming from it, and the river itself was out of bounds. The sixth form also had to be shirked in old times, and could have any lower boy punished for being out of bounds; but it must have been a sixth-form boy of no sporting propensities himself who could have given 100 lines to a lower boy caught shooting in the Clewer stream. Was it more or was it less praiseworthy of one of the tutors who caught the same lad with his gun, and only remonstrated with him because it might be dangerous, and not because he was breaking the rules of the school? No one but an Etonian could possibly understand the anomalous condition of things which made the river out of bounds, though no boy was really prevented from going on it unless he was caught on the way by a master and actually sent back. The fact was that, when on the river, the boy was safe from interference. Once only did a headmaster attempt to stop an eight which he heard was to row up to Surly; this was Dr. Keate, and he was so finely hoaxed that he never even made a second attempt. Hearing that an eight was to go out on a certain day, he threatened to expel anyone who should take part in the expedition, and then went for a walk along the towpath to waylay them. There issued from the Brocas a crew of watermen dressed like the Eton eight, and wearing masks over their faces. Crowds of people followed to see what would happen. Keate caught them between the Hopes and shouted, 'Foolish boys, I know you all. Lord ----, I know you. A----, you had better come ashore. Come here or you will all be expelled.' The boat however pursued its course, several of the masters followed on horseback, and the ruse was not discovered until the crew disembarked and took off their masks with a loud 'Hurrah!' Keate was furious, and vowed that there should be no Easter holidays unless the boys who had been hooting him behind hedges gave themselves up, and some twenty victims were accordingly swished. As a matter of fact the river was permitted from March 1 till Easter holidays for long boats, and from Easter till Midsummer for boats of all kinds. In going to or from the river a boy had to shirk a master by getting into a shop out of his sight. The masters avoided going along the river when rowing was practised; they ignored, or pretended to ignore, the procession of boats on June 4 and Election Saturday, and winked at the Fireworks and the boys being late for lock-up on those days. On June 4, 1822, Dr. Keate sent for the captain of the boats and said to him, 'The boys are often very noisy on this evening and late for lock-up. You know I know nothing! But I hear you are in a position of authority. I hope you will not be late to-night, and do your best to prevent disorder. Lock-up time will be twenty minutes later than usual: it is your customary privilege.' On March 1, 1860, the captain of the boats went boldly up to Dr. Goodford and requested that the 'boats' (or boys who belonged to the eight-oared boats) might be allowed to go to the Brocas without shirking, and somewhat to his surprise the Doctor gave his consent. In the following half shirking was abolished in Eton for all the school. There is however one important condition on which a boy may boat: he must 'pass' in swimming. When the authorities ignored the boating, boys who could not swim daily risked their lives, and casualties sometimes occurred. It was in 1840 that C. F. Montagu was drowned near Windsor Bridge, and such an effect had this calamity, that the masters thenceforth ordained that boating should be formally recognised, and that no boy should be allowed to get into a boat until he had passed an examination in swimming. One or two masters were appointed river masters. Bathing-places were made at Athens, Upper Hope, and Cuckoo Weir, and the eighth and sixth form were allowed to bathe in Boveney Weir. No boy might bathe at any place but Cuckoo Weir until he had passed. Watermen were engaged to teach swimming, and be ready with their punts at bathing-places and elsewhere to watch the boys on the river, to prevent accidents and report unlawful acts. Bathing is permitted as soon after the Easter holidays as weather is warm enough, and two days a week the river masters attend at Cuckoo Weir for 'Passing.' This examination (so much pleasanter than any other) is conducted as follows: a number of boys whom the waterman thinks proficient enough appear undressed in a punt. A pole is stuck up in the water (which is out of depth at the place) about thirty yards off; the master stands on a high place called Acropolis, and as he calls the name, each in turn takes a header and swims round the pole once or twice. He must not only be able to take a header and swim the distance, but must also swim in approved form so as to be capable of swimming in his clothes. Since 'passing' was established there has been only one boy drowned, though many are swamped under all kinds of circumstances. A boy who has not passed belongs to the class called 'non nant.' [Illustration: OFF THE BROCAS.] The Thames at Eton has changed somewhat from what it was in the 'old times.' Boveney and Bray Locks were made in 1839, and before that the river was much more rapid, and there was no sandbank at Lower Hope. At the weir below Windsor Bridge the fall of water was not so great as it is now, and many a boy used to amuse himself in the dangerous adventure of shooting the weir in a skiff or funny. Although boating was formally recognised by the masters in 1840, it is a fact that the first race honoured by the presence of a headmaster was the Sculling Sweepstakes in 1847, when Dr. Hawtrey was rowed in a boat to see the racing by two undermasters, the Rev. H. Dupuis and Mr. Evans. From time immemorial there was a ten-oar and several eight and six-oared boats, with regular crews, captains and steerers. In the early state of things a waterman always rowed stroke and drilled or coached the crew, and this practice was continued with some of the eights till 1828, and after that the captain of each crew rowed the stroke oar. The crews had to subscribe for the waterman's pay, his beer, and clothes. The best remembered watermen were Jack Hall, 'Paddle' Brads, Piper, Jack Haverley, Tom Cannon and Fish. There were upper boats manned by sixth and fifth form boys, and lower boats originally with six oars for lower boys. A lower boy could not get into the upper boats however well he might row. From more recent times no lower boy can get into the 'boats' at all, but must content himself with his own lock-up skiff, gig, or outrigger. We should explain here that a lock-up means a boat which a boy, for himself or jointly with a friend, hires for the summer half and keeps exclusively. The boat-builders also allow other boats (not lock-ups) to be used indiscriminately on payment of a less sum, which are called 'chance boats.' Boys in the 'boats' generally also have a lock-up or outrigger of their own, or jointly with others. The ten-oar was always called the 'Monarch,' and is the head boat in all processions. The captain of the boats rows stroke of the 'Monarch,' and until 1830 the second captain rowed nine. After that date the second captain became captain of the second boat. The boats themselves bore certain names. In the early lists (none exist earlier than 1824) the 'Britannia' was the second boat, and in that year there were five upper boats, 'Hibernia,' 'Etonian,' and 'Nelson' being the other three. And the lower boats with six oars were the 'Defiance,' 'Rivals,' and 'Victory.' The following year there were only three upper boats, which has remained the custom till this day, except in 1832, when there was a fourth upper boat called the 'Adelaide.' The 'Victory' has always been the second boat since 1834. And the favourite names of other boats whose places have changed in different years are the 'Rivals,' 'Prince of Wales,' 'Trafalgar,' 'Prince George,' 'Thetis,' and 'Dreadnought.' There has never been any difficulty in getting crews for the one ten-oar and seven eight-oared boats, and in fact the names put down usually have exceeded the number of vacancies. In 1869 an additional boat was put on in consequence of the collegers being allowed to join, and in 1877 the 'Alexandra' was added to the list owing to the increased number of entries. Before 1869 the collegers had fours and sometimes an eight to themselves, but did not join the procession of the boats; and as they did not belong to the oppidan 'boats' they could not row in the eight of the school.[14] But they rowed some successful matches against University men on several occasions. There was never any racing between collegers and oppidans, and the collegers could only race between themselves. Before 1840 they kept their boats at a wharf by the playing fields and had a bathing place there. They used to row down to Datchet and Bells of Ouseley, but from that time were forbidden to go below bridge and were put on the same recognised footing as oppidans. [14] In 1864, however, Marsden, a colleger, rowed in the eight, though collegers were still excluded from the boats. As soon as the boys return to school after the Christmas holidays a large card is placed at Saunders' shop, on which those fifth and sixth form who wish to join and are not then in the boats inscribe their names. There is some excitement for a time while the captain of the boats appoints the captain to each boat, which he does usually in the order of 'choices' (a term which is explained hereafter) of the previous year; but sometimes it is thought best to put a high 'choice' or two in the 'Victory' and appoint as captain of some of the lower boats some good fellow who is not likely to get into the eight of the school, in order that when the eight is practising these boats should have the advantage of their captains to take them out. The captain of the lower boats ranks higher than the captain of the third upper boat. The crew of the 'Monarch' (ten-oar) is then selected by the captain of the boats, and he places a high choice as 'nine,' that position being considered about the fifth highest place. His crew is chosen not of the best oars, for they are always placed in the 'Victory' or second boat, but usually of boys high up in the school, and sometimes a good cricketer or two gets a place in the Easter half and leaves it afterwards. The captain of the cricket eleven is almost always formally asked to take an oar in the ten. The second captain then makes up his crew, then the captain of the third upper, and so on. Each captain has to submit his list to the captain of the boats, who advises him on his selection. The steerers are chosen in the same order, and the best steerer (who is also to have the honour of steering the eight of the school) always steers the ten. The crews are always selected on what is known of their merits as good oars, and there is never any preference given to favouritism or rank. When the lists are all made out they are printed and published in the 'Boating Calendar.' Boating begins on March 1 'after twelve,' unless the weather is excessively bad, or the river unusually high, when it has to be stopped for a few days. It ends practically at the summer holidays. The half from after the summer holidays till Christmas is devoted to football and fives. Before the Easter holidays the long boats only are allowed, but towards the end of that half some fours are allowed by special permission of the river master. We remember a four going out in this half without permission and an attempt being made to row up to Maidenhead when lock-up was at 6.30, but it was swamped in Bray Lock and the crew had to walk or run home; on their way they met the river master, and he gave them all 200 lines to write out, though the day being very cold he might have thought them sufficiently punished by the ducking they had got. The first day opens with a procession of all the boats to Surly Hall; each crew dressed in flannel shirt and straw hats of different colours, and the name of the boat on the hatband. The last boat starts first, then the others in inverse order to their places, and after rowing a short way they 'easy all' and await the ten-oar, which pursues an uninterrupted course to Boveney Lock, followed by the others in their proper order. All go into the lock together, and then on to Surly Hall, where they land, play games, and perhaps drink a glass of beer. 'Oars' are called by the captain after about twenty minutes or half an hour, and all go back in the same processional order. Before locks were built there was always a sort of race from Rushes to Surly, each boat trying to catch and bump the one before it, and the fun was to try and get the rudders off and have a regular jostle. After 12 there is not time to get further than Surly, but on a half-holiday after 4 several of the boats get to Monkey Island, and occasionally when lock-up was at 6.30 there was time for an eight to row to Maidenhead. The distance from Windsor Bridge to Rushes is 1 mile 6 furlongs, to Boveney Lock 2 miles 1-3/4 furlong, to Surly (about) 3 miles, to Monkey 4 miles 3 furlongs, to Bray Lock 5 miles, to Maidenhead 6 miles. The usual practice is for the eights to go out occasionally with the captain steering and coaching them, and for long rows to Surly or Monkey. In the summer half there is so much practising for races that the upper boats seldom get a row with their proper crews. The boys who 'wet bob' and are not in the boats row in skiffs, gigs, or outriggers to the bathing-places and to Surly, or paddle about from Brocas to Lower Hope. Canoes, punting, and sailing are not allowed. On June 4 (and formerly on Election Saturday) there is a procession in the evening, and the crews wear striped cotton shirts, straw hats lettered, and sailors' jackets. The steerers are dressed as admirals, captains or midshipmen of the Royal Navy, and have a large bouquet of flowers; we need not further describe the well-known scene. On the three Check nights of old days the upper boats went to Surly in the evening to partake of ducks and green peas, and were joined by the lower boats as they came home all dressed in 4th June costume. The captain of the boats is the acknowledged 'swell' of the school. He has unlimited power over the boats, managing and controlling all affairs connected with them; as treasurer and secretary he keeps the accounts, and writes a journal of the races and events. No one disputes his authority. No money can be levied without the authority of the headmaster. The changes effected in 1861 in abolishing Check nights and Oppidan dinner were ordered and carried out by him without the least idea that anyone might have objected. He was always asked to play _ex officio_ in the collegers' and oppidans' football match if he was anything of a good football player, and in the cricket match whether he could play cricket or not. He still manages the foot races of the school. It has happened four times that a boy has been captain two years, and his power in his second year is if possible greater than ever. The eight of the school are the best rowers, whether captains or not, and are alone entitled to wear white flannel trousers and the light blue coats. Now that the race at Henley is an institution they are selected for that event. Before the Radley race of 1858 there was no regular race, and if a casual crew came down to row it was generally without the challenge being given long beforehand, so that no training could take place. The last race of the season was upper eights, the captain and second captain tossing up for first choice and choosing alternately; the first eight choices were generally the eight, and paper lists were given out afterwards of these choices which ruled the position of the boys who stayed on for the next year. The earliest school event we hear of was a race against a Christ Church four in 1819, which was won by the Eton four. An attempt was made in 1820 to have a match against Westminster; the challenge from them was accepted, and an eight chosen, but the authorities forbade it. The first race between the two schools was rowed on July 27, 1829, from Putney Bridge to Hammersmith and back, and was won easily by Eton, and Westminster were beaten at Maidenhead in 1831, at Staines in 1836, and at Putney in 1843 and 1847. Eton were beaten by Westminster at Datchet in 1837, and at Putney in 1842, 1845, and 1846. From 1847 till 1858 there were races only against scratch crews, and Oxford or Cambridge colleges. In 1858 a match, which was thought a grand event at the time, was rowed on the Henley course against Radley and won by Eton. In 1860, 1861, 1862, and 1864 the Westminster race was revived and was rowed from Putney Bridge to Chiswick Eyot, and Eton was so easily the winner that it has not been thought worth while to continue this match. In 1860 Mr. Warre came to Eton as an assistant master, and at the request of the captain of the boats assisted him to arrange the Westminster race, and engaged to coach the eight. It was with his assistance that Dr. Goodford was persuaded to allow the eight to go to Henley Regatta in 1861, and the tacit understanding was made that if the authorities would allow this, and also the boating bill by which two long boats might escape six o'clock absence and have time to row to Cliefden, the boats would give up Oppidan dinner and Check nights. Mr. Warre, with the greatest kindness and with unremitting zeal and energy, first coached the eight for the Westminster races, and then continued coaching for the Henley Regatta evening after evening during their training every year for twenty-four years, until he was appointed headmaster. The Rev. S. A. Donaldson has since undertaken the coaching. University men at first disliked the appearance of Eton at Henley. Old oarsmen thought it would ruin the regatta, as men would hate to be beaten by boys. Masters predicted that the coaching by a master would spoil the boys, but time has dissipated these objections, and the Regatta has flourished better than ever. It will be seen that Eton has on several occasions beaten trained college and other crews without winning the plate, and we may fairly say that her place on the river is about equal to that of the best colleges. After all, the boys are boys of seventeen and eighteen, and if they are not as strong or heavy as men a year or two older, they have the advantage of practically always being in training, are easily got together, and are living a regular and active life. RESULTS OF HENLEY REGATTA. ----+--------------+-------------------+-------------------+---------- | | | | Average | | | | Weight Year| Race |Eton was beaten by | Eton beat | of Eton | | | | crew ----+--------------+-------------------+-------------------+---------- | | | |st. lb. | | | | 1861|Ladies' Plate |Trinity College, |Radley | 9 12 | |Oxford | | | | | | 1862|Ladies' Plate |University College,|Radley | 10 7-3/4 | |Oxford | | | | | | 1863|Ladies' Plate |University College,|Trinity Hall, | 10 7-1/4 | |Oxford |Cambridge; | | | |Brasenose, Oxford; | | | | | 1864|Ladies' Plate | |Trinity Hall, | 10 6-3/4 |(winners) | |Cambridge; Radley | | | | | 1865|Grand |London R. C.; | | 10 4-1/2 |Challenge |Third Trinity, | | | |Cambridge | | |Ladies' Plate |Third Trinity, | Radley | -- | |Cambridge | | | |(by a foul) | | | | | | 1866|Grand |Oxford Etonians; | | -- |Challenge |London R.C. | | |Ladies' Plate | |First Trinity or | 10 9-3/4 |(winners) | |Black Prince, | | | |Cambridge; Radley | | | | | 1867|Grand | (scratched) |Kingston R.C. | 10 7 |Challenge | | | |Ladies' Plate | |Radley | |(winners) | | | | | | | 1868|Grand |London R.C. |University College,| 10 8 |Challenge | |Oxford; Kingston | | | |R.C. | |Ladies' Plate | |University College,| -- |(winners) | |Oxford; Pembroke | | | |College, Cambridge | | | | | 1869|Grand |Oxford Etonians | | 10 10-3/4 |Challenge | | | |Ladies' Plate | |Lady Margaret, | -- |(winners) | |Cambridge | | | | | 1870|Grand |London R.C. | | -- |Challenge | | | |Ladies' Plate | |Dublin Trinity | 10 9-7/8 |(winners) | |College | | | | | 1871|Grand |Oxford Etonians; |Dublin Trinity | -- |Challenge |London R.C. |College Oscillators| |Ladies' Plate |Pembroke College, | | -- | |Cambridge | | | | | | 1872|Ladies' Plate |Jesus College, | | 10 6 | |Cambridge | | | | | | 1873|Grand |London R.C. |Balliol College, | 10 9-3/8 |Challenge | |Oxford | |Ladies' Plate |Dublin Trinity | | -- | |College | | | | | | 1874|Grand |London R. C. |First Trinity, | 10 7-3/4 |Challenge | |Cambridge; B.N.C., | | | |Oxford; Thames R.C.| |Ladies' Plate |First Trinity |Radley | -- | |Cambridge | | | | | | 1875|Ladies' Plate |Dublin Trinity | | 10 5-1/4 | |College | | | | | | 1876|Ladies' Plate |Caius College, | | 10 3-1/4 | |Cambridge | | | | | | 1877|Ladies' Plate |Jesus College, |Cheltenham | -- | |Cambridge | | | | | | 1878|Ladies' Plate |Jesus College, |Cheltenham | 10 5-1/4 | |Cambridge | | | | | | 1879|Ladies' Plate |Lady Margaret, |Hertford College, | 11 0 | |Cambridge |Oxford | | | | | 1880|Ladies' Plate |Trinity Hall, |Exeter College, | 11 7-1/2 | |Cambridge |Oxford; Caius | | | |College, Cambridge | | | | | 1881|Grand |Leander R.C. | | 11 1-5/8 |Challenge | | | |Ladies' Plate |First Trinity, | | -- | |Cambridge | | | | | | 1882|Ladies' Plate | |Trinity Hall, | 11 10-1/4 |(winners) | |Cambridge; Radley | | | | | 1883|Ladies Plate |Christ Church, |Radley | 11 0 | |Oxford | | | | | | 1884|Ladies' Plate | |Caius College, | 11 5-1/4 |(winners) | |Cambridge; Radley | | | | | 1885|Ladies' Plate | |Oriel College, | 11 5-1/4 |(winners) | |Oxford; Corpus | | | |College, Oxford | | | | | 1886|Ladies' Plate |Pembroke College, |Radley; Bedford | 10 12-1/4 | |Cambridge | | | | | | 1887|Ladies' Plate |Trinity Hall, |Hertford College, | 11 1-3/4 | |Cambridge |Oxford | ----+--------------+-------------------+-------------------+---------- The eight are permitted during training below bridge at Datchet. Of the races at the school in old times, upper sixes was the great event. It was rowed from Brocas up to Surly and back before the lock was made, and in after times round Rushes. All races were rowed round a turning point, and there was more or less bumping. There were no rules of racing then, and bumping or jostling, knocking off a rudder, and foul play of any kind was part of the fun; the only object was to get in first anyhow. There was a match in 1817 between a four of Mr. Carter's house and four watermen which caused great excitement, and was unexpectedly won by the boys. Two sides of college, and dames and tutors, were annual events, but were done away with in 1870. Tutors had won thirteen, and dames the same number of races. There used to be an annual punting race, but punting was forbidden after 1851. One of the masters used to give a prize for tub-sculling, in which about 100 or more started and afforded great amusement. This was before outrigged sculling and pair-oared boats were much used, and since they became fashionable there have been junior pairs and junior sculling. House fours as a regular institution was begun in 1857, when the Challenge cup was procured by means of a school subscription. In 1876 trial eights were first rowed, and the race took place in the Easter half. There are challenge prizes for the house fours and for the sculling and pulling, as the pair-oar outrigger race is called. The number of races had to be curtailed owing to the time taken to train the eight for Henley. The four and eight-oared races start from Rushes, and are rowed down stream; total distance 1 mile 6 furlongs. The pulling and sculling races start from Brocas and go round a ryepack at Rushes and back, a distance of 3 miles 4 furlongs. The winning point is always Windsor Bridge. The Brocas is the name given to the field between the railway and the boathouses, and is so called from the family of Brocas, who used to own the property. The times vary so much with the state of the river that little comparison can be made between the merits of individual oarsmen or scullers. It takes about 7-1/2 minutes for an eight to row down from Rushes with a fair stream, and about 8 minutes 20 seconds for a four. A good sculler can get round Rushes and back in about 20 to 21 minutes. Pair-oared rowing without coxswains was introduced in 1863, and a good pair now wins in 19 to 20 minutes. Fours still continue to carry coxswains. The boats themselves that are used are very different now from what they were forty years ago. Up to 1839 they were still built of oak (a very heavy wood), and measured fifty-two feet in length and were painted all over. The first outriggers used in the University boat race in 1846 were built in streaks, and it was not until 1857 that both University crews rowed in the present sort of boats with smooth skins made of mahogany without keels and with round loomed oars. The first time an outrigger was used at Eton was in 1852, and until 1860 the 'Victory' was the only one in regular use: all the other eights and fours were built with streaks and had rowlocks in the gunwale, with a half-outrigger for stroke and bow. The ten-oar had half-outriggers in that year, but soon afterwards all the eights became fully outrigged. Sliding seats were first used about 1874. The builders were Mr. Searle, Tolliday, and Goodman. Perkins, better known for many years by the sobriquet of 'Sambo,' has now become owner of Mr. Searle's premises. In the old-fashioned boats rowing was to a certain extent done in an old-fashioned style. The boats went steadily along without any spring to the first touch of the oars in the water. The stroke was rapid forward, but became a slow drag from the first dash of the oar into the water till recovered. Now the boat leaps to the catch, whereas when the first note was sounded by a University oarsman to 'catch the beginning,' the Eton boy in the old heavy boat found it impossible to respond. But Eton boys knew what was meant by Mr. Warre when they got the celebrated Mat Taylor boat in 1860, and soon learned the new style. The stroke became quicker, the recovery sharp, and every nerve was strained to cover the blade of the oar at the first touch in the water when the whole pull had to be made. From the time when the watermen used to coach and row, no regular coaching had been done by anyone but the captains. A neat and traditional style was handed down with all the essential points of good oarsmanship. But the art of propelling the Mat Taylor, and boats afterwards used of the same sort of type, was taught by Mr. Warre. We have alluded to the doubts at first in the minds of old Etonians about the eight going to Henley, and the great changes effected at that time. No one now will say that it was anything but unmixed good for the school. The convivial entertainments of Check nights and Oppidan dinners had already become institutions of a past age. Drinking and smoking had died out, and all that was wanted to stir the boys from lounging about in their skiffs under willow bushes and back streams was the excitement of a great annual race and the effort to qualify for a place in the eight. There have almost always been Eton men in the University crews, and since 1861 there have sometimes been as many as five in one crew, and certainly as many, if not more, in every 'Varsity' race. Eton has always had its full share of the Presidentships. Third Trinity, Cambridge, has never ceased to hold its own in a high position on the Cam, and we have never heard a word of any deterioration, and much the other way, of the moral effect on the boys of being coached during their training. The special advantage of having the river as a recreation place in addition to the playing fields puts Eton to the front in athletics among our public schools; and the use of varieties of boats from early life, under all sorts of difficulties, on a rapid stream, and having to keep his proper side to avoid other craft, makes the 'Wet bob' a first class waterman. _Floreat Etona._ CAPTAINS OF THE BOATS AND NOTABLE EVENTS. +----+------------------------+-------------------------------------+ |Year| Captain of the Boats | Notable Events | +----+------------------------+-------------------------------------+ |1812| G. Simson | -- | |1814| R. Wyatt | -- | |1815| T. Hill | -- | |1816| Bridgeman Simpson | -- | |1816| M. Bligh | -- | |1817| J. O. Secher | -- | |1818| J. H. Tuckfield | -- | |1819| R. Tuckfield | -- | |1820| Lord Dunlo | -- | |1821| M. Ashley | -- | |1822| J. A. Kinglake | -- | |1823| P. J. Nugent | -- | |1824| W. Carew | -- | |1825| A. Leith | -- | |1825| M. Clifford | -- | |1826| T. Staniforth | -- | |1827| T. H. Taunton | -- | |1828| T. Edwardes-Moss | -- | |1829| Lord Alford | Beat Westminster | |1830| G. H. Ackers | -- | |1831| C. M. Roupell | Beat Westminster; beaten by Leander | |1832| E. Moore | -- | |1833| G. Arkwright | -- | |1834| J. Quicke | -- | |1835| E. Stanley | -- | |1836| E. Fellowes | Beat Westminster | |1837| W. J. Garnett | Beaten by Westminster | |1838| P. J. Croft | -- | |1839| W. C. Rayer | -- | |1840| W. R. Harris-Arundell | Beat Old Etonians, and an Oxford | | | | Etonian Club | |1841| W. R. Harris-Arundell | Beat Cambridge Subscription Room | |1842| F. J. Richards | Beaten by Westminster | |1843| F. E. Tuke | Beat Westminster | |1844| W. W. Codrington | -- | |1845| H. A. F. Luttrell | Beaten by Westminster | |1846| G. F. Luttrell | Beaten by Westminster | |1847| C. H. Miller | Beat Westminster; beaten by Thames | | | | in Putney Regatta | |1848| H. H. Tremayne | -- | |1849| R. B. H. Blundell | -- | |1850| G. M. Robertson | Beat scratch Cambridge crew; beaten | | | | by Oxford | |1851| J. B. H. Blundell | -- | |1852| C. H. R. Trefusis | Beaten by an Oxford crew | |1853| J. J. Harding | -- | |1854| J. C. Moore | Beat a scratch Oxford crew | |1855| R. L. Lloyd | Beaten by a Cambridge crew and by | | | | Balliol | |1856| G. S. F. Lane-Fox | Beat an Oxford and Cambridge mixed | | | | crew by a foul, and beaten by an | | | | Oxford eight | |1857| T. Baring | Beaten by an Oxford eight | |1858| Mr. Lawless[15] | Beat Radley at Henley | |1859| C. A. Wynne | -- | |1860| R. H. Blake Humfrey[16]| Beat Westminster | |1861| R. H. Blake Humfrey | Beat Westminster and Radley; beaten | | | | by Trinity College, Cambridge | |1862| C. B. Lawes | Beat Westminster and Radley; beaten | | | | by University College at Henley | |1863| W. R. Griffiths | Beat Trinity Hall, Brasenose, and | | | | Radley; beaten by University College| | | | at Henley | |1864| S. C. Cockran | Beat Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and | | | | Radley, and won Ladies' Plate at | | | | Henley | |1865| J. Mossop | -- | |1866| E. Hall | Won Ladies' Plate against Black | | | | Prince, Cambridge | |1867| W. D. Benson | Won Ladies' Plate against Radley | |1868| J. M'Clintock-Bunbury | Won Ladies' Plate against University| | | | College and Pembroke, Oxford | |1869| T. Edwardes-Moss | Won Ladies' Plate against Lady | | | | Margaret, Cambridge | |1870| F. A. Currey | Won Ladies' Plate against Dublin | | | | Trinity College | |1871| F. C. Ricardo | Won heats of Grand Challenge and of | | | | Ladies' Plate | |1872| E. R. S. Bloxsome | -- | |1873| T. Edwardes-Moss | Won first heat of Grand Challenge | | | | against Balliol | |1874| T. Edwardes-Moss | Won second heat of Grand Challenge | | | | against First Trinity, Cambridge, | | | | and B.N.C., Oxford | |1875| A. J. Mulholland | Beaten by Dublin in Ladies' Plate | |1876| G. Cunard | Beaten by Caius College, Cambridge, | | | | in Ladies' Plate | |1876| S. Sandbach | -- | |1877| M. F. G. Wilson | Beat Cheltenham, but beaten by Jesus| | | | College for Ladies' Plate | |1878| G. Grenville-Grey | Won second heat against Cheltenham; | | | | beaten by Jesus College in final for| | | | Ladies' Plate | |1879| L. R. West | Won second heat against Hertford | | | | College; beaten by Lady Margaret | | | | in final for Ladies' Plate | |1880| G. C. Bourne | Won first heat, beaten by Trinity | | | | Hall, Cambridge, in final for | | | | Ladies' Plate | |1881| G. C. Bourne | -- | |1882| F. E. Churchill | Won Ladies' Plate, after interval of| | | | twelve years | |1883| H. S. Close | Won first heat Ladies' Plate; lost | | | | with broken stretcher in final | |1884| H. McLean | Won Ladies' Plate | |1885| C. Barclay | Won Ladies' Plate | |1886| C. T. Barclay | Beaten by Pembroke College in final | | | | for Ladies' Plate | |1887| Lord Ampthill | Beaten by Second Trinity Hall in | | | | final for Ladies' Plate | |1888| Lord Ampthill | -- | +----+------------------------+-------------------------------------+ [15] Now Lord Gloncurry. [16] Changed his name to Mason. CHAPTER XVI. WATERMEN AND PROFESSIONALS. The London waterman is the oldest type of professional oarsmanship. He was called into existence for the purpose of locomotion, and race-rowing was a very secondary consideration with him in the first instance. Just as in the present day credentials of respectability are required by the Commissioners of Police of drivers of cabs and omnibuses (and none may ply for hire in these capacities within the metropolis unless duly licensed), so in olden days great stress was laid on the due qualification of watermen. An aspirant was and is required to serve seven years' apprenticeship before he can be 'free' of the river, and until he is 'free' of it he may not ply for hire upon it under heavy penalties for so doing. This regulation is in the interests of public safety. If apprentices exhibit special talent for rowing they can win what are called 'coats and badges,' given by certain corporate bodies, and by so doing they can take up their 'freedom' without paying fees for the privilege. We believe that no such restrictions exist on our other British rivers. The rule survives on the Thames because in olden times the Thames was a highway for passenger traffic in 'wherries.' In those times, where a passenger would now go to a thoroughfare or call a cab, he would have gone to the nearest 'stairs' and have hailed a wherry. London had not then grown to its present dimensions, and the Thames lay conveniently as a highway between Westminster, the City, and the docks. Amateurs began to take up rowing early in the present century as a sport; and these contests seem to have fostered the idea of match-making among watermen. The title of a Champion of the Thames seems first to have been held by one R. Campbell, who beat C. Williams, another waterman, in a match on September 9, 1831, and also beat R. Coombes in a match the date of which is doubtful, but it was in heavy boats. Campbell was a powerful and heavy man, while Coombes weighed less that ten stone. Coombes turned the tables on Campbell a few years later (in 1846), and for some years Coombes was held to be invincible. In those times London watermen could, at scratch, man an eight to hold or even beat the best trained crew of amateurs. The original waterman's wherry was a vehicle of conveyance; it was of much greater size than would be required to carry one man alone in a sheer contest for speed, but so soon as 'racing' came into vogue among watermen, lighter craft were built for matches, and were called 'wager' boats. The hull of the wherry was constructed as narrow as possible, and the sides flared out just at the greatest beam, so as to allow of sufficient width to carry the rowlocks with the requisite leverage for the sculls. This detail has already been treated in Chapter XI. under the head of 'boat building.' Coombes had been beaten by Campbell in old-fashioned wherries, such as could be used for the business of conveying passengers. When he in turn defeated Campbell both men used 'wager boats.' The time came when years told on Coombes, and he had to yield to his own pupil Cole. Coombes was not convinced by his defeat, and made another match, but Cole this time won with greater ease. They rowed in 'outriggers' on these occasions. Cole in turn succumbed to Messenger of Teddington in 1855, and two years later Harry Kelley, the best waterman the Thames ever produced, either as an oarsman or as a judge of rowing, beat Messenger. Up to this time London watermen had been considered invincible at sculling. Harry Clasper had produced four-oar crews from the Tyne to oppose Coombes and his four, but no Tyne sculler had dared to lay claim to the Championship. However, in 1859 Robert Chambers was matched with Kelley, and to the horror of the Thames men their favourite was beaten, and with considerable ease. The Tyne man was the bigger, and had a very long sweep with his sculls; on that day he showed to great advantage, the more so because Kelley was not sculling up to his best form. Defeated men can always suggest excuses for failure, and Kelley, for years after that race, averred that he had not been beaten on his merits; he had been kept waiting a long time at the post, and was cold and stiff at the start. In those days, whether in University matches or in public sculling races, the lead was a matter of special importance. In the first place the old code of rules were in force, which enabled a leading sculler to take his opponent's water, to wash him, to retain the captured course, and to compel his adversary to row round him in order to pass him. Secondly, and even more important, was the action of the crowds of steamers which followed such races. The Thames Conservancy had no control over them, and they would lie half-way up Putney Reach waiting for a race, and then steam alongside of or even ahead of the sternmost competitor. Their paddles drew away the water from him, and caused him literally to row uphill. Under such circumstances even the champion of the day would have found it next to impossible to overhaul even an apprentice sculler, if the latter were in clear water ahead of the steamer fleet and the former were a few lengths behind in the 'draw' of the paddles. [Illustration: THAMES WATERMAN--CIRC. 1825.] All this was well known, and could be seen any day in an important Thames race (the hollowness of the Oxford wins of 1861 and 1862 against Cambridge was undoubtedly owing to the treatment which the Cantabs experienced from the steamers when once the lead had become decisive). Kelley argued to his friends that all that could be said of the race was that he could not go as fast that day as Chambers for the first mile, and that after this point, whether or not he could have rowed down his opponent was an open question, for the steamers never gave him a chance of fair play. However, for a long time Kelley could not find backers for a new match. Meantime, Tom White and Everson in turn tried their luck against Chambers and were hopelessly beaten. In 1863 Green the Australian came to England to make a match with Chambers. Green was a square, powerful man, about Kelley's height, but a stone heavier. He sculled upright in body, and with too much arm work for staying power, and did not make enough use of his body, especially as to swing back at the end of the stroke. He sculled a fast stroke, and so long as his arms lasted went a tremendous pace. Kelley and he fraternised, and practised together. When the match came off against Chambers, Green went right away for a mile, and then maintained his lead of three or more clear lengths for another half-mile. Chambers sculled rather below his form at first, wildly, as if flurried at being so easily led, but off Craven he settled down to his old long sweep, and held Green. The end came suddenly; off the Soap Works Green collapsed, clean rowed out, and Chambers finished at his leisure. This match did Kelley good with his friends, for they knew that he could always in private practice go by Green after a mile or so had been sculled, quite as easily as Chambers eventually had done. Proposals were broached for a match between the cracks of the Thames and Tyne, and although the Tyne party pressed to have the race on the Tyne, they gave way at last, and the venue was the Thames. The stakes were 200_l._ a side, as usual in Champion matches, and there was also a staked 'bet' of 300_l._ to 200_l._ on Chambers. (The race was on August 8, 1865.) The Tyne man was a strong favourite at the start, but Kelley got away with the lead, and was never again caught, winning cleverly by four lengths, and sculling in form such as was never seen before or after, on old-fashioned fixed seats. Just at this time there was a speedy Tyne sculler called Cooper; he lately had sculled a mile match with Chambers on the Tyne, and Chambers had won by _one yard_ only, in a surf which was all in favour of the bigger man (Chambers). A week or two after the aforesaid Champion race, Kelley, Cooper, and Chambers met for a 300_l._ sweepstake (specially got up for these three men, over the two-mile tidal course of the 'Eau Brink Cut' at King's Lynn). Both Kelley and Chambers had been indulging a little after their Champion's training. Cooper, who had been lately beaten by Chambers in the Thames Regatta, for a 50_l._ purse (Hammersmith to Putney), was very fit, and jumped away from both the cracks. Chambers was short of wind, and was never in the race. Kelley stuck to Cooper, and rowed him down half a mile from the finish. Cooper then rowed across Kelley, fouled him, and drove him ashore. Cooper was properly disqualified on the foul. Next year Hammill the American came over to scull Kelley, and the races took place on the Tyne. One race was end on end, and the other round a stake boat. Kelley won each race with utter ease. Hammill's style was an exaggeration of Green's, all arm work, and a stroke up to 55 a minute at the start. About this time J. Sadler was rising to fame. He had been a chimney-sweep, and afterwards was 'Jack in the water' to Simmonds' yard at Putney. He, unfortunately for himself, exposed much of his merits when rowing for the Thames Regatta Sculls in 1865, and instead of making a profitable series of matches up the scale, beginning with third-rate opponents, he had to make his first great match with T. Hoare, who was reputed second only to Kelley on the Thames. Sadler beat Hoare easily, and was at the close of 1866 matched to scull Chambers for the Championship, Kelley having 'retired' from the title (Kelley and Sadler were allies at the time, and Sadler was Kelley's pupil). In the match Sadler went well and fast at Hammersmith, and then tired, fouled Chambers, and lost the race. In the following year Kelley and Chambers were once more matched. Kelley came out of his retirement in consequence of some wrangling which had arisen out of the previous defeat of his pupil Sadler by Chambers. The new match took place on the Tyne, on a rough day and with a bad tide, on May 6. Kelley won and with some ease. It was evident that Chambers was no longer the man that he had been. He never again sculled for the Championship, but he took part in the Paris International Regatta in July of the same year. Very soon after this his lungs showed extensive disease, and he gradually sank of decline. _En passant_ we may say of Chambers that, apart from grand physique and science as an oarsman, he displayed qualities throughout his career which would stamp him as a model for champions of the present day. He was always courteous, never puffed up with success, never overbearing, and yet at the same time always fondly confident in his own powers and stamina. A more honourable man never sat in a boat. The writer recalls a little incident as characteristic of Chambers. Just before the 1865 match against Kelley, he accosted Chambers at Putney and asked him if he wished to sell his boat after the match. (It was a common practice for Tyne scullers to do this, to save the cost of conveyance back to the Tyne.) Chambers replied, he would sell her. The writer asked if he might try her after the race. 'Hoot mon,' said Chambers, 'try her noo, if ye like.' Now the writer was known to be an ally of Kelley (who usually accompanied him when training on the tideway for sculling races). In these days we much doubt whether any championship candidate would allow a third person--whether amateur or professional--known to be in sympathy with his opponent, to set foot in his racing craft on the eve of a match. Nothing would be easier than to have an 'accident' with her; and all scullers know that to have to adopt a strange boat on the day of a match would be a most serious drawback. That Chambers never for a moment harboured such suspicion of his rivals shows that he judged them by his own faultless standard of fair play. Not that we suggest for an instant that amateurs of this or of former days were ever suspected of being prone to foul play, but none the less do we believe that in these days few scullers in such a position as Chambers would have made the gratuitous offer which he did upon the occasion referred to. In the autumn of 1867, Kelley and his pupil, J. Sadler, fell out; the result was a Champion match between them. On the first essay Kelley came in first after having been led, and having fairly tired Sadler out. But a foul had occurred when Kelley was giving Sadler the go-by, and the referee was unable to decide which was in the wrong. He accordingly ordered them to row again next day. The articles of the match provided for a start by 'mutual consent,' and somehow Sadler did not 'consent' at any moment when Kelley was ready. Strong opinions were expressed by several persons who watched the affair from the steamers, and eventually the referee ordered Kelley to row over the course. The stakes were awarded to Kelley by the referee, but Sadler brought an action against the stakeholder, M. J. Smith, then proprietor of the 'Sportsman' newspaper. The case became a _cause célèbre_. The Court decided that the referee had acted _ultra vires_ in awarding the stakes to Kelley, inasmuch as he had not first taken the trouble to observe for himself Sadler's man[oe]uvres at the starting post. He had formed his opinion from hearsay and separate statements. Eventually both parties withdrew their stakes. In the year 1868 a new sculler of extraordinary merit came suddenly to the fore. The late Mr. J. G. Chambers, C.U.B.C., had got up a revived edition of the old Thames professional regattas, and with a liberal amount of added money. The sculls race brought out all the best men of the day, and among them Kelley; the distance was the full metropolitan course. Renforth, a Tyne sculler, electrified all by the ease with which he won. He was a heavier man than Kelley; he had a rather cramped finish at the chest, but a tremendous reach and grip forward. He slid on the seat to a considerable extent, especially when spurting. Kelley was rather over weight at the time, and excuses were made for him on this score. As a matter of prestige he had to defend his title to the championship in a match, and he met Renforth on November 17. He made a better fight on that day than in the regatta sculls, but the youth and strength of Renforth were too much for the old champion. Renforth remained in undisputed possession until his death, which took place under very tragic circumstances during a four-oared match between an English and Canadian crew in Canada. The Englishmen were well ahead, when Renforth, rowing stroke, faltered, fainted, and died shortly after reaching shore. Some attributed his death to poison, some to epilepsy. The matter remains a mystery. Sadler was now tacitly acknowledged to be the best sculler left in the kingdom (Kelley having retired). But Sadler could not claim the title of champion without winning it in a match. At last, in 1874, a mediocre Tyne sculler named Bagnall was brought out to row him for the title, and Sadler won easily enough.[17] Next year R. W. Boyd was the hope of the Tyne. He had a bad style for staying. He was all slide and no body swing; his body at the end of the stroke was unsupported by any leg work. So long as the piston action of his legs continued he went fast, but when the legs began to tire he stopped as if shot. His bad style was the result of his having taken to a slide before he had mastered the first principles of rowing upon a fixed seat, or had learned how to swing his body from the hips. Sadler, on the other hand, had been rowing for years on fixed seats before he ever saw a sliding seat; the veteran did not discard his old body swing when he took to the slide, but simply added slide to swing, whereas Boyd substituted slide for swing. The difference in style between the two was most marked when they showed in the race. Boyd had youth and strength on his side. Sadler was getting old and stale, his hair was grey, and he was not nearly so good as when he had rowed Kelley in 1867 (save that the slide added mechanically to his powers for speed). Boyd darted away with a long lead; before a mile had been crossed his piston action began to flag and his boat to go slower. Sadler plodded on, and when once up to him left him as if standing still, led easily through Hammersmith Bridge, and won hands down. Boyd never seemed to profit by this lesson. He stuck to his bad style so long as he was on the water, else he might have made a good sculler. [17] This was the first champion race rowed on sliding seats. In 1876 Australia once more challenged England. Sadler was the holder of the championship, and Trickett was the crack of Australia. The Australian was a younger and bigger man than Sadler; he slid well, but he bent his arms much too early in the stroke. This would tend to tire them prematurely, and if the pace could be kept up, Trickett would soon have realised the effects of this salient fault of his. But Sadler was older, staler, and more grizzled than ever. He made a poor fight against Trickett, and a few weeks later in the Thames Regatta Sculls he came in nowhere, finishing even behind old 'Jock' Anderson, who never had been more than a third-rate sculler. Enough was then seen to show that our best sculler, as to style, was hopelessly old and stale, and that our new men, even if faster than he, had no style to make them worthy to uphold the old country's honours on the water. Trickett returned to Australia without trying conclusions with any other of our scullers for the championship. He made a match with Lumsden, a Tyne man, but the latter forfeited. If at the moment it had been known that the Sadler of 1876 was some ten lengths in the mile inferior to the Sadler of 1875, it is likely that Lumsden would have gone to the post, and that some other British sculler would also have endeavoured, while there was time, to arrange a match with the Australian. The title of Champion of the World had now left England. Sadler retired, and there was still an opening for candidature for his abandoned title. As regards the now purely local honours of the representatives of Britain in sculling, Mr. Charles Bush, a well-known supporter of professional sculling, had found a coal-heaver, by name Higgins, who had shown good form in a Thames regatta, and was looked upon as the rising man of the Thames. There was also a rising sculler of the name of Blackman, who had won the Thames Regatta Sculls. Higgins was matched for champion honours against Boyd, and the match came off on May 20, 1877, The wind blew a gale from S.W., and Boyd had the windward station. In such a cross wind station alone sufficed to decide the race, and Boyd won easily. The two met again on October 8 of the same year, and Higgins proved himself the better stayer of the two. He had a better idea of sliding than Boyd, and used his legs better and swung farther back. Boyd stuck to his piston action, and was rowed out in six minutes. They met a third time on the following January 11, this time on the Tyne, and once more Higgins won, after a foul. He was plainly the better man of the two for any distance beyond a mile. In the succeeding summer a Durham pitman, one W. Elliott, came out as a Championship candidate. He was short and thick-set, and was decidedly clumsy at his first essay. He met Higgins, and was beaten easily. He improved rapidly and came out again the following September. The proprietors of the 'Sportsman' had established a challenge cup, to be won by three successive victories, under certain conditions. Higgins, Boyd, and Elliott competed for it, and Elliott beat them both. The final heat was on September 17. In the following year, 1879, Elliott and Higgins met on the Tyne, on February 21, and once more Elliott held his own. He remained the representative of British professional sculling until the arrival of Edward Hanlan in this country. Hanlan first attracted notice at the Philadelphia regatta of 1876. Mr. R. H. Labat, of the Dublin University, London, and Thames Rowing Clubs, took part in that regatta, and entered into conversation with Hanlan. He, as one of the L.R.C. men, lent Hanlan a pair of sculls for the occasion, and with them Hanlan won the Open Professional Sculling Prize. He beat among others one Luke, who had beaten Higgins in a trial heat. Higgins was at the moment suffering from exertions in a four-oared race earlier in the day, so that his defeat did not occasion much surprise; but Mr. Labat on his return to England told the writer of this chapter that in his opinion Hanlan was far and away the best sculler he had ever seen, and that even if Higgins had been fresh and fit, Hanlan would have been too good for him. At that date Hanlan had not made his great reputation, but the soundness of Mr. Labat's estimate of his powers was fully verified subsequently. In 1879 Hanlan, having beaten the best American scullers, came to England to row for the 'Sportsman' Challenge Cup. He commenced his career in England by beating a second-rate northern sculler, in a sort of trial match; but this was only a feeler before trying conclusions with Elliott. The two met on the Tyne on June 16, and Elliott was simply 'never in it.' Hanlan led him, played with him, and beat him as he liked. It did not require any very deep knowledge of oarsmanship to enable a spectator to observe the vast difference which existed between his style and that of such men as Boyd or Elliott. Hanlan used his slide concurrently with swing, carrying his body well back, with straight arms long past the perpendicular, before he attempted to row the stroke in by bending the arms. His superiority was manifest, and yet our British (professional) scullers seemed wedded to this vicious trick of premature slide and no swing, and doggedly declined to recognise the maxim Fas est et ab hoste doceri. At that rate the two best British scullers were, in the writer's opinion, two amateurs--viz., Mr. Frank Playford, holder of the Wingfield Sculls, and Mr. T. C. Edwardes-Moss, twice winner of the Diamonds at Henley. Either of these gentlemen could have made a terrible example of the best British professionals, could amateur etiquette have admitted a match between the two classes. The only time that these gentlemen met, Mr. Playford proved the winner, over the Wingfield course. A sort of line as to relative merit between amateur and professional talent is gained by recalling Mr. Edwardes-Moss's victory for the Diamond Sculls in 1878. In that year he met an American, Lee, then self-styled an amateur, but who now openly practises as a professional, and who is quite in the first flight of that class in America. He could probably beat any English professional of to-day, or at least make a close fight with our best man. When the two met at Henley Mr. Edwardes-Moss was by no means in trim to uphold the honour of British sculling. He had gone through three commemoration balls at Oxford about ten days before the regatta. He had only an old sculling boat, somewhat screwed and limp. He had lent her freely to Eton and Windsor friends during the preceding summer, not anticipating that he would need her to race in again; but when the regatta drew nigh he could find no boat to suit him, and had to make shift with the old boat. In the race he had to give Lee the inside, or Berks station; and all who have known Henley Regatta are well aware of the advantage of that side; it gives dead water for some hundreds of yards below Poplar Point, and still further gains on rounding the point. Three lengths would fairly represent the minimum of the handicap between the two stations on a smooth day, such as that of the race. The two scullers raced round the point, Lee leading slightly; but the Oxonian caught him and just headed him on the post. Lee stopped one stroke too soon, whether from exhaustion or error is uncertain, but the performance plainly stamped the English amateur as his superior, half trained and badly boated as he was. Over a champion course, in a match, Lee would in his Henley form have been a score or more lengths behind the Oxonian. Enough can be guessed from these calculations to show that there would have been a most interesting race, to say the least, if it could have been arranged for a trial of power between Mr. Playford and Hanlan. The latter sculler used to admit, so we always understood, that the London Rowing Club sculler was the only man he had seen whom he did not feel confident of being able to beat. Hanlan's style, good though it undoubtedly was, appeared to even greater advantage when seen alongside of the miserable form of our professionals. Hanlan was a well-made man, of middle height, and a thoroughly scientific sculler. He was the best exponent of sliding-seat sculling among professionals, only a long way so; but we, who can recall Kelley and Chambers in their best days, must hold to the opinion that the two latter were, _ceteris paribus_, as good professors of fixed-seat sculling as ever was Hanlan of the art on a slide. Had sliding seats been in vogue in 1860, and the next half-dozen years, we believe that Kelley and Chambers would have proved themselves capable of doing much the same that Hanlan did in his own generation. We have seen Kelley scull on a sliding seat. He was fat and short of wind, and never attempted to make a study of the leg-work of sliding; but, being simply an amateur at it, his style was a model for all our young school to copy. Like all old fixed-seat oarsmen who have attained merit in the old school, he stuck to his traditional body swing, and added the slide to it, as it were instinctively. There could hardly be a greater contrast of action than to see scullers like Boyd or Blackman kicking backwards and forwards, with piston action and helpless bodies doubled up at the finish, and to observe, paddling within sight of these, old stagers like Biffen and Kelley in a double-sculling boat fitted with slides. It was easy to see that until the new generation of British professionals could be taught first principles of rowing on a fixed seat, there was small chance of their ever acquiring the proper use of the slide as exemplified by Hanlan. To return to Hanlan's performances. The Championship of the 'World' still rested in Trickett, who had further maintained his title (since he had beaten Sadler), by defeating Rush on the Paramatta, Sydney, on June 30, 1877. Rush had once been the Australian champion; Trickett had beaten him before tackling Sadler, and this was a new attempt by Rush to regain his lost honours. Technically, Trickett could have claimed to defend his title in his own country; but plenty of money was forthcoming to recoup him for expenses of travel, and he assented to meet Hanlan on the Thames for the nominal trophy of the 'Sportsman' Challenge Cup, but really for the wider honour of champion of the world. The match came off on November 16, 1880, and Trickett was defeated with even greater ease than Elliott on the Tyne. Just about this date a sculling regatta, open to the world, was organised on the Thames. It was got up purely for commercial purposes by a company called the 'Hop Bitters,' who required to advertise their wares. Nevertheless, it produced good sport. Hanlan did not compete in it. It came off only two days after his match with Trickett. Our British scullers took part in it, and with most humiliating results. Not one of them could gain a place in the final heat, for which four prizes were awarded to the four winners of trial heats. The four winners of the contest were one and all either colonials or Americans, and the winner was one Elias Laycock, also a Sydney man, and undoubtedly a better sculler than Trickett, although the latter was the nominal champion of Australia at the time. Laycock sculled in good style, so far as leg-work and finish of the stroke; his body action was not cramped, but he had not so long a swing as should, if possible, be displayed by a man of his size. He scaled rather above twelve stone. Wallace Ross, who finished second to him, after leading him some distance, had been the favourite, and had been reputed as only a trifle inferior to Hanlan. The forward reach and first part of Ross's stroke was as good as could be wished, but he had a cramped, tiring, and ugly finish with his arms and shoulders. When Laycock succeeded in beating him a furore was created; Laycock's staying powers were unmistakable, and many who saw him fancied that his stamina would enable him to give Hanlan trouble before the end of four miles. Laycock himself was not endued with so high an opinion of his own merits; but he was too game a man to shirk a contest when it was proposed to him, and the result was that he was soon matched to scull Hanlan. The match came off on the following February 14, 1881, over the Thames course. Laycock stuck to his work all the way, but was never in it for speed. Hanlan led from start to finish, and won easily. A year later Hanlan was back in England to row Boyd on the Tyne. Boyd's friends fondly fancied that he had developed some improvement, but it was a delusion. Never was an oarsman more wedded to vicious style and wanton waste of strength than the pet of the Tyne. The race came off on April 3, 1882, and was, of course, an easy paddle for Hanlan. The knowledge that Hanlan was going to be again on English waters, brought about a return match between him and Trickett. This was rowed on the Thames on May 1 following, and once more the Canadian won easily. No one in Britain thought fit to challenge Hanlan again, after the decisive manner in which he had disposed of all his opponents; but in his own country he twice defended his title, in 1883. On May 31 in that year he rowed J. L. Kennedy, a comparatively new man, in Massachusetts, and beat him; and on the following July 18 he once more met his old opponent, Wallace Ross, on the St. Lawrence, and beat him, though after a closer race than heretofore. In England about this time sculling had sunk even lower among professionals than in the days when Boyd and Elliott were the professors of the science. These men had retired; there were sundry second and third class competitors for champion honours, among them one Largan, who had been to Australia to scull a match or two, and one Perkins, and one Bubear. The latter at first was inferior to Perkins, and was a man of delicate health and somewhat difficult to train. He often disappointed his backers by going amiss just before a match was due, but he took rather more pains with his style than other British scullers had done of late, and eventually he succeeded in surpassing them, and in becoming the representative (such as it was) of British professional oarsmanship. We should mention that in 1881 the brothers Messrs. Walter and Harry Chinnery most generously made an expensive attempt to raise the lost standard of British sculling, by giving 1000_l._ in prizes for a series of years, to be sculled for. These two gentlemen were well-known leading amateur athletes in their day. The elder had been a champion amateur long-distance runner; the younger had won the amateur boxing championship, and had rowed a good oar at Henley regattas and elsewhere. It may be invidious to look a gift horse in the mouth, but we feel that this generous subsidy of the Messrs. Chinnery was practically wasted for want of being fettered with a certain condition. That condition should have been, that the competitions for the Chinnery prizes should be on fixed seats. One reason why professional racing has fallen off of late so much, compared to amateur performances, may be found in the fact that amateurs are taught, and are willing to be taught, from first principles: whereas our professionals nowadays are little better than self-taught. Rowing and sculling require scientific instruction more than ever on slides. In old days the main business of a professional oarsman was to carry passengers in his boat; the calling produced a large following, and out of these some few were good oarsmen and took to boat-racing as well as to mere plying for hire. Here there was a natural nursery for professional racing oarsmen. The disuse of the wherry for locomotion destroyed this nursery; we have already shown that our later professionals are as a rule neither London watermen nor Tyne keelmen. They are a medley lot by trade; a chimney-sweep, a collier, a coal-heaver, a miner, a cabman, &c., all swell the ranks. Such men as these take to the water simply for what they can make out of it, by racing on it. Their one ambition is to race, and to run before they can decently walk. Hence they do not go through the school of fixed-seat rowing before they graduate on sliders, and they have no instructors, nor will they listen to advice. Amateurs, on the other hand, belong as a rule to clubs; and all clubs of any prestige coach their juniors carefully, and lay down rules for their improvement. Two very usual club rules are, that juniors shall not begin by racing in keelless crank boats, but in steady 'tub'-built craft. No such control exists over junior professionals; if a bricklayer's apprentice takes to the water in spare hours, and begins to fancy himself as an oarsman, he will probably find friends who will back him for a small stake against some brother hobbledehoy. Each of these aspirants will thus endeavour to use the speediest boat and appliances that he can obtain. Unfortunately it so happens that sliding seats give so much extra power that even bad sliding _à la_ Boyd produces more pace than good fixed-seat rowing. The result of this is, that, however little a tiro may know of rowing, he will, in a day or two, get more pace on a slide than if he adhered to a fixed seat. So the two cripples race each other on slides, before they have acquired the barest rudiments of swing, and as a natural result they can never be expected hereafter to progress beyond mediocrity. Now, if there were prizes offered for rising professionals, subject to the condition that sliding seats should not be used, these tiros would have some chance of being induced to study the art of using the body for swing, and of mastering this all-important feature in oarsmanship, before they ventured to fly so high as to race upon slides. Twenty and more years ago there was a class of match-making on the Thames which is now obsolete. This was to row in what were called 'old-fashioned' wager boats, i.e. the lightest form of wherry which used to be built before H. Clasper established outriggers. The keelless boat requires a sharp catch up at the beginning to get the best pace out of it, and it also requires more 'sitting' to keep it on an even keel. (If it is not on an even keel, the hands do not grip the water evenly, and power thereby is wasted.) It was because this fact used to be realised in those days better than now, that so many rough scullers were matched in 'old-fashioned' boats, rather than in 'best and best' boats, as the fastest built craft were usually styled in the articles of matches. It would do good if this quondam practice of matching duffers on even terms in steady old-fashioned craft could be re-introduced on the Thames. Another incident has tended greatly to the deterioration of professional rowing, and this is the lapse of professional regattas. Certain gentlemen connected with the University and the leading Thames boat clubs used formerly to get up an annual summer regatta for the benefit of professional oarsmen. In the 'forties' a somewhat similar regatta had also existed for a time, but it had consisted of amateur competitions as well as of professional. This earlier regatta faded away when its chief trophy, the 'Gold Cup' for amateur eight oars, was won thrice in succession by, and became the property of, the 'Thames Club.' (That Thames Club is now extinct, and must not be confounded with the well-known 'Thames _Rowing_ Club' of the present day.) Some of the members of the Thames crew that won this 'Gold Cup' in the forties are still to be found, the most notable of them being Messrs. Frank Playford, senr. (amateur champion in 1849); and Rhodes Cobb, the president of the Kingston Rowing Club. (The sons of each of these old athletes have similarly made their mark in aquatics of the present generation.) Owing to the action of the chairman of a steamboat company and other gentlemen who had other interests than those of boating to serve, these regattas have lapsed. To resume--as to Thames regattas. The Thames Subscription Club, between 1861 and 1866, got up a Thames regatta, which annually produced fine sport between Thames and Tyne men, and once or twice good Glasgow crews joined in the competition. In 1866 the amateur element was introduced as a mixture. This was the last year of the series. Meantime the late Mr. H. H. Playford had for three years laboured to form a sort of 'nursery' regatta for professionals. It was styled the 'Sons of the Thames' regatta, and it had the effect of bringing out several good men, such as the Biffens, Wise, Tagg, &c., who afterwards distinguished themselves in the greater regattas on the Thames, which were open to the world. Never was professional rowing at higher flood than just at this date, thanks to the gentleman referred to. In 1867 there was no regatta; but in 1868 a new series was founded. The late Messrs. J. G. Chambers, George Morrison, Allan Morrison, Rev. R. W. Risley, the Playfords, Brickwood and other prominent amateurs, gave money and labour to aid the scheme, and it flourished right well for nine seasons. It produced, like the preceding series, fine rowing, and many a subsequent sculling or four-oar match arose out of the regatta contests. So far these regattas had been promoted solely for sport, and in pure unselfishness. In 1876 a steamboat company originated the idea of a Thames regatta, and advertised a scheme. Subscriptions were obtained from several of the City sources which had formerly subscribed to _bonâ fide_ Thames regatta, and thus the funds of the old-established meeting were sapped. The latter came off all the same that year, there thus being two Thames regattas for one season. But there were not funds to carry on two such meetings, and the amateur promoters of the old established regatta retired next year in favour of the speculative promoters. The speculative regatta lived just one year more, and then its promoters gave up, and left our British professionals with no regatta at all to encourage them. And this was just at a time when our champion honours had been wrested from us, and when we needed more than ever some disinterested assistance, in order to revive and encourage the falling fortunes of professional oarsmanship! It was too late to revive the old regatta; the hand of Death was busy among the old amateurs who had founded the second series, and the four or five gentlemen whose names headed the list of promoters (_supra_) have passed rapidly away, from one cause or another, in the prime of life. Whether hereafter any combination of later amateurs will once more come to the rescue, as did the late Messrs. Chambers, H. Playford, the Morrisons, and Risley, remains to be seen. If they do so, we hope they will found something, at first, more on the lines of the Playford series of 'Sons of the Thames' regatta, to bring out new blood; and that they will insist upon _no slides_ being used in any race of the meeting, for at least two seasons. Slides are not allowed in the public schools fours (lately rowed for at Henley, and now competed for at Marlow), nor in Oxford torpids, nor in Cambridge lower division races. Nor do the leading amateur tideway clubs allow their juniors to race on them in club matches. If we are to educate a new generation of professional talent, we must do so on the same general principle that we teach our junior amateurs in rowing clubs. Since the date of Hanlan's invasion of Britain, British scullers have not been in the hunt for champion competitions. Such champion racing as has taken place has been confined to Canadians, Americans, or Australians. In 1884, May 22, Laycock was once more brought out to row Hanlan on the Nepean river, New South Wales, and Hanlan again held his own. Meantime an emigrant (in childhood) from Chertsey, one William Beach, had been rapidly improving his style in New South Wales. He took hints from his conquerors until, when he was about forty, a time when most scullers are past their prime, he could beat all comers in his own colony. Hanlan was persuaded to visit Australia to row him, and the first match between them came off August 16, 1884, on the Paramatta. To the surprise of all, Beach went as fast as Hanlan, and outstayed him. Excuses were made for this reverse to one who had been reckoned invincible: Hanlan had been unfairly washed by a steamer, and some fancied he had held Beach too cheap, and was not fully trained. Another match was made for March 28, 1885. Meantime Beach easily beat, on February 28 of that year, another colonial challenger, T. Clifford. In his return match with Hanlan he fairly tired the Canadian out. Beach scales a trifle over twelve stone, and proves the truth of the old saying that a good big one is better than a good little one. In December of 1885 Hanlan beat Neil Matterson, a young and rising Australian candidate for the championship. In the summer of 1886, a large amount was subscribed for a series of sculling prizes on the Thames. Beach was in England, training for a match against Gaudaur of St. Louis, U.S., who had lately beaten the best American scullers. Gaudaur did not row in this regatta of scullers, but Beach did. The trial heats of this regatta were rowed in stretches of about three miles each, following the tide over different parts of the tideway. In the first heat Neil Matterson beat Ross. In the second, Teemer, U.S., beat Perkins, a London sculler. Bubear rowed over for the third heat, and the fourth was won by Beach beating Lee, U.S. (once a pseudo amateur and an unsuccessful competitor for the Diamond Sculls of Henley!) Next day Beach beat Bubear, and Teemer beat Matterson. The final heat took place over the regulation course of Putney to Mortlake. Beach won as he liked, on a tide that was not first class, in 22 min. 16 secs. The racing occupied August 31, and September 1 and 2. On September 18, Beach met Gaudaur for the championship over the Putney course. Beach was, as the race showed, a little 'off;' apparently he had been indulging; for to look at Gaudaur few would have expected him to make such a close fit of the race as he did. The stakes were 500_l._ a side. The tide was a good one, and the water was smooth beyond Hammersmith. Beach led, and seemed to have the race safe off Chiswick. Then he began to lose ground, Gaudaur came up to him, and Beach stopped, apparently rowed out. Possibly he had 'stitch,' as the sequel shows. Gaudaur got just in front of Beach, and could not get away. Beach stopped again, and still Gaudaur could do little better than paddle. Half way up Horse Reach Beach seemed to recover, and once more came up with his man. He led by a few feet at Barnes Bridge, and after that drew steadily away, winning by three lengths in the exceptionally good time of 22 min. 30 secs. or 22 min. 29 secs. A week later Beach did a much finer performance, for time. He rowed Wallace Ross for the championship, over the usual course, and beat him in a common paddle, without being extended, and with wind foul, on a _neap_ tide, in 23 min. 5 secs. The pace of this tide, let alone foul wind, must have been about a minute to a minute and a quarter (if not more) slower than the tide on which Beach and Gaudaur had sculled some days before. Those who know the effect of tides on pace, will admit that this last performance, all things considered, is Beach's best, and is also the best ever accomplished by any sculler over the Thames tideway course. Had Beach been on a spring tide that day, and been doing his best, he would probably have done a good deal faster than 21 min. 30 secs. over our champion course. All factors considered, we believe that the present champion sculler is the fastest that the world has yet produced, better than even Hanlan at his best. To compare him with the best old fixed-seat champions would be invidious to all parties. Each in his day made the best of the mechanical appliances at his disposal, and was A1 in style for their use. [Illustration: A FOUL.] CHAPTER XVII. LAWS OF BOAT-RACING (THEIR HISTORY, AND RULES OF THE ROAD). Laws of boat-racing, until 1872, were variously read by various executives. One rule was common to all, and yet differently interpreted by many an umpire or referee. It was that which related to a boat's course. The old rule was, that a boat which could take a clear lead of an opponent, and which could cross the proper track of that opponent with such clear lead, became entitled to the 'water' so taken. The boat astern had then to change its course, and to take its leader's vacated course. If thereafter they fouled, through the leader returning to the vacated water, the leader lost; if through the sternmost boat catching the leader in the 'captured' water, then the pursuer lost. Also, under the old code, a foul, however slight, lost a race, if one boat was in its right and the other in its wrong course at the time. If both were in the wrong, the foul did not count. This code led to many a wrangle over fouls. It also opened the door to sharp practice--e.g. a leader might cross an opponent, by dint of pure speed; and then, being in, his 'right' water, by dint of having crossed with a 'clear lead,' the leader might 'accidentally' shut off speed, before the boat behind had time to change its course. This forced on a foul, and the leader could then claim his pound of flesh, and the race. An umpire had no discretion in the matter. In 1872 a meeting of leading amateurs drew up a new code. This code was put in force at the Thames watermen's regattas, governed by amateurs. In time Henley adopted them, as did all leading regattas. Watermen for some time had a liking for the old code and its facilities for 'win, tie, or wrangle' in a match, but as time passed on the new code gained ground, and gradually the old one became obsolete. The late Mr. John Graham Chambers, C.U.B.C., was the leading spirit in this reform. The revised code is now part of the creed of the Amateur Rowing Association, of which mention has already been made. These rules are now appended. The Henley executive publish a similar code, but differently numbered. Rule 15 is more of a _regatta_ rule. It is usually waived in sculling matches, and in the Wingfield Sculls for the amateur championship its operation is, by order of the parliament of old champions, suspended. THE LAWS OF BOAT-RACING AS APPROVED BY THE AMATEUR ROWING ASSOCIATION. 1. The starter, on being satisfied that the competitors are ready, shall give the signal to start. 2. If the starter considers the start false, he shall at once recall the boats to their stations, and any boat refusing to start again shall be disqualified. 3. Any boat not at its post at the time specified shall be liable to be disqualified by the umpire. 4. The umpire may act as starter as he thinks fit; when he does not so act, the starter shall be subject to the control of the umpire. 5. Each boat shall keep its own water throughout the race, and any boat departing from its own water will do so at its peril. 6. A boat's own water is its straight course, paralleled with those of the other competing boats, from the station assigned to it at starting to the finish. 7. The umpire shall be sole judge of a boat's own water and proper course during the race. 8. No fouling whatever shall be allowed; the boat committing a foul shall be disqualified. 9. It shall be considered a foul when, after the race has commenced, any competitor by his oar, boat, or person comes in contact with the oar, boat, or person of another competitor, unless in the opinion of the umpire such contact is so slight as not to influence the race. 10. The umpire may, during the race, caution any competitor when in danger of committing a foul. 11. The umpire, when appealed to, shall decide all questions as to a foul. 12. A claim of foul must be made to the judge or the umpire by the competitor himself before getting out of his boat. 13. In case of a foul the umpire shall have the power-- (_a_) To place the boats--except the boat committing the foul, which is disqualified--in the order in which they come in; (_b_) To order the boats engaged in the race, other than the boat committing the foul, to row over again on the same or another day; (_c_) To re-start the qualified boats from the place where the foul was committed. 14. Every boat shall abide by its accidents. 15. No boat shall be allowed to accompany a competitor for the purpose of directing his course or affording him other assistance. The boat receiving such direction or assistance shall be disqualified at the discretion of the umpire. 16. The jurisdiction of the umpire extends over the race, and all matters connected with it, from the time the race is specified to start until its final termination, and his decision in all cases shall be final and without appeal. 17. Any competitor refusing to abide by the decision or to follow the directions of the umpire shall be disqualified. 18. The umpire, if he thinks proper, may reserve his decision, provided that in every case such decision be given on the day of the race. The 'rule of the road' on the river is not settled quite as hard and fast as on land, or in marine navigation; but certain general principles are recognised by all rowing men of experience, for the sake of mutual safety. The following draft of the recognised principles referred to is set forth by the editor of the 'Rowing Almanack,' and other authorities, to whom rowing men are much indebted for the publication. In case of any 'running-down' action, arising out of a collision between pleasure-boats on the Thames, it would probably go hardly with the occupants of a boat which had brought about an accident by disregard of these 'rules of the road.' _'The Rule of the Road' on the River._ The following are the generally recognised rules adopted by the leading rowing clubs:-- 1. A row-boat going against the stream or tide should take the shore or bank--which bank is immaterial--and should keep inside all boats meeting it. 2. A row-boat going with stream or tide should take a course in mid-river, and should keep outside all boats meeting it. 3. A row-boat overtaking another boat proceeding in the same direction should keep clear of the boat it overtakes, which should maintain its course. 4. A row-boat meeting another end-on in still or open waters, or lakes, should keep to the right as in walking, leaving the boat passed on the port or left side. 5. A row-boat with a coxswain should give way to a boat without a coxswain, subject to the foregoing rules, in so far as they apply. 6. A boat towing with stream or tide should give way to a boat towing against it, and if it becomes necessary to unship or drop a tow-line, the former should give way to the latter; but when a barge towing is passed by a pleasure-boat towing, the latter should give way and go outside, as a small boat is the easier of the two to manage, in addition to which the river is the barge's highway. 7. A row-boat must give way to a sailing-boat. 8. When a row-boat and a steamer pass each other, their actions should, as a rule, be governed by the same principle as on two row-boats passing; but in shallow waters the greater draughts of the steam-vessel should be remembered, and the row-boat give way to her. [Illustration: CLIEFDEN.] 'THE TEMPLE OF FAME.' _WINNERS OF THE WINGFIELD SCULLS._ +----+----------------------+-------+--------------------------------+ |Time| Winner | m. s. | Losers | +----+----------------------+-------+--------------------------------+ |1830| J. H. Bayford | -- |{ Lewis, Wood, Horneman, Revel, | | | | |{ A. Bayford, C. Duke, Hume | |1831| C. Lewis | -- | Bayford | |1832| A. A. Julius | -- | Lewis | |1833|_a_ C. Lewis | -- | Julius | |1834| A. A. Julius | -- | rowed over | |1835| A. A. Julius | -- | rowed over | |1836| H. Wood | -- | Patrick Colquhoun | |1837| P. Colquhoun | -- | Wood, Jones | |1838|_a_ H. Wood | -- |{ Colquhoun, C. Pollock, H. | | | | |{ Chapman | |1839|_a_ H. Chapman | -- | Pollock, Crockford | |1840| T. L. Jenkins | -- |{ Crockford, Wallace, A. | | | | |{ Earnshaw | |1841|_a_ T. L. Jenkins | -- | Chapman | |1842| H. Chapman | -- | Wallace | |1843| H. Chapman | -- | Wallace, Kennedy, A. Earnshaw | |1844| T. B. Bumpstead | -- |{ Chapman, Hon. G. Denman, | | | | |{ Romayne | |1845|_a_ H. Chapman | -- | Bumpstead | |1846|_a_ W. Russell | -- | Walmsley, Fellows, Dodd | |1847| J. R. L. Walmsley | -- | H. Murray, C. Harrington | |1848|_a_ J. R. L. Walmsley | -- | rowed over | |1849|_a_ _b_ F. Playford | -- | T. R. Bone | |1850| T. R. Bone | -- | rowed over | |1851|_a_ T. R. Bone | -- | rowed over | |1852| E. G. Peacock | -- | rowed over | |1853|_a_ J. Paine | -- |{ A. Rippingall, J. Nottidge, | | | | |{ H. C. Smith | |1854| H. H. Playford | -- | rowed over | |1855| A. A. Casamajor | -- | H. H. Playford | |1856| A. A. Casamajor | -- | rowed over | |1857| A. A. Casamajor | -- | rowed over | |1858| A. A. Casamajor | -- | rowed over | |1859| A. A. Casamajor | -- | rowed over | |1860|_a_ A. A. Casamajor | -- | rowed over | |1861|_c_ E. D. Brickwood | 29 0 | G. R. Cox, A. O. Lloyd | |1862|_a_ W. B. Woodgate | 27 0 | E. D. Brickwood, G. R. Cox | |1863|_a_ J. E. Parker | 25 0 | E. B. Michell, J. Wallace | |1864| W. B. Woodgate | 25 35 | W. P. Cecil, G. Ryan | |1865|_a_ C. B. Lawes | 27 4 |{ W. B. Woodgate, E. B. Michell,| | | | |{ W. P. Cecil, T. Lindsay | |1866|_a_ E. B. Michell | 27 26 | W. B. Woodgate, J. G. Chambers| |1867| W. B. Woodgate | -- | rowed over | |1868|_a_ W. Stout | 26 52 | E. B. Michell, W. B. Woodgate | |1869| A. de L. Long | -- | rowed over | |1870| A. de L. Long | -- |{ J. Ross, A. C. Yarborough, | | | | |{ W. Chillingworth | |1871| W. Fawcus | 26 13 | A. de L. Long | |1872| C. C. Knollys | 28 30 | W. Fawcus | |1873| A. C. Dicker | 25 40 |{ C. C. Knollys, N. H. Eyre, | | | | |{ F. S. Gulston | |1874| A. C. Dicker | 25 45 | {W. H. Eyre, W. Fawcus, W. | | | | | {Chillingworth | |1875| F. L. Playford | 27 6 | A. C. Dicker | |1876| F. L. Playford | 24 46 |{ A. C. Dicker, A. V. Frere, | | | | |{ R. H. Labat | |1877| F. L. Playford | 24 20 | {T. C. Edwardes-Moss, A. H. | | | | | {Grove, J. H. Bucknill | |1878| F. L. Playford | 24 13 | Alexander Payne | |1879|_a_ F. L. Playford | 25 51 | J. Lowndes | |1880| Alex. Payne | 24 8 | J. Lowndes, C. G. White | |1881| J. Lowndes | 25 13 | W. R. Grove | |1882| A. Payne | 27 40 | W. R. Grove | |1883| J. Lowndes | -- | rowed over | |1884| W. S. Unwin | 24 12 |{ C. J. S. Batt, E. F. Green, | | | | |{ W. Hawkes, R. H. Smith | |1885| W. S. Unwin | -- | F. J. Pitman, C. W. Hughes | |1886|_a_ F. J. Pitman | 24 12 |{ W. H. Cumming, A. M. | | | | |{ Cowper-Smith | |1887| G. Nickalls | -- | J. C. Gardner. | +----+----------------------+-------+--------------------------------+ (_a_) Resigned. (_b_) The course before this race was from Westminster to Putney, but for the first time it took place from Putney to Kew. (_c_) The course was altered again this year to the present one, from Putney to Mortlake. WINNERS AT HENLEY REGATTA. _GRAND CHALLENGE CUP._ m. s. 1839 Cambridge, Trin. Coll. 8 30 1840 Leander Club 9 15 1841 _a_ London, Camb. Rooms -- 1842 London, Camb. Rooms 8 30 1843 _b_ Oxford University 9 0 1844 Oxford, Etonian Club 8 25 1845 Cambridge University 8 30 1846 London, Thames Club 8 15 1847 Oxford University 8 0 1848 Oxford University 9 11 1849 _a_ Oxford, Wadham Coll. 8 0 1850 Oxford University r.o. 1851 _c_ Oxford University 7 45 1852 Oxford University -- 1853 Oxford University 8 3 1854 Cambridge, Trin. Coll. 8 15 1855 Cambridge University 8 32 1856 Royal Chester R.C. -- 1857 London R.C. 7 55 1858 Cambridge University 7 43 1859 London R.C. 7 45 1860 Cambridge, First Trin. 8 45 1861 Cambridge, First Trin. 8 10 1862 London R.C. 8 5 1863 Oxford University 7 45 1864 Kingston R.C. 7 43 1865 Kingston R.C. 7 21 1866 Oxford, Etonian Club 8 22 1867 Oxford, Etonian Club 7 54 1868 London R.C. 7 20 1869 Oxford, Etonian Club 7 28 1870 _d_ Oxford, Etonian Club 7 17 1871 Oxford, Etonian Club 7 55 1872 London R.C. 8 38 1873 London R.C. 7 52 1874 London R.C. 7 42 1875 Leander R.C. 7 19 1876 Thames R.C. 7 27 1877 _e_ London R.C. 8 16-1/2 1878 Thames R.C. 7 41 1879 Camb., Jesus Coll. 8 39 1880 Leander B.C. 7 3 1881 London R.C. 7 24 1882 Oxford, Exeter Coll. 8 11 1883 London R.C. 7 51 1884 London R.C. 7 27 1885 Camb. Jesus Coll. 7 22 1886 Camb., Trin. Hall 6 53-1/2 1887 Camb., Trin. Hall 6 56 (_a_) Won on a foul. (_b_) The winners only rowed seven oars in the final heat. (_c_) Cambridge carried away a rowlock soon after starting. (_d_) The fastest on record for the final. (_e_) In the preliminary heat London did the course in 7 min. 12 secs.--the fastest time on record after that date. _STEWARDS' CUP._ m. s. 1841 _a_ First class fours for medals. Won by Oxford Aquatic Club 10 5 1842 Oxford Club, London 9 16 1843 London, St. George's Club 10 15 1844 Oxford University 9 16 1845 Oxford University 8 25 1846 Oxford University -- 1847 _b_ Oxford C.C.C. r.o. 1848 Oxford C.C.C. r.o. 1849 London, Leander Club r.o. 1850 Oxford University r.o. 1851 Cambridge Univ. 8 54 1852 Oxford University -- 1853 Oxford University 8 57 1854 Oxon., Pembroke Club 9 54 1855 Royal Chester R.C. -- 1856 Argonaut Club -- 1857 London R.C. 8 25 1858 London R.C. r.o. 1859 Camb., Third Trin. 8 25 1860 Camb., First Trin. 9 26 1861 Camb., First Trin. 9 35 1862 Oxon., Brasenose Coll. 8 40 1863 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 8 24 1864 London R.C. -- 1865 Camb., Third Trin. 8 8 1866 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 9 20 1867 Oxford University 8 45 1868 London R.C. -- 1869 London R.C. 8 36 1870 _c_ Oxon., Etonian Club 8 5 1871 London R.C. -- 1872 London R.C. 9 21 1873 _d_ London R.C. 8 25 1874 London R.C. 9 0 1875 _e_ London R.C. 7 56 1876 _f_ London R.C. -- 1877 London R.C. 9 7 1878 London R.C. 8 37 1879 Camb., Jesus Coll. 9 37 1880 Thames R.C. 7 58 1881 Oxford, Hert. Coll. 8 15 1882 Oxford, Hert. Coll. -- 1883 Thames R.C. -- 1884 Kingston R.C. -- 1885 Camb., Trin. Hall 7 53 1886 Thames R.C. 7 39 1887 Camb., Trin. Hall. 7 53 (_a_) The prize which is now known as the Stewards' Challenge Cup was not instituted until the following year. (_b_) Worcester College, Oxford, were also entered, but withdrawn. (_c_) Fastest time on record with coxswains. (_d_) Coxswains abolished. (_e_) Fastest time on record. (_f_) Won on a foul. _PAIR-OARS._ Won by m. s. 1845 _a_ Arnold and Mann, Cambridge -- 1846 Milman and Haggard, Christ Church -- 1847 _b_ Falls and Coulthard, London -- 1848 _b_ Thompson and Johnson, Oxford -- 1849 Peacock and Rayford -- 1850 _c_ Chitty and Hornby, Oxford r.o. 1851 Chitty and Guess -- 1852 _d_ Barker and Nind r.o. 1853 Barbee and Godson, Cambridge 10 0 1854 Cadogan and Short, Oxford 9 5 1855 Nottidge and Casamajor, London -- 1856 Nottidge and Casamajor, London -- 1857 Warren and Lonsdale, Oxford -- 1858 Playford and Casamajor, London -- 1859 Warre and Arkell, Oxford 9 0 1860 Casamajor and Woodbridge, London 11 50 1861 Woodgate & Champneys, Oxford -- 1862 Woodgate & Champneys, Oxford 8 45 1863 Woodgate and Shepherd, Oxford r.o. 1864 Selwyn and Kinglake, Cambridge 9 29 1865 May and Fenner, London R.C. 9 7 1866 Woodgate and Corrie, Kingston R.C. 9 15 1867 Corrie and Brown, Eton and Radley 8 49 1868 Crofts and Woodgate, Oxford -- 1869 Long and Stout, London R.C. 9 25 1870 Corrie and Hall, Kingston R.C. -- 1871 Gulston and Long, London R.C. -- 1872 Long and Gulston, London R.C. -- 1873 Knollys and Trower, Kingston R.C. 9 22 1874 Gulston and Long, London R.C. 10 3 1875 _b_ Herbert and Chillingworth -- 1876 S. Le B. Smith and F. S. Gulston 8 35 1877 W. H. Eyre and J. Hastie 10 30 1878 W. A. Ellison and T. C. Edwardes-Moss 9 14 1879 F. S. Gulston and R. H. Labat, London R.C. 11 6 1880 E. H. Eyre and J. Hastie, Thames R.C. 8 45 1881 W. H. Eyre and J. Hastie, Thames R.C. 9 4 1882 D. E. Brown and J. Lowndes, Hertford Coll., Oxford -- 1883 G. Q. Roberts and D. E. Brown, Twickenham R.C. 9 22 1884 J. Lowndes and D. E. Brown, Twickenham R.C. 9 1 1885 H. McLean and D. H. McLean, Etonians, Oxford -- 1886 F. E. Churchill and A. D. Muttlebury, Third Trin., Cambridge 8 40 1887 C. T. Barclay and A. D. Muttlebury 8 45 (_a_) The first pair-oared race rowed at Henley, which was then called the Silver Wherries till 1850. (_b_) Won on a foul. (_c_) The race was rowed this year for the first time as the Silver Goblets. (_d_) Short and Irving, of Oxford, withdrew in the final. _DIAMOND SCULLS._ m. s. 1844 _a_ Bumpstead, Scullers' Club, London 10 32 1845 Wallace, Leander Club 11 30 1846 Sir Frederick Moon, Magdalen, Oxford -- 1847 Maule, Trinity Coll., Cambridge 10 45 1848 Bagshawe, Camb. -- 1849 Bone, Meteor Club, London -- 1850 Bone, Meteor Club, London -- 1851 Edwards, London -- 1852 Macnaghten, Camb. -- 1853 Rippingall, Camb. 10 2 1854 _b_ Playford, Wandle College -- 1855 Casamajor, Argonauts 9 27 1856 Casamajor, Argonauts -- 1857 Casamajor, Argonauts -- 1858 Casamajor, Argonauts r.o. 1859 E. D. Brickwood, London 10 0 1860 H. H. Playford, London 12 8 1861 Casamajor, Argonauts 10 4 1862 _c_ E. D. Brickwood 9 40 1863 C. B. Lawes, Camb. 9 43 1864 W. B. Woodgate 10 10 1865 E. B. Michell, Oxford 9 5 1866 E. B. Michell, Oxford -- 1867 W. C. Crofts, Oxford 10 2 1868 W. Stout, London R.C. -- 1869 W. C. Crofts, Kingston 8 57 1870 J. B. Close, Camb. 9 43 1871 W. Fawcus, Tynemouth R.C. 10 9 1872 C. C. Knollys, Oxford 10 48 1873 A. C. Dicker, Camb. 9 13 1874 A. C. Dicker, Camb. 10 47 1875 A. C. Dicker, Camb. 9 15 1876 F. L. Playford, London R. C. 9 28 1877 T. C. Edwardes-Moss, Oxford 10 20 1878 T. C. Edwardes-Moss, Oxford 9 37-1/2 1879 J. Lowndes, Oxford 12 30 1880 J. Lowndes, Derby 9 10 1881 J. Lowndes, Derby 9 28 1882 J. Lowndes, Derby 11 43 1883 J. Lowndes, Thames R.C. 10 2 1884 W. S. Unwin, Magdalen 9 44 1885 W. S. Unwin, Magdalen 9 22 1886 F. J. Pitman, Third Trinity, Cambridge 9 5 1887 J. C. Gardner, Cambridge 8 51 (_a_) After two fouls the race was given in favour of Wallace. (_b_) At Newenham a foul took place, and the race was awarded to Playford. (_c_) After a dead heat, which was rowed in 10 minutes 22 seconds. _LADIES CHALLENGE PLATE FOR EIGHT-OARS._ _Established 1845._ m. s. 1845 London, St. George's Club 8 25 1846 Camb., First Trin. -- 1847 Oxford, Brasenose 9 0 1848 Oxon., Christ Church -- 1849 Oxon., Wadham Coll. -- 1850 Oxon., Lincoln Coll. r.o. 1851 Oxford, Brasenose 8 10 1852 Oxford, Pembroke College -- 1853 Camb., First Trin. 8 15 1854 Camb., First Trin. 7 55 1855 Oxford, Balliol Coll. 7 58 1856 Royal Chester R.C. -- 1857 Oxford, Exeter Coll. 7 57 1858 Oxford, Balliol Coll. 7 51 1859 Camb., First Trin. 7 55 1860 Camb., First Trin. r.o. 1861 Cambridge, First Trinity (r.o.) 8 17 1862 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 8 17 1863 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 7 23 1864 Eton College B.C. 7 56 1865 Camb., Third Trin. 7 38 1866 Eton College B.C. 8 16 1867 Eton College B.C. 7 56 1868 Eton College B.C. 7 25 1869 Eton College B.C. 7 56 1870 Eton College B.C. 7 47 1871 Oxford, Pembroke College 7 56 1872 Camb., Jesus Coll. 8 39 1873 Camb., Jesus Coll. 7 54 1874 Camb., First Trin. 8 9 1875 Dublin, Trin. Coll. 7 28 1876 Camb., Jesus Coll. 7 31 1877 Camb., Jesus Coll. 8 22 1878 Camb., Jesus Coll. 8 52 1879 Cambridge, Lady Margaret B.C. 8 52 1880 Camb., Trin. Hall 7 26 1881 Camb., First Trin. 7 51 1882 Eton College B.C. 8 37 1883 Oxon., Christ Church 7 50 1884 Eton College B.C. 7 37 1885 Eton College B.C. 7 21 1886 Camb., Pembroke College 7 17 1887 Trinity Hall, Cambridge (2nd crew) 7 10 _VISITORS' CHALLENGE CUP FOR FOUR-OARS._ _Established 1847._ m. s. 1847 Oxon., Christ Church 9 0 1848 Oxon., Christ Church -- 1849 Oxon., Christ Church -- 1850 Oxon., Christ Church -- 1851 Oxon., Christ Church 9 0 1852 London, Argonauts Club -- 1853 London, Argonauts Club -- 1854 Camb., St. John's 8 48 1855 Camb., St. John's -- 1856 Camb., St. John's -- 1857 Oxford, Pembroke College 8 40 1858 Camb., First Trin. -- 1859 Camb., Third Trin. -- 1860 Camb., First Trin. -- 1861 Camb., First Trin. 8 5 1862 Oxford, Brasenose College 8 40 1863 Oxford, Brasenose College -- 1864 Oxford, Univ. Coll. -- 1865 Camb., Third Trin. -- 1866 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 8 49 1867 Oxford, Univ. Coll. -- 1868 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 8 15 1869 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 9 7 1870 Dublin, Trin. Coll. 8 37 1871 Camb., First Trin. 9 8 1872 Oxford, Pembroke College 9 28 1873 Dublin, Trin. Coll. -- 1874 Dublin, Trin. Coll. 8 50 1875 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 8 20 1876 Oxford, Univ. Coll. 8 5 1877 Camb., Jesus Coll. 9 7 1878 U.S.A., Columbia College 8 42 1879 Cambridge, Lady Margaret B.C. 9 21 1880 Camb., Third Trin. 8 16 1881 Camb., First Trin. 8 22 1882 Oxford, Brasenose College 9 23 1883 Oxon., Christ Church -- 1884 Camb., Third Trin. 8 39 1885 Camb., Trin. Hall 7 41 1886 Cambridge, First Trinity B.C. 8 20-1/2 1887 Trinity Hall, Cambridge 8 8 _WYFOLD CHALLENGE CUP FOR FOUR-OARS._ _Established 1856._ m. s. 1873 Thames R.C. 8 2 1856 London, Argonauts Club -- 1857 Oxford, Pembroke College 8 30 1858 Camb., First Trin. -- 1859 Camb., First Trin. 8 21 1860 London R.C. 10 8 1861 Oxford, Brasenose College -- 1862 London R.C. 9 20 1863 Kingston R.C. 8 50 1864 Kingston R.C. -- 1865 Kingston R.C. 8 23 1866 Kingston R.C. -- 1867 Kingston R.C. -- 1868 Kingston R.C. 8 32 1869 Surbiton, Oscillators B.C. 8 58 1870 Thames R.C. 8 34 1871 Thames R.C. -- 1872 Thames R.C. 10 8 1873 Kingstown Harbour B.C. 8 37 1874 Newcastle A.R.C. 8 58 1875 Thames R.C. 8 10 1876 West London R.C. 8 56 1877 Kingston R.C. -- 1878 Kingston R.C. 8 44 1879 London R.C. 9 56 1880 London R.C. 8 4 1881 Dublin Univ. R.C. 8 8 1882 Camb., Jesus Coll. 8 58 1883 Kingston R.C. 8 51 1884 Thames R.C. 8 58 1885 Kingston R.C. -- 1886 Thames R.C. 8 4 1887 Pembroke College, Cambridge 7 50 _THAMES CHALLENGE CUP FOR EIGHT-OARS._ _Established 1868._ m. s. 1868 Oxford, Pembroke College 7 46 1869 Surbiton, Oscillators B.C. -- 1870 Surbiton, Oscillators B.C. -- 1871 London, Ino R.C. 8 3 1872 Thames R.C. 8 42 1873 Thames R.C. 8 2 1874 Thames R.C. 8 19 1875 London R.C. 7 33 1876 West London R.C. 7 37 1877 London R.C. 8 29 1878 London R.C. 7 55 1879 Twickenham R.C. 8 55 1880 London R.C. 7 43 1881 Twickenham R.C. 7 50 1882 Royal Chester R.C. -- 1883 London R.C. 8 5 1884 Twickenham R.C. 7 48 1885 London R.C. 7 36 1886 London R.C. -- 1887 Trinity Hall, Cambridge (2nd crew) 7 20 _PUBLIC SCHOOLS' CHALLENGE CUP FOR FOURS._ _Established 1879._ m. s. 1879 Cheltenham College B.C. 11 6 1880 Bedford Grammar School B.C. 8 42 1881 Bedford Grammar School B.C. 8 22 1882 Magdalen College B. C. -- 1883 Hereford School B.C. -- 1884 Derby School B.C. -- 1885 Bedford Model School B.C.[18] -- [18] Transferred to Marlow Regatta in 1886. _TOWN CHALLENGE CUP._ 1839 Wave B.C. 1840 Dreadnought Cutter Club 1841 Dreadnought Cutter Club 1842 Dreadnought Club 1843 Albion Club 1844 Aquatic Club 1845 Aquatic Club 1846 Dreadnought Cutter Club 1847 Dreadnought Cutter Club 1848 Dreadnought Cutter Club 1849 Albion Club 1850 Albion Club 1854 Wargrave Club 1855 Henley B.C. 1856 Henley B.C. 1857 Henley B.C. 1858 Henley B.C. 1859 Henley B.C. 1860 Dreadnought Cutter Club 1862 Oxford, Staff B.C. 1863 Henley B.C. 1864 Henley B.C. 1865 Henley B.C. 1866 Eton Excelsior B.C. 1867 Eton Excelsior B.C. 1868 Henley R.C. 1869 Eton Excelsior B.C. 1870 Eton Excelsior B.C. 1871 Reading R.C. 1872 Marlow R.C. 1873 Henley R.C. 1874 Marlow R.C. 1875 Marlow R.C. 1876 Marlow R.C. 1877 Marlow R.C. 1878 Henley R.C. 1879 Greenwood Lodge B.C. 1880 Reading R.C. 1881 Reading R.C. 1882 Reading R.C. 1883 Marlow R.C.[19] [19] Ditto in 1884. OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE BOAT RACE. _WINNERS since 1828._ +----+------------------------+-----------+---------+---------------+ |Year| Place | Winner | Time | Won by | +----+------------------------+-----------+---------+---------------+ |1829| Hambledon Lock to | | m. s. | | | | Henley Bridge | Oxford |14 30 | easy | |1836| Westminster to Putney| Cambridge |36 0 | 1 m. | |1839| Westminster to Putney| Cambridge |31 0 | 1 m. 45 s. | |1840| Westminster to Putney| Cambridge |29 30 | 2/3 length | |1841| Westminster to Putney| Cambridge |32 30 | 1 m. 4 s. | |1842| Westminster to Putney| Oxford |30 45 | 13 s. | |1845| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |23 30 | 30 s. | |1846|_a_Mortlake (Church) to | | | | | | Putney | Cambridge |21 5 | 2 lengths | |1849| Putney to Mortlake | | | | | | (Ship) | Cambridge |22 0 | 4 lengths | |1849| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford | -- | foul | |1852| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |21 56 | 27 s. | |1854| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |25 29 | 11 strokes | |1856|_b_Barker's rails to | | | | | | Putney | Cambridge |25 50 | 1/2 length | |1857|_c_Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |22 55 | 35 s. | |1858| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |21 23 | 22 s. | |1859| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |24 40 | C. sank | |1860| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |26 5 | 1 length | |1861| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |23 28 | 43 s. | |1862| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |24 41 | 30 s. | |1863|_b_Barker's rails to | | | | | | Putney | Oxford |23 6 | 43 s. | |1864| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |22 15 | 26 s. | |1865| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |21 24 | 4 s. | |1866| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |25 14 | 15 s. | |1867| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |22 30 | 1/2 length | |1868| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |20 37 | 6 lengths | |1869| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |20 6-1/2| 3 lengths | |1870| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |21 30-3/4| 2 lengths | |1871| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |23 9-1/2| 1 length | |1872| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |21 14 | 2 lengths | |1873|_d_Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |19 36 | 3 lengths | |1874| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |22 35 | 3-1/2 lengths | |1875| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |22 2 | 29 s. | |1876| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |20 19 | 5 lengths | |1877|_e_Putney to Mortlake | Dead heat |24 6-1/2| dead heat | |1878| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |22 15 | 40 s. | |1879| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |21 18 | 3-1/2 lengths | |1880| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |21 23 | 4 lengths | |1881| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |21 52 | 3-1/2 lengths | |1882| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |20 12 | 20 s. | |1883| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |22 18 | 2-1/2 lengths | |1884| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |21 39 | 3 lengths | |1885| Putney to Mortlake | Oxford |21 36 | 5 lengths | |1886| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |22 20 | 2/3 length | |1887| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |20 52 | 2-1/4 lengths | |1888| Putney to Mortlake | Cambridge |20 48 | 5 lengths | +----+------------------------+-----------+----------+--------------+ (_a_) This was the first race rowed in outrigged eights. (_b_) These races were rowed from Barker's rails to Putney, about 1,200 yards more than the usual course. Barker's rails are still marked by a brick pedestal under Middlesex shore. (_c_) This was the first race rowed in keelless boats. (_d_) Sliding seats first used in these races. (_e_) This is the only dead heat ever rowed in this race. Bow in Oxford boat broke his oar. UNIVERSITY MEETINGS AT HENLEY, _FOR THE GRAND CHALLENGE CUP_. +------+------------------+-------+---------------+ | Year | Winner | Time | Won by | +------+------------------+-------+---------------+ | | | m. s. | | | 1845 | Cambridge | 8 30 | 2 lengths | | 1847 | Oxford | 8 4 | 2 lengths | | 1851 |_a_Oxford | 7 45 | 6 lengths | | 1853 | Oxford | 8 3 | 6 inches | | 1855 | Cambridge | 8 32 | 2-1/2 lengths | +------+------------------+-------+---------------+ (_a_) Cambridge broke a rowlock off Remenham farm. Also at the Thames Regatta, June 22, 1844, Oxford beat Cambridge for the Gold Cup. UNIVERSITY OARSMEN. The following lists show what oarsmen in eights or fours represented their respective Universities from year to year, whether in matches or at regattas. Those whose names appear as having thus represented their University are recognised as 'old Blues.' In some cases crews are given which are not strictly University crews, e.g. the 'Cambridge Subscription Rooms,' 'Oxford Aquatic Club,' &c. These crews sometimes took the place of U.B.C. crews, and though all these members may not be strictly 'Blues,' the performances are recorded, in order to give as far as possible a continuous history. UNIVERSITY OARSMEN. 1829. _Hambledon Lock to Henley, Wednesday, June 10, 1829, 7.56 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Carter, J., St. John's -- 2. Arbuthnot, J. E., Balliol -- 3. Bates, J. E., Christ Church -- 4. Wordsworth, Charles, Christ Church 11 10 5. Toogood, J. J., Balliol 14 10 6. Garnier, T. F., Worcester -- 7. Moore, G. B., Christ Church 12 4 Staniforth, T., Christ Church (stroke) 12 0 Fremantle, W. R., Christ Church (cox.) -- CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Holdsworth, A. B. E., First Trinity 10 7 2. Bayford, A. F., Trinity Hall 10 8 3. Warren, C., Second Trinity 10 10 4. Merivale, C., Lady Margaret 11 0 5. Entwisle, T., Trinity 11 4 6. Thompson, W. T., Jesus 11 13 7. Selwyn, G. A., Lady Margaret 11 13 Snow, W., Lady Margaret (stroke) 11 4 Heath, B. R., First Trinity (cox.) 9 4 ---------- Average 11 1-3/4 1831. _Leander Match v. Oxford, Henley Course, June 12._ LEANDER, 1. | OXFORD, 2. 1. Horniman | 1. Carter 2. Revell | 2. Waterford (Marquis of) 3. Weedon | 3. Marsh 4. Cannon | 4. Peard 5. Lewis | 5. Pelham 6. T. Bayford | 6. Barnes 7. Capt. Shaw | 7. Lloyd Bishop (stroke) | Copplestone (stroke) Noulton, waterman (cox.) | G. West, waterman (cox.) 1836. _Westminster to Putney, June 17, 1836, 4.20 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Solly, W. H., First Trinity 11 0 2. Green, F. S., Caius 11 2 3. Stanley, E. S., Jesus 11 4 4. Hartley, P., Trinity Hall 12 0 5. Jones, W. M., Caius 12 0 6. Keane, J. H., First Trinity 12 0 7. Upcher, A. W., Second Trinity 12 0 Granville, A. K. B., C.C.C. (stroke) 11 7 Egan, T. S., Caius (cox.) 9 0 ---------- Average 11 8-5/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Carter, G., St. John's 10 0 2. Stephens, E., Exeter 10 7 3. Baillie, W., Christ Church 11 7 4. Harris, T., Magdalen 12 4 5. Isham, J. V., Christ Church 12 0 6. Pennefather, J., Balliol 12 10 7. Thompson, W. S., Jesus 13 0 Moysey, F. L., Christ Church (stroke) 10 6 Davies, E. W. L., Jesus (cox.) 10 3 ----------- Average 11 7-3/4 1837. _First Leander Match (C.U.B.C.), Westminster to Putney, June 9, 1837._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Nicholson, W. N., First Trinity 11 0 2. Green, F. S., Caius 11 2 3. Budd, R. H., Lady Margaret 12 0 4. Keane, J. H., First Trinity 12 0 5. Brett, W. B., Caius 12 0 6. Penrose, C. T., First Trinity 12 0 7. Fletcher, R., Lady Margaret 11 10 Granville, A. K. B., Corpus (stroke) 11 7 Moulton, W. (cox.) -- ---------- Average 11 9-5/8 LEANDER, 2. 1. Shepheard 2. Layton 3. Wood 4. Lloyd 5. Sherrard 6. Dalgleish 7. Lewis Horneman (stroke) James Parish (cox.) 1838. _Second Leander Match (C.U.B.C.)_ CAMBRIDGE, 1. LEANDER, 2. 1. Shadwell, A. H., Lady Margaret. | 1. Shepheard 2. Smyth, W. W., Second Trinity. | 2. Sherrard 3. Gough, Walter R., First Trinity.| 3. Lloyd 4. Yatman, W. H., Caius. | 4. Layton 5. Penrose, C. T., First Trinity. | 5. Wood 6. Paris, A., Corpus. | 6. Dalgleish 7. Brett, W. B., Caius. | 7. Bishop Stanley, E., Jesus (stroke). | Lewis (stroke) Moulton, W. (cox.) | Parish (cox.) (A foul.) 1839. _Westminster to Putney, April 3, 1839, 4.47 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Shadwell, Alfred H., Lady Margaret 10 7 2. Smyth, W. W., Second Trinity 11 0 3. Abercrombie, J., Caius 10 7 4. Paris, A., Corpus -- 5. Penrose, C. T., First Trinity 12 0 6. Yatman, W. H., Caius -- 7. Brett, W. B., Caius 12 0 Stanley, E. S., Jesus (stroke) -- Egan, T. S., Caius (cox.) 9 0 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Lee, S., Queen's 10 4 2. Compton, J., Merton 11 5 3. Maberly, S. E., Christ Church 11 4 4. Garnett, W. J., Christ Church 12 10 5. Walls, R. G., Brasenose 13 0 6. Hobhouse, R., Balliol 12 0 7. Powys, P. L., Balliol 12 0 Bewicke, C., University (stroke) 11 5 Ffooks, W. W., Exeter (cox.) 10 2 ---------- Average 11 10-1/2 1840. _Westminster to Putney, Wednesday, April 15, 1840, 1.30 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Shadwell, A. H., Lady Margaret 10 7 2. Massey, W., First Trinity 11 0 3. Taylor, S. B., First Trinity 11 7 4. Ridley, J. M., Jesus 12 8 5. Appleby, G. C., Magdalene 11 12 6. Penrose, F. C., Magdalene 12 1 7. Jones, H., Magdalene 11 9 Viales, C. M., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 6 Egan, T. S., Caius, (cox.) 9 0 ------ Average 11 8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Mountain, J. G., Merton 11 0 2. Pocock, J. J. I., Merton 11 2 3. Maberly, S. E., Christ Church 11 4 4. Rogers, W., Balliol 12 10 5. Walls, R. G., Brasenose 12 7 6. Royds, E., Brasenose 12 4 7. Meynell, G., Brasenose 11 10 Somers Cocks, J. J. T., Brasenose (stroke) 11 3 Garnett, W. B., Brasenose (cox.) 9 7 ---------- Average 11 10-1/2 1841. _Westminster to Putney, Wednesday, April 14, 1841, 6.10 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Croker, W. R., Caius 9 12 2. Denman, Hon. L. W., Magdalene 10 12 3. Ritchie, A. M., First Trinity 11 10 4. Ridley, J. M., Jesus 12 7 5. Cobbold, R. H., Peterhouse 12 4 6. Penrose, F. C., Magdalene 12 0 7. Denman, Hon. G., First Trinity 10 7 Viales, C. M., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 7 Croker, J. M., Caius (cox.) 10 8 ---------- Average 11 5-5/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Bethell, R., Exeter 10 6 2. Richards, E. V., Christ Church 11 2 3. Mountain, J. G., Merton 10 9 4. Royds, E., Brasenose 11 13 5. Hodgson, H. W., Balliol 11 10 6. Lea, W., Brasenose 11 7 7. Meynell, G., Brasenose 11 11 Somers Cocks, J. J. T., Brasenose (stroke) 11 4 Wollaston, C. B., Exeter (cox.) 9 2 --------- Average 11 4-1/8 1841. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley, 1841._ CAMBRIDGE SUBSCRIPTION ROOMS, 1. st. lbs. 1. Denman, Hon. G., First Trinity 10 8 2. Shadwell, A. H., Lady Margaret 10 9 3. Cross, W. A., First Trinity 10 6 4. Anson, T. A., Jesus 12 8 5. Yatman, W. H., Caius 10 10 6. Jones, W. M., Caius 11 10 7. Viales, C. M., Third Trinity 11 9 Brett, W. B., Caius (stroke) 11 10 Egan, T. S., Caius (cox.) 9 6 LEANDER, 2. st. lbs. 1. Shepheard 10 2 2. Layton 10 11 3. Julius, W. 11 6 4. Romayne 11 8 5. Jenkins 12 3 6. Wallace 11 7 7. Wood 10 12 Dalgleish (stroke) 11 2 Gibson, H. (cox.) 11 0 1842. _Westminster to Putney, Saturday, June 11, 1842._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. M'Dougall, F. T., Magdalen Hall 9 8 2. Menzies, Sir R., University 11 3 3. Breedon, E. A., Trinity 12 4 4. Brewster, W. B., St. John's 12 10 5. Bourne, G. D., Oriel 13 12 6. Cox, J. C., Trinity 10 8 7. Hughes, G. E., Oriel 11 6 Menzies, F. N., University (stroke) 10 12 Shadwell, A. T. W., Balliol (cox.) 10 4 ---------- Average 11 9-5/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Tower, E., Lady Margaret 10 2 2. Denman, Hon. L. W., Magdalene 10 11 3. Watson, W., Jesus 10 13 4. Penrose, F. C., Magdalene 11 10 5. Cobbold, R. H., Peterhouse 12 6 6. Royds, J., Christ's 11 7 7. Denman, Hon. G., First Trinity 10 9 Ridley, J. M., Jesus (stroke) 12 0 Pollock, A. B., First Trinity (cox.) 9 7 ---------- Average 11 3-3/4 1842. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley, 1842._ CAMBRIDGE SUBSCRIPTION ROOMS, 1. st. lbs. 1. Yatman, W. H., Caius 10 10 2. Shadwell, A., John's 10 9 3. Appleby, G. C., Magdalene 11 2 4. Lonsdale, J. G., First Trinity 12 4 5. Ritchie, A. M., First Trinity 12 0 6. Jones, W. M., Caius 11 10 7. Selwyn, C. J., Second Trinity 11 12 Beresford, J., Peter's (stroke) 10 10 Egan, T. S., Caius (cox.) 9 2 ---------- Average 11 5-1/8 CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY BOATING CLUB, 2. st. lbs. 1. Tower, E., John's 10 2 2. Denman, Hon. L. W., Magdalene 10 11 3. Watson, W., Jesus 10 13 4. Viales, C. M., Third Trinity 11 9 5. Cobbold, R. H., Peter's 12 6 6. Royds, J., Christ's 11 7 7. Denman, Hon. G., First Trinity 10 9 Ridley, J. M., Jesus (stroke) 12 0 Pollock, J. C., Third Trinity (cox.) 10 2 ---------- Average 11 3-3/8 1843. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley, 1843._ OXFORD, THE 'SEVEN OAR,' 1. st. lbs. 1. Menzies, Sir R., University 11 3 2. Royds, E., Brasenose 12 0 3. Brewster, W. B., St. John's 13 0 4. Bourne, G. D., Oriel 13 12 5. Cox, J. C., Trinity 11 12 6. Lowndes, R., Christ Church 11 2 7. Hughes, G. E., Oriel 11 11 Shadwell, A. T. W., Balliol (cox.) 10 8 Menzies, F. (stroke), _æger_ -- ---------- Average 12 1-2/7 CAMBRIDGE SUBSCRIPTION ROOMS, 2. st. lbs. 1. Yatman, W. H., Caius 10 12 2. Shadwell, A. H., Lady Margaret 11 0 3. Mann, G., Caius 12 0 4. Ridley, J. M., Jesus 12 6 5. Cobbold, R. H., Peterhouse 12 5 6. Jones, W. M., Caius 11 12 7. Denman, Hon. L. W., Magdalene 10 11 Viales, C. M., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 13 Egan, T. S., Caius (cox.) 9 6 ------ Average 11 9 1843. _Gold Cup, Thames Regatta._ OXFORD, 1. Crew same as 'Seven oar' _supra_, except W. Chetwynd-Stapylton, Merton, 10 st. 6 lbs. at bow. 1844. _Gold Cup, Thames Regatta. Chiswick Eyot to Putney Bridge._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton 10 8 2. Spottiswoode, W., Balliol 10 6 3. Milman, W. H., Christ Church 11 0 4. Morgan, H., Christ Church 12 11 5. Buckle, W., Oriel 13 12 6. Dry, W. J., Wadham 11 5 7. Wilson, F. M., Christ Church 12 8 Tuke, F. E., Brasenose (stroke) 11 9 Shadwell, A. T. W., Balliol (cox.) 10 8 ---------- Average 11 1-7/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Raven, J., Magdalene 8 13 2. Venables, H., Jesus 10 2 3. Mann, G., Caius 10 7 4. Cloves, W. P., First Trinity 11 11 5. Brookes, T. W., First Trinity 11 9 6. Richardson, J., First Trinity 11 12 7. Nicholson, W. W., First Trinity 10 3 Arnold, F. M., Caius (stroke) 11 11 Egan, T. S., Caius (cox.) 10 0 ------ Average 10 12 LEANDER, 3. st. lbs. 1. Soanes 9 3 2. Peacock 10 0 3. Lee 12 0 4. Hodding 11 6 5. Julius 12 0 6. Bumpstead 12 0 7. Jefferies 9 4 Dalgleish (stroke) 10 6 Shepheard (cox.) 10 0 ---------- Average 10 11-1/8 1844. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton 10 8 2. Spottiswoode, W., Balliol 10 6 3. Chetwynd-Stapylton, H. E., University 10 10 4. Spankie, J., Merton 11 4 5. Wilson, F. M., Christ Church 12 8 6. Tuke, F. E., Brasenose 11 9 7. Conant, J. W., St. John's 12 7 Morgan, H., Christ Church (stroke) 12 7 Shadwell, A. T. W., Balliol (cox.) 10 0 ---------- Average 11 7-3/8 1844. _The Stewards' Cup, Henley. (Final Heat.)_ OXFORD, 1. ST. GEORGE'S CLUB, LONDON, 2. st. lbs. 1. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton | 1. Wadham 9 10 2. Dry, W. J., Wadham | 2. M'Kay 10 11 3. Wilson, F. M., Christ Church | 3. Ross 11 4 Tuke, F. E., Brasenose (stroke)| Smith (stroke) 10 4 Lewis, G. B., Oriel (cox.) | Johnson, A. (cox.) 7 11 1845. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 15, 1845, 6.1 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Mann, G., Caius 10 7 2. Harkness, W., Lady Margaret 10 0 3. Lockhart, W. S., Christ's 11 3 4. Cloves, W. P., First Trinity 12 0 5. Arnold, F. M., Caius 12 0 6. Harkness, R., Lady Margaret 11 0 7. Richardson, J., First Trinity 12 0 Hill, C. G., Second Trinity (stroke) 10 11 Munster, H., First Trinity (cox.) 9 2 ---------- Average 11 2-5/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Haggard, M., Christ Church 10 3 2. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton 10 12 3. Milman, W. H., Christ Church 11 0 4. Lewis, H., Pembroke 11 7 5. Buckle, W., Oriel 13 12 6. Royds, F. C., Brasenose 11 5 7. Wilson, F. M., Christ Church 12 3 Tuke, F. E., Brasenose (stroke) 12 2 Richards, F. J., Merton (cox.) 10 10 ------ Average 11 9 1845. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Mann, G., Caius 10 8 2. Harkness, W., Lady Margaret 10 1 3. Lockhart, W. S., Christ's 11 3 4. Cloves, W. P., First Trinity 12 1 5. Hopkins, F. L., First Trinity 12 7 6. Potts, H. J., Second Trinity 11 9 7. Arnold, F. M., Caius 12 2 Hill, C. G., Second Trinity (stroke) 10 12 Munster, H., Second Trinity (cox.) 9 2 ---------- Average 11 5-1/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton 10 6 2. Spottiswoode, W., Balliol 10 11 3. Milman, W. H., Christ Church 10 12 4. Buckle, W., Oriel 13 7 5. Breedon, E. A., Trinity 11 10 6. Penfold, E. H., St. John's 11 10 7. Conant, J. W., St. John's 11 13 Wilson, F. M., Christ Church (stroke) 12 11 Shadwell, A. T. W., Balliol (cox.) 10 4 ------ Average 11 10 1845. _The Stewards' Cup, Henley. (Final Heat.)_ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton 10 6 2. Milman, W. H., Christ Church 10 10 3. Conant, J. W., St. John's 11 3 Wilson, F. M., Christ Church (stroke) 12 1 Lewis, G. B., Oriel (cox.) -- ST. GEORGE'S CLUB, LONDON, 2. st. lbs. 1. Wadham 10 0 2. Ross 11 0 3. Coulthard 11 11 Smith (stroke) 10 12 Johnson, A., (cox.) 8 4 1845. _Gold Cup, Thames Regatta._ CAMBRIDGE LONDON ROOMS, 1. 1. Rippingall, C., Lady Margaret 2. Shadwell, A. H., Lady Margaret 3. Lockhart, W. S., Christ's 4. Cloves, W. P., First Trinity 5. Wilder, E., Magdalene 6. Hopkins, F. L., First Trinity 7. Arnold, F. M., Caius Hill, C. G., Second Trinity (stroke) Egan, T. S., Caius (cox.) OXFORD AQUATIC CLUB, 2. 1. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton 2. Milman, W. H., Christ Church 3. Meynell, G., Brasenose 4. Buckle, W., Oriel 5. Breedon, E. A., Trinity 6. Hughes, G. E., Oriel 7. Conant, J. W., St. John's Wilson, F. M., Christ Church (stroke) Richards, F. J., Merton (cox.) 1846. _Mortlake to Putney, April 3, 1846, 11.10 a.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Murdoch, G. F., Lady Margaret 10 2 2. Holroyd, G. F., First Trinity 11 1 3. Clissold, S. T., Third Trinity 12 0 4. Cloves, W. P., First Trinity 12 12 5. Wilder, E., Magdalene 12 2 6. Harkness, R., Lady Margaret 11 6 7. Wolstenholme, E. P., First Trinity 11 1 Hill, C. G., Second Trinity (stroke) 11 1 Lloyd, T. B., Lady Margaret (cox.) 9 8 ---------- Average 11 8-3/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Polehampton, H. S., Pembroke 10 9 2. Burton, E. C., Christ Church 11 0 3. Heygate, W. U., Merton 11 8 4. Penfold, E. H., St. John's 11 8 5. Conant, J. W., St. John's 12 4 6. Royds, F. C., Brasenose 11 9 7. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton 10 12 Milman, W. H., Christ Church (stroke) 11 0 Soanes, C. J., St. John's (cox.) 9 13 ---------- Average 11 4-1/8 1846. _The Stewards' Cup, Henley. (Final Heat.)_ O.U.B.C., 1. st. lbs. 1. Chetwynd-Stapylton, W., Merton 10 6 2. Wilson, F. M., Christ Church 12 1 3. Conant, J. W., St. John's 11 13 Milman, W. H., Christ Church (stroke) 10 10 Haggard, M., Christ Church (cox.) -- ----- Average 11 4 GUY'S CLUB, LONDON, 2. 1. Forster 2. Gruggen 3. Ferguson Cooper (stroke) Roland (cox.) 1847. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Moon, E. G., Magdalen 10 4 2. Haggard, M., Christ Church 10 8 3. Oldham, J., Brasenose 11 7 4. Royds, F. C., Brasenose 11 10 5. Griffiths, E. G. C., Worcester 12 6 6. King, W., Oriel 11 0 7. Winter, G. R., Brasenose 11 3 Burton, E. C., Christ Church (stroke) 11 0 Soanes, C. J., St. John's (cox.) 9 10 ----- Average 11 3 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Maule, W., First Trinity 9 12 2. Gisborne, T. M., Lady Margaret 10 10 3. Wolstenholme, E. P., First Trinity 10 10 4. Garfit, A., First Trinity 12 8 5. Nicholson, C. A., First Trinity 13 5 6. Harkness, R., Lady Margaret 11 4 7. Vincent, S., First Trinity 10 10 Jackson, F. C., Lady Margaret (stroke) 11 0 Murdoch, G. F., Lady Margaret (cox.) 10 3 --------- Average 11 3-7/8 1848. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley. (First Heat.)_ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Rich, W. G., Christ Church 10 11 2. Haggard, M., Christ Church 10 4 3. Sykes, E., Worcester 11 0 4. Royds, F. C., Brasenose 11 4 5. Winter, G. R., Brasenose 11 6 6. Mansfield, A., Christ Church 10 10 7. Milman, W. H., Christ Church 11 0 Burton, E. C., Christ Church (stroke) 11 0 Soanes, C. J., St. John's (cox.) 9 13 ---------- Average 10 11-7/8 THAMES CLUB, LONDON, 2. st. lbs. 1. Bruce 10 6 2. Thompson 10 8 3. Blake 10 12 4. Playford 11 4 5. Robinson 12 0 6. Wallace 12 8 7. Chapman 11 3 Walmsley (stroke) 10 6 Field (cox.) 9 7 1849 _Putney to Mortlake, Thursday, March 29, 5.40 p.m. (First Race.)_ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Proby, H., Second Trinity 9 13 2. Jones, W. J. H., Second Trinity 10 13 3. De Rutzen, A., Third Trinity 11 8 4. Holden, C. J., Third Trinity 11 8 5. Bagshawe, W. L. G., Third Trinity 11 10 6. Waddington, W. H., Second Trinity 11 10 7. Hodgson, W. C., First Trinity 11 2 Wray, J. C., Second Trinity (stroke) 10 12 Booth, G., First Trinity (cox.) 10 7 ---------- Average 11 2-1/2 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Wauchope, D., Wadham 10 4 2. Chitty, J. W., Balliol 11 2 3. Tremayne, H. H., Christ Church 11 5 4. Burton, E. C., Christ Church 11 0 5. Steward, C. H., Oriel 12 0 6. Mansfield, A., Christ Church 11 8 7. Sykes, E., Worcester 11 0 Rich, W. G., Christ Church (stroke) 10 0 Soanes, C. J., St. John's (cox.) 10 8 ---------- Average 11 0-5/8 1849 _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, December 15, 2.44 p.m. (Second Race.)_ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Hornby, J. J., Brasenose 11 8 2. Houghton, W., Brasenose 11 2 3. Wodehouse, J., Exeter 11 9 4. Chitty, J. W., Balliol 11 9 5. Aitken, J., Exeter 12 1 6. Steward, C. H., Oriel 12 2 7. Sykes, E., Worcester 11 2 Rich, W. G., Christ Church (stroke) 10 2 Cotton, R. W., Christ Church (cox.) 9 0 ---------- Average 11 5-7/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Baldry, A., First Trinity 10 10 2. Pellew, H. E., Third Trinity 11 9 3. De Rutzen, A., Third Trinity 11 8 4. Holden, C. J., Third Trinity 11 11 5. Bagshawe, W. L. G., Third Trinity 12 0 6. Miller, H. J., Third Trinity 12 0 7. Hodgson, W. C., First Trinity 11 3 Wray, J. C., Clare (stroke) 11 0 Booth, G., First Trinity (cox.) 10 8 ---------- Average 11 5-3/4 1850. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley._ O.U.B.C. (_Walked over._) st. lbs. 1. Cheales, H. J., Exeter 10 11 2. Houghton, W., Brasenose 11 2 3. Hornby, J. J., Brasenose 11 8 4. Aitken, J., Exeter 12 1 5. Steward, C. H., Oriel 12 2 6. Chitty, J. W., Balliol 11 9 7. Sykes, E., Worcester 10 2 Rich, W. G., Christ Church (stroke) 11 2 Cotton, R. W., Christ Church (cox.) 9 0 ---------- Average 11 4-5/8 1850. _The Stewards' Cup, Henley._ O.U.B.C. (_Walked over._) st. lbs. 1. Hornby, J. J., Brasenose 11 8 2. Aitken, J., Exeter 12 1 3. Steward, C. H., Oriel 12 2 Chitty, J. W., Balliol (stroke) 11 9 Rich, W. G., Christ Church (cox.) 11 2 ---------- Average 11 12-1/4 1851. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley. (Final Heat.)_ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Rich, W. G., Christ Church 10 0 2. Nixon, W., Worcester 11 4 3. Hornby, J. J., Brasenose 11 0 4. Houghton, W., Brasenose 11 10 5. Aitken, J., Exeter 11 12 6. Greenall, R., Brasenose 11 2 7. Sykes, E., Worcester 11 4 Chitty, J. W., Balliol (stroke) 11 3 Burton, E. C., Christ Church (cox.) 11 0 ---------- Average 11 4-3/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Page, A. S., Lady Margaret 10 1 2. Longmore, W. S., Sydney 10 4 3. Formby, R., First Trinity 11 11 4. Cowie, H., First Trinity 11 12 5. Brandt, H., First Trinity 11 5 6. Holden, C. J., Third Trinity 11 11 7. Tuckey, H. E., Lady Margaret 10 13 Johnson, F. W., Third Trinity (stroke) 10 11 Crosse, C. H., Caius (cox.) 9 1 ---------- Average 11 1-1/2 1851. _The Stewards' Cup, Henley. (Final Heat.)_ C.U.B.C., 1. st. lbs. 1. Page, A. S., Lady Margaret 10 1 2. Longmore, W. S., Sidney 10 4 3. Tuckey, H. E., Lady Margaret 10 13 Johnson, F. W., Third Trinity (stroke) 10 11 Crosse, C. H., Caius (cox.) 9 1 BRASENOSE COLLEGE, OXON, 2. 1. Mescott 2. Errington 3. Hornby Greenall (stroke) Balguy (cox.) 1852. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 3, 1.4 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Prescot, K., Brasenose 10 0 2. Greenall, R., Brasenose 10 12 3. Nind, P. H., Christ Church 11 2 4. Buller, R. J., Balliol 12 4 5. Denne, H., University 12 8 6. Houghton, W., Brasenose 11 8 7. Meade-King, W. O., Pembroke 11 11 Chitty, J. W., Balliol (stroke) 11 7 Cotton, R. W., Christ Church (cox.) 9 2 ---------- Average 11 6-1/2 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Macnaghten, E., First Trinity 11 0 2. Brandt, H., First Trinity 11 5 3. Tuckey, H. E., Lady Margaret 11 3 4. Foord, H. B., First Trinity 12 6 5. Hawley, E., Sidney 12 4 6. Longmore, W. S., Sidney 11 4 7. Norris, W. A., Third Trinity 11 9 Johnson, F. W., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 8 Crosse, C. H., Caius (cox.) 9 7 ---------- Average 11 8-1/2 1852. _The Stewards' Cup, Henley. (Final Heat.)_ OXFORD, 1. 1. Greenall, R., Brasenose 2. Barker, H. R., Christ Church 3. Nind, P. H., Christ Church Meade-King, W. O., Pembroke (stroke) Balguy, F. St. J., Brasenose (cox.) ARGONAUTS, London, 2. 1. Pryor 2. Payne 3. L. Payne H. H. Playford (stroke) Burchett (cox.) 1853. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Short, W. F., New 10 8 2. Moore, P. H., Brasenose 9 12 3. King, W., Merton 11 11 4. Buller, R. J., Balliol 12 0 5. Denne, R. H., University 12 10 6. Nind, P. H., Christ Church 10 12 7. Prescot, K., Merton 10 3 Meade-King, W. O., Pembroke (stroke) 11 7 Marshall, T. H., Exeter (cox.) 10 1 ---------- Average 11 4-3/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Forster, G. B., Lady Margaret 10 10 2. Stephenson, S. V., Caius 10 8 3. Bramwell, A., First Trinity 10 12 4. Hawley, E., Sidney 12 1 5. Courage, E., First Trinity 12 12 6. Tomkinson, H. R., First Trinity 10 9 7. Blake, H., Corpus 10 11 Macnaghten, E., First Trinity (stroke) 10 6 Freshfield, E., First Trinity (cox.) 8 6 ---------- Average 11 1-5/8 1854. _Putney to Mortlake, April 8, 10.40 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Short, W. F., New 10 3 2. Hooke, A., Worcester 11 0 3. Pinckney, W., Exeter 11 2 4. Blundell, T., Christ Church 11 8 5. Hooper, T. A., Pembroke 11 5 6. Nind, P. H., Christ Church 10 13 7. Mellish, G. L., Pembroke 11 2 Meade-King, W. O., Pembroke (stroke) 11 8 Marshall, T. H., Exeter (cox.) 10 3 ---------- Average 11 1-3/4 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Galton, R. C., First Trinity 9 11 2. Nairne, S., Emmanuel 10 2 3. Davis, J. C., Third Trinity 11 1 4. Agnew, S., First Trinity 10 12 5. Courage, E., First Trinity 12 0 6. Johnson, H. F., Third Trinity 10 13 7. Blake, H., Corpus 11 1 Wright, J., Lady Margaret (stroke) 10 2 Smith, C. T., Caius (cox.) 9 12 ---------- Average 10 10-1/4 1855. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley. (Final Heat.)_ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Pearson, P. P., Lady Margaret 11 0 2. Graham, E. C., First Trinity 11 3 3. Schreiber, H. W., Trinity Hall 11 3 4. Fairrie, E. H., Trinity Hall 11 12 5. Williams, H., Lady Margaret 11 8 6. Johnson, H. F., Third Trinity 11 6 7. Blake, H., Corpus 11 11 Jones, H. R. M., Third Trinity (stroke) 10 2 Wingfield, W., First Trinity (cox.) 8 6 ---------- Average 11 5-1/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Short, W. F., New 10 9 2. Codrington, J. E., Brasenose 10 9 3. Everett, C, H., Balliol 11 2 4. Denne, R. H., University 12 6 5. Craster, T. H. University 12 7 6. Nind, P. H., Christ Church 11 8 7. Pinckney, W., Exeter 11 2 Hooke, A., Worcester (stroke) 10 6 Marshall, T. H., Exeter (cox.) 10 8 ---------- Average 11 4-3/8 1856. _Mortlake to Putney, Saturday, March 15, 10.45 a.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. King-Salter, J. P., Trinity Hall 9 13 2. Alderson, F. C., Third Trinity 11 3 3. Lewis-Lloyd, R., Third Trinity 11 12 4. Fairrie, E. H., Trinity Hall 12 10 5. Williams, H., Lady Margaret 12 8 6. M'Cormick, J., Lady Margaret 13 0 7. Snow, H., Lady Margaret 11 8 Jones, H. R. M., Third Trinity (stroke) 10 7 Wingfield, W., First Trinity (cox.) 9 0 ---------- Average 11 9-3/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Gurdon, P., University 10 8 2. Stocken, W. F., Exeter 10 1 3. Salmon, R. T., Exeter 10 10 4. Rocke, A. B., Christ Church 12 8 5. Townsend, R. N., Pembroke 12 8 6. Lonsdale, A. P., Balliol 11 4 7. Bennett, G., New 10 10 Thorley, J. T., Wadham (stroke) 9 12 Elers, F. W., Trinity (cox.) 9 2 ------------ Average 11 0-11/16 1857. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 4, 11.10 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Risley, R. W., Exeter 11 3 2. Gurdon, P., University 10 0 3. Arkell, J., Pembroke 10 10 4. Martin, R., Corpus 12 1 5. Wood, W. H., University 11 13 6. Warre, E., Balliol 13 3 7. Lonsdale, A. P., Balliol 12 0 Thorley, J. T., Wadham (stroke) 10 1 Elers, F. W., Trinity (cox.) 9 2 ---------- Average 11 9-1/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Holme, A. P., Second Trinity 11 8 2. Benn, A., Emmanuel 11 5 3. Holley, W. H., Trinity Hall 11 8 4. Smith, A. L., First Trinity 11 3 5. Serjeantson, J. J., First Trinity 12 4 6. Lewis-Lloyd, R., Magdalene 11 11 7. Pearson, P. P., Lady Margaret 11 2 Snow, H., Lady Margaret (stroke) 11 8 Wharton, R., Magdalene (cox.) 9 2 ------ Average 11 8 1858. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 27, 1 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Lubbock, H. H., Caius 11 4 2. Smith, A. L., First Trinity 11 4 3. Havart, W. J., Lady Margaret 11 4 4. Darroch, D., First Trinity 12 1 5. Williams, H., Lady Margaret 12 4 6. Lewis-Lloyd, R., Magdalene 11 13 7. Fairbairn, A. H., Second Trinity 11 12 Hall, J., Magdalene (stroke) 10 7 Wharton, R., Magdalene (cox.) 9 2 ---------- Average 11 7-7/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Risley, R. W., Exeter 11 8 2. Arkell, J., Pembroke 11 3 3. Lane, C. G., Christ Church 11 10 4. Austin, W. G. G., Magdalen 12 7 5. Lane, E., Balliol 11 10 6. Wood, W. H., University 12 0 7. Warre, E., Balliol 13 2 Thorley, J. T., Wadham (stroke) 10 3 Walpole, H. S., Balliol (cox.) 9 5 ---------- Average 11 10-5/8 1858. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley. (Final Heat.)_ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Paley, G. A., Lady Margaret 11 2 2. Smith, A. L., First Trinity 11 4 3. Havart, W. J., Lady Margaret 11 6 4. Darroch, D., First Trinity 12 2 5. Fairbairn, A. H., Second Trinity 11 13 6. Lewis-Lloyd, R., Magdalene 11 13 7. Royds, N., First Trinity 10 4 Hall, J., Magdalene (stroke) 10 5 Morland, F. T., First Trinity (cox.) 8 12 L.R.C., 2. st. lbs. 1. Leeds-Paine, F. 10 3 2. Walter, F. 10 0 3. Schlotel, C. 10 11 4. Ditton, E. G. 10 10 5. Farrar, W. 12 2 6. Paine, J. 12 5 7. Casamajor, A. 11 0 Playford, H. H. (stroke) 10 4 Weston, H. (cox.) 6 0 ---------- Average 10 13-1/8 1859. _Putney to Mortlake, Friday, April 15, 11 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Baxter, H. F., Brasenose 10 12 2. Clarke, R. F., St. John's 11 13 3. Lane, C. G., Christ Church 11 9 4. Lawless, Hon. V., Balliol 12 3 5. Morrison, G., Balliol 13 1 6. Risley, R. W., Exeter 11 2 7. Thomas, G. G. T., Balliol 12 0 Arkell, J., Pembroke (stroke) 10 12 Robarts, A. J., Christ Church (cox.) 9 1 ---------- Average 11 8-3/4 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Royds, N., First Trinity 10 6 2. Chaytor, A. J., Jesus. 10 13 3. Smith, A. L., First Trinity 11 11 4. Darroch, D., First Trinity 12 4 5. Williams, H., Lady Margaret 12 6 6. Lewis-Lloyd, R., Magdalene 11 9 7. Paley, G. A., Lady Margaret 11 7 Hall, J., Magdalene (stroke) 10 2 Morland, J. T., First Trinity (cox.) 9 0 ---------- Average 11 5-1/2 1859. _Grand Challenge Cup, Henley. (First Heat.)_ LONDON, 1. st. lbs. 1. Dunnage, G. 9 5 2. Foster, C. 10 0 3. Potter, F. 10 4 4. Dunnage, W. 11 7 5. Farrar, W. 12 4 6. Paine, T. 12 10 7. Casamajor, A. A. 10 9 Playford, H. H. (stroke) 10 3 Weston, H. (cox.) 6 4 ------ Average 10 12 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Strong, C. T., University 10 11 2. Baxter, H. F., Brasenose 11 3 3. Lane, E., Balliol 12 1 4. Warre, E., Balliol 12 10 5. Morrison, G., Balliol 13 5 6. Arkell, J., Pembroke 11 2 7. Lane, C. G., Christ Church 11 12 Risley, R. W., Exeter (stroke) 11 1 Robarts, A. J., Christ Church (cox.) 9 1 ---------- Average 11 10-7/8 _Final Heat._ LONDON, 1. (as before.) CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Heathcote, S., First Trinity 9 7 2. Chaytor, H. J., Jesus 11 2 3. Ingham, J. P., Third Trinity 10 12 4. Lewis-Lloyd, R., Magdalene 11 10 5. Holley, W. H., Trinity Hall 12 0 6. Collings, H. H., Third Trinity 10 12 7. Royds, N., First Trinity 10 4 Hall, J., Magdalene (stroke) 10 5 Morland, J. T., First Trinity (cox.) 8 13 ---------- Average 10 11-3/4 1860. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 31, 8.15 a.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Heathcote, S., First Trinity 10 3 2. Chaytor, H. J., Jesus 11 4 3. Ingles, D., First Trinity 10 13 4. Blake, J. S., Corpus 12 9 5. Coventry, M., Trinity Hall 12 8 6. Cherry, B. N., Clare 12 1 7. Fairbairn, A. H., Second Trinity 11 10 Hall, J., Magdalene (stroke) 10 4 Morland, J. T., First Trinity (cox.) 9 0 ---------- Average 11 6-1/2 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Macqueen, J. N., University 11 7 2. Norsworthy, G., Magdalen 11 0 3. Halsey, T. F., Christ Church 11 11 4. Young, J., Corpus 12 8 5. Morrison, G., Balliol 12 13 6. Baxter, H. F., Brasenose 11 7 7. Strong, C. T., University 11 2 Risley, R. W., Exeter (stroke) 11 8 Robarts, A. J., Christ Church (cox.) 9 9 ---------- Average 11 10-1/2 1861. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 23, 11 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Champneys, W., Brasenose 10 11 2. Merriman, E. B., Exeter 10 1 3. Medlicott, H. E., Wadham 12 4 4. Robertson, W., Wadham 11 3 5. Morrison, G., Balliol 12 8 6. Poole, A. R., Trinity 12 3 7. Hopkins, H. G., Corpus 10 8 Hoare, W. M., Exeter (stroke) 10 10 Ridsdale, S. O. B., Wadham (cox.) 9 0 ---------- Average 11 4-1/4 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Richards, G. H., First Trinity 10 4 2. Chaytor, H. J., Jesus 11 3 3. Tarleton, W. H., St. John's 11 0 4. Blake, J. S., Corpus 12 10 5. Coventry, M., Trinity Hall 13 3 6. Collings, H. H., Third Trinity 10 11 7. Fitzgerald, R. U. P., Trinity Hall 11 2 Hall, J., Magdalene (stroke) 10 6 Gaskell, T. K., Third Trinity (cox.) 8 3 ---------- Average 11 4-7/8 1862. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 12, 8 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Woodgate, W. B., Brasenose 11 6 2. Wynne, O. S., Christ Church 11 3 3. Jacobson, W. B. R., Christ Church 12 4 4. Burton, R. E. L., Christ Church 12 5 5. Morrison, A., Balliol 12 8-1/2 6. Poole, A. R., Trinity 12 5 7. Carr, C. R., Wadham 11 2-1/2 Hoare, W. M., Exeter (stroke) 11 1 Hopwood, F. E., Christ Church (cox.) 7 3 ---------- Average 11 11-3/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Gorst, P. F., Lady Margaret 10 4 2. Chambers, J. G., Third Trinity 11 8 3. Sanderson, E., Corpus 10 10 4. Smyly, W. C., First Trinity 11 5 5. Fitzgerald. R. U. P., Trinity Hall 11 3 6. Collings, H. H., Third Trinity 11 2 7. Buchanan, J. G., First Trinity 10 12 Richards, G. H., First Trinity (stroke) 10 5 Archer, F. H., Corpus (cox.) 5 2 ---------- Average 10 13-1/8 1863. _Mortlake to Putney, Saturday, March 28, 10.25 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Shepherd, R., Brasenose 11 0-1/2 2. Kelly, F. H., University 11 5-1/2 3. Jacobson, W. B. R., Christ Church 12 4 4. Woodgate, W. B., Brasenose 11 11 5. Morrison, A., Balliol 12 4 6. Awdry, W., Balliol 11 4 7. Carr, C. R., Wadham 11 3-1/2 Hoare, W. M., Exeter (stroke) 11 7-1/2 Hopwood, F. E., Christ Church (cox.) 8 4-1/2 ---------- Average 11 8-1/2 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Hawkshaw, J. C., Third Trinity 11 0 2. Smyly, W. C., First Trinity 11 4 3. Morgan, R. H., Emmanuel 11 3 4. Wilson, J. B., Pembroke 11 10 5. La Mothe, C. H., St. John's 12 3 6. Kinglake, R. A., Third Trinity 12 0 7. Chambers, J. G., Third Trinity 11 6 Stanning, J., First Trinity (stroke) 10 6 Archer, F. H., Corpus (cox.) 5 9-1/2 ---------- Average 11 5-3/4 1864. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 19, 11.30 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Roberts, C. P., Trinity 10 9 2. Awdry, W., Balliol 11 4-1/2 3. Kelly, F. H., University 11 9 4. Parson, J. C., Trinity 12 9 5. Jacobson, W. B. R., Christ Church 12 3-1/2 6. Seymour, A. E., University 11 1 7. Brown, M. M., Trinity 11 0 Pocklington, D., Brasenose (stroke) 11 4 Tottenham, C. R. W., Christ Church (cox.) 7 3 ---------- Average 11 7-1/2 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Hawkshaw, J. C., Third Trinity 11 3 2. Pigott, E. V., Corpus 11 9 3. Watson, H. S., Pembroke 12 4 4. Hawkins, W. W., Lady Margaret 12 0 5. Kinglake, R. A., Third Trinity 12 4 6. Borthwick, G., First Trinity 12 1 7. Steavenson, D. F., Trinity Hall 12 1 Selwyn, J. R., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 0 Archer, F. H., Corpus (cox.) 6 6 ---------- Average 11 11-1/2 1865. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 8, 1.3 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Raikes, R. T., Merton 11 0 2. Senhouse, H. P., Christ Church 11 1 3. Henley, E. F., Oriel 12 13 4. Coventry, G. G., Pembroke 11 12 5. Morrison, A., Balliol 12 6 6. Wood, T., Pembroke 12 2 7. Schneider, H., Trinity 11 10 Brown, M. M., Trinity (stroke) 11 4 Tottenham, C. R. W., Christ Church (cox.) 7 13 ---------- Average 11 11-1/4 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Watney, H., Lady Margaret 11 1 2. Beebee, M. H. L., Lady Margaret 10 12 3. Pigott, E. V., Corpus 11 12 4. Kinglake, R. A., Third Trinity 12 8 5. Steavenson, D. F., Trinity Hall 12 4 6. Borthwick, G., First Trinity 11 13 7. Griffiths, W. R., Third Trinity 11 8 Lawes, C. B., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 7 Archer, F. H., Corpus (cox.) 7 3 ------ Average 11 9 1866. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 24, 7.48 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Raikes, R. T., Merton 11 0 2. Crowder, F., Brasenose 11 11 3. Freeman, W. L., Merton 12 7 4. Willan, F., Exeter 12 2 5. Henley, E. F., Oriel 13 0 6. Wood, W. W., University 12 4 7. Senhouse, H. P., Christ Church 11 3 Brown, M. M., Trinity (stroke) 11 5 Tottenham, C. R. W., Christ Church (cox.) 7 13 ---------- Average 11 12-3/4 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Still, J., Caius 11 6 2. Selwyn, J. R., Third Trinity 11 6 3. Bourke, J. U., First Trinity 12 3 4. Fortescue, H. J., Magdalene 12 2-1/2 5. Steavenson, D. F., Trinity Hall 12 5 6. Kinglake, R. A., Third Trinity 12 9 7. Watney, H., Lady Margaret 10 12 Griffiths, W. R., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 9 Forbes, A., Lady Margaret (cox.) 8 0 ---------- Average 11 11 1867. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 13, 8.50 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Bowman, W. P., University 10 11 2. Fish, J. H., Worcester 12 1 3. Carter, E. S., Worcester 11 12 4. Wood, W. W., University 12 6 5. Tinné, J. C., University 13 4 6. Crowder, F., Brasenose 11 11 7. Willan, F., Exeter 12 3 Marsden, R. G., Merton (stroke) 11 11 Tottenham, C. R. W., Christ Church (cox.) 8 8 ---------- Average 12 0-1/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Anderson, W. H., First Trinity 11 0 2. Collard, J. M., Lady Margaret 11 4 3. Bourke, J. U., First Trinity 12 9 4. Gordon, Hon. J. H., First Trinity 12 3 5. Cunningham, F. E., King's 12 12 6. Still, J., Caius 11 12 7. Watney, H., Lady Margaret 11 0 Griffiths, W. R., Third Trinity (stroke) 12 0 Forbes, A., Lady Margaret (cox.) 8 2 ------ Average 11 12 1868. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 4, 12 noon._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Benson, W. D., Balliol 10 13 2. Yarborough, A. C., Lincoln 11 8 3. Ross of Bladensburgh, R., Exeter 11 8 4. Marsden, R. G., Merton 11 13 5. Tinné, J. C., University 13 7 6. Willan, F., Exeter 12 5 7. Carter, E. S., Worcester 11 8 Darbishire, S. D., Balliol (stroke) 11 3 Tottenham, C. R. W., Christ Church (cox.) 8 7 ------ Average 11 12 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Anderson, W. H., First Trinity 11 2 2. Nichols, J. P., Third Trinity 11 3 3. Wood, J. G., Emmanuel 12 6 4. Lowe, W. H., Christ's 12 4 5. Nadin, H. T., Pembroke 12 11 6. MacMichael, W. F., Downing 12 2 7. Still, J., Caius 12 1 Pinckney, W. J., First Trinity (stroke) 10 10 Warner, T. D., Trinity Hall (cox.) 8 4 ------ Average 11 11 1869. _Putney to Mortlake, Wednesday, March 17, 3.58 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Woodhouse, S. H., University 10 13 2. Tahourdin, R., St. John's 11 11 3. Baker, T. S., Queen's 12 8 4. Willan, F., Exeter 12 2-1/8 5. Tinné, J. C., University 13 10 6. Yarborough, A. C., Lincoln 11 11 7. Benson, W. D., Balliol 11 7 Darbishire, S. D., Balliol (stroke) 11 9 Neilson, D. A., St. John's (cox.) 7 10 ---------- Average 12 0-1/4 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Rushton, J. A., Emmanuel 11 5 2. Ridley, J. H., Jesus 11 10 3. Dale, J. W., Lady Margaret 11 12 4. Young, F. J., Christ's 12 4 5. MacMichael, W. F., Downing 12 4 6. Anderson, W. H., First Trinity 11 4 7. Still, J., Caius 12 1 Goldie, J. H. D., Lady Margaret (stroke) 12 1 Gordon, H. E., First Trinity (cox.) 7 8 ---------- Average 11 12-1/8 1869. _Putney to Mortlake, August 27._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Willan, F., Exeter 11 10 2. Yarborough, A. C., Lincoln 12 2 3. Tinné, J. C., University 13 8 Darbishire, S. D., Balliol (stroke) 11 6 Hall, J. H., Corpus (cox.) 7 2 HARVARD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Fay, J. S., Boston 11 1 2. Lyman, F. O., Hawaiian Islands 11 1 3. Simmonds, W. H., Concord 12 2 Loring, A. P., Boston (stroke) 11 0 Burnham, A., Chicago (cox.) 7 10 1870. _Putney to Mortlake, Wednesday, April 6, 5.14 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Randolph, E. S. L., Third Trinity 10 11-1/2 2. Ridley, J. H., Jesus 11 9-1/2 3. Dale, J. W., Lady Margaret 12 2-1/2 4. Spencer, E. A. A., Second Trinity 12 4-1/2 5. Lowe, W. H., Christ's 12 7-1/2 6. Phelps, E. S., Sidney 12 1-1/2 7. Strachan, J. F., Trinity Hall 11 13 Goldie, J. H. D., Lady Margaret (stroke) 12 0 Gordon, H. E., First Trinity (cox.) 7 12 ---------- Average 11 13 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Mirehouse, R. W. B., University 11 0 2. Lewis, A. G. P., University 11 2-1/2 3. Baker, T. S., Queen's 12 9 4. Edwardes-Moss, J. E., Balliol 13 0 5. Payne, F. E. H., St. John's 12 10 6. Woodhouse, S. H., University 11 4 7. Benson, W. D., Balliol 11 13 Darbishire, S. D., Balliol (stroke) 11 11 Hall, F. H., Corpus (cox.) 7 7 ---------- Average 11 13 1871 _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 1, 10.8 a.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Follett, J. S., Third Trinity 11 6-1/2 2. Close, John B., First Trinity 11 8 3. Lomax, H., First Trinity 12 2 4. Spencer, E. A. A., Second Trinity 12 9 5. Lowe, W. H., Christ's 12 10 6. Phelps, E. L., Sidney 12 1 7. Randolph, E. S. L., Third Trinity 11 10 Goldie, J. H. D., Lady Margaret (stroke) 12 6-1/2 Gordon, H. E., First Trinity (cox.) 7 13 ---------- Average 12 2 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Woodhouse, S. H., University 11 6-1/2 2. Giles, E., Christ Church 11 13-1/2 3. Baker, T. S., Queen's 13 3-1/2 4. Malan, E. C., Worcester 13 1 5. Edwardes-Moss, J. E., Balliol 12 8-1/2 6. Payne, F. E. H., St. John's 12 9-1/2 7. Bunbury, J. M'C., Brasenose 11 8 Lesley, R., Pembroke (stroke) 11 10-1/2 Hall, F. H., Corpus (cox.) 7 10-1/2 ---------- Average 12 4 1872. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 23, 1.35 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Close, James B., First Trinity 11 3 2. Benson, C. W., Third Trinity 11 4 3. Robinson, G. M., Christ's 11 12 4. Spencer, E. A. A., Second Trinity 12 8-1/2 5. Read, C. S., First Trinity 12 8 6. Close, John B., First Trinity 11 10 7. Randolph, E. S. L., First Trinity 11 11 Goldie, J. H. D., Lady Margaret (stroke) 12 5 Roberts, C. H., Jesus (cox.) 6 6-1/2 ---------- Average 11 12 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Ornsby, J. A., Lincoln 11 0-1/2 2. Knollys, C. C., Magdalen 10 12 3. Payne, F. E. H., St. John's 12 11 4. Nicholson, A. W., Magdalen 12 2-1/2 5. Malan, E. C., Worcester 13 3 6. Mitchison, R. S., Pembroke 12 4-1/2 7. Lesley, R., Pembroke 11 13 Houblon, J. H. A., Christ Church (stroke) 10 5 Hall, F. H., Corpus (cox.) 8 0 ---------- Average 11 11-1/8 1873. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday March 29, 2.32 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Close, James B., First Trinity 11 3 2. Hoskyns, E., Jesus 11 2 3. Peabody, J. E., First Trinity 11 7 4. Lecky-Brown, W. C., Jesus 12 1-1/2 5. Turnbull, T. S., Trinity Hall 12 12 6. Read, C. S., First Trinity 12 13 7. Benson, C. W., Third Trinity 11 5-1/2 Rhodes, H. E., Jesus (stroke) 11 1-1/2 Candy, C. H., Caius (cox.) 7 5 ---------- Average 11 10 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Knollys, C.C., Magdalen 10 11 2. Little, J. B., Christ Church 10 11 3. Farrer, M. G., Brasenose 11 13-1/2 4. Nicholson, A. W., Magdalen 12 5 5. Mitchison, R. S., Pembroke 12 2 6. Sherwood, W. E., Christ Church 11 1 7. Ornsby, J. A., Lincoln 11 3 Dowding, F. T., St. John's (stroke) 11 0 Frewer, G. E., St. John's (cox.) 7 10 ---------- Average 11 5 1874. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 28, 11.14 a.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Hibbert, J. P., Lady Margaret 11 1-1/2 2. Armytage, G. F., Jesus 11 8 3. Close, James B., First Trinity 11 0-1/2 4. Escourt, A. S., Trinity Hall 11 10-1/2 5. Lecky-Brown, W. C., Jesus 12 5 6. Aylmer, J. A., First Trinity 12 11 7. Read, C. S., First Trinity 12 11-1/2 Rhodes, H. E., Jesus (stroke) 11 7 Candy, C. H., Caius (cox.) 7 5 ---------- Average 11 10-3/8 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Benson, H. W., Brasenose 11 0 2. Sinclair, J. S., Oriel 11 5-1/2 3. Sherwood, W. E., Christ Church 11 8 4. Harding, A. R., Merton 11 1-1/2 5. Williams, J., Lincoln 13 0-1/2 6. Nicholson, A. W., Magdalen 12 10 7. Stayner, H. J., St. John's 11 10-1/2 Way, J. P., Brasenose (stroke) 10 9 Lambert, W. F. A., Wadham (cox.) 7 2 ------------- Average 11 9-1/8 1875. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 20, 1.13 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Courtney, H. M'D., Pembroke 11 0 2. Marriott, H. P., Brasenose 11 12 3. Banks, J. E., University 11 11 4. Mitchison, A. M., Pembroke 12 12 5. Stayner, H. J., St. John's 12 2-1/2 6. Boustead, J. M., University 12 4 7. Edwardes Moss, T. C., Brasenose 12 5 Way, J. P., Brasenose (stroke) 10 11 Hopwood, E. O., Christ Church (cox.) 8 3-1/2 ---------- Average 11 12 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Hibbert, J. P., Lady Margaret 11 3 2. Close, W. B., First Trinity 11 10 3. Dicker, G. C., First Trinity 11 8 4. Michell, W. G., First Trinity 11 11 5. Phillips, C. A., Jesus 12 4-1/2 6. Aylmer, J. A., First Trinity 12 12 7. Benson, C. W., Third Trinity 11 3 Rhodes, H. E., Jesus (stroke) 11 7 Davis, G. L., Clare (cox.) 6 10 ---------- Average 11 11 1876. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 8, 2.2 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Brancker, P. W., Jesus 11 3-1/2 2. Lewis, T. W., Caius 11 8 3. Close, W. B., First Trinity 11 8 4. Gurdon, C., Jesus 12 9-3/4 5. Pike, G. L., Caius 12 9 6. Hockin, T. E., Jesus 12 8 7. Rhodes, H. E., Jesus 11 13 Shafto, C. D., Jesus (stroke) 11 9-1/2 Davis, G. L., Clare (cox.) 6 13 ---------- Average 11 13 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Courtney, H. M'D., Pembroke 11 1-3/4 2. Mercer, F. R., Corpus 11 6 3. Hobart, W. H., Exeter 11 11 4. Mitchison, A. M., Pembroke 13 0 5. Boustead, J. M., University 12 5-3/4 6. Stayner, H. J., St. John's 12 2-1/2 7. Marriott, H. P., Brasenose 11 9-3/4 Edwardes-Moss, T. C., Brasenose (stroke) 12 3-1/4 Craven, W. D., Worcester (cox.) 7 6-1/2 ---------- Average 11 13 1877. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 24, 8.27 a.m. (Dead Heat.)_ OXFORD. [+] st. lbs. 1. Cowles, D. J., St. John's 11 3-1/2 2. Boustead, J. M., University 12 9 3. Pelham, H., Magdalen 12 7-1/4 4. Grenfell, W. H., Balliol 12 10 5. Stayner, H. J., St. John's 12 5-1/2 6. Mulholland, A. J., Balliol 12 7-1/4 7. Edwardes-Moss, T. C., Brasenose 12 2 Marriott, H. P., Brasenose (stroke) 12 0-1/2 Beaumont, F. M., New (cox.) 7 0 ---------- Average 12 3 CAMBRIDGE. [+] st. lbs. 1. Hoskyns, B. G., Jesus 10 11-1/2 2. Lewis, T. W., Caius 11 10 3. Fenn, J. C., First Trinity 11 6 4. Close, W. B., First Trinity 11 12 5. Pike, L. G., Caius 12 8 6. Gurdon, C., Jesus 12 13-1/2 7. Hockin, T. S., Jesus 12 11-1/2 Shafto, C. D., Jesus (stroke) 12 1-1/2 Davis, G. L., Clare (cox.) 7 6 ---------- Average 11 13 1878. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 13, 10.15 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Ellison, W. A., University 10 13-1/2 2. Cowles, D. J., St. John's 11 6 3. Southwell, H. B., Pembroke 12 8 4. Grenfell, W. H., Balliol 12 11 5. Pelham, H., Magdalen 12 9-1/2 6. Burgess, G. F., Keble 13 3-1/2 7. Edwardes-Moss, T. C., Brasenose 12 3 Marriott, H. P., Brasenose (stroke) 12 2-1/2 Beaumont, F. M., New (cox.) 7 5 ---------- Average 12 3 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Jones, L. I. R., Jesus 10 9 2. Watson-Taylor, J. A., Magdalene 11 9-3/4 3. Barker, T. W., First Trinity 12 6 4. Spurrell, R. J., Trinity Hall 11 13-1/2 5. Pike, L. G., Caius 12 8-1/2 6. Gurdon, C., Jesus 12 10-1/4 7. Hockin, T. E., Jesus 12 4-1/2 Prest, E. H., Jesus (stroke) 10 12-3/4 Davis, G. L., Clare (cox.) 7 5-1/2 ---------- Average 11 12 1879. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 5, 12.45 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Prest, E. H., Jesus 11 2 2. Sandford, H., Lady Margaret 11 6-3/4 3. Bird, A. H. S., First Trinity 11 8 4. Gurdon, C., Jesus 13 0-1/2 5. Hockin, T. E., Jesus 12 4-1/4 6. Fairbairn, C., Jesus 12 7-1/2 7. Routledge, T., Emmanuel 12 7-1/2 Davis, R. D., First Trinity (stroke) 12 4-1/2 Davis, G. L., Clare (cox.) 7 7 ---------- Average 12 1 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Wharton, J. H. T., Magdalen 11 3-1/4 2. Robinson, H. M., New 11 2-1/2 3. Disney, H. W., Hertford 12 7 4. Southwell, H. B., Pembroke 12 9 5. Cosby-Burrowes, T., Trinity 12 9 6. Rowe, G. D., University 11 13 7. Hobart, W. H., Exeter 11 12 Marriott, H. P., Brasenose (stroke) 12 2-1/2 Beaumont, F. M., New (cox.) 7 5 ---------- Average 11 13 1880. _Putney to Mortlake, Monday, March 22, 10.40 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Poole, R. H. J., Brasenose 10 6 2. Brown, D. E., Hertford 12 6 3. Hargreaves, F. M., Keble 12 2 4. Southwell, H. B., Pembroke 13 0 5. Kindersley, R. S., Exeter 12 6 6. Rowe, G. D., University 12 3 7. Wharton, J. H. T., Magdalen 11 11 West, L. R., Christ Church (stroke) 11 1 Hunt, C. W., Corpus (cox.) 7 5 ---------- Average 11 13-3/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Prest, E. H., Jesus 10 12 2. Sandford, H., Lady Margaret 11 5-1/2 3. Barton, W., Lady Margaret 11 3-1/2 4. Warlow, W. M., Queens' 12 0 5. Armytage, N. C., Jesus 12 2-1/2 6. Davis, R. D., First Trinity 12 8-1/2 7. Prior, R. D., Queens' 11 13 Baillie, W. W., Jesus (stroke) 11 2-1/2 Clarke, B. S., Lady Margaret (cox.) 7 0 ---------- Average 11 7 1881. _Putney to Mortlake, Friday, April 8, 8.34 a.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Poole, R. H. J., Brasenose 10 11 2. Pinckney, R. A., Exeter 11 3 3. Paterson, A. R., Trinity 12 7 4. Buck, E., Hertford 11 11 5. Kindersley, R. S., Exeter 13 3 6. Brown, D. E., Hertford 12 7 7. Wharton, J. H. T., Magdalen 11 10 West, L. R., Christ Church (stroke) 11 0-1/2 Lyon, E. H., Hertford (cox.) 7 0 ---------- Average 11 10 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Gridley, R. G., Third Trinity 10 7 2. Sandford, H., Lady Margaret 11 10-1/2 3. Watson-Taylor, J. A., Magdalene 12 3-1/2 4. Atkin, P. W., Jesus 11 13 5. Lambert, E., Pembroke 12 0 6. Hutchinson, A. M., Jesus 11 13 7. Moore, C. W., Christ's 11 9 Brooksbank, E. C., Trinity Hall (stroke) 11 8 Woodhouse, H., Trinity Hall (cox.) 7 2 ---------- Average 11 9-3/4 1882. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 1, 1.2 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Bourne, G. C., New 10 13 2. De Haviland, R. S., Corpus 11 1 3. Fort, G. S., Hertford 12 3-1/2 4. Paterson, A. R., Trinity 12 12 5. Kindersley, R. S., Exeter 13 4-1/2 6. Buck, E., Hertford 12 0 7. Brown, D. E., Hertford 12 6 Higgins, A. H., Magdalen (stroke) 9 6-1/2 Lyon, E. H., Hertford (cox.) 7 12 ---------- Average 11 11-1/8 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Jones, Ll. R., Jesus 11 1 2. Hutchinson, M., Jesus 12 1-1/2 3. Fellowes, J. C., First Trinity 12 7 4. Atkin, P. W., Jesus 12 11-1/2 5. Lambert, E., Pembroke 11 12 6. Fairbairn, S., Jesus 13 0 7. Moore, C. W., Christ's 11 7 Smith, S. P., First Trinity (stroke) 11 1 Hunt, P. L., Cavendish (cox.) 7 5 ---------- Average 11 12-5/8 1883. _Putney to Mortlake, Thursday, March 15, 5.39 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Bourne, G. C., New 10 11-1/2 2. De Haviland, R. S., Corpus 11 4 3. Fort, G. S., Hertford 12 0 4. Puxley, E. L., Brasenose 12 6-1/2 5. Maclean, D. H., New 13 2-1/2 6. Paterson, A. R., New Inn Hall 13 1 7. Roberts, G. Q., Hertford 11 1 West, L. R., New Inn Hall (stroke) 11 0 Lyon, E. H., Hertford (cox.) 8 1 ---------- Average 11 12 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Gridley, R. G., Third Trinity 10 7 2. Fox, F. W., First Trinity 12 2 3. Moore, C. W., Christ's 11 13 4. Atkin, P. W., Jesus 12 1 5. Churchill, F. E., Third Trinity 13 4 6. Swann, S., Trinity Hall 12 12 7. Fairbairn, S., Jesus 13 4 Meyrick, F. C., Trinity Hall 11 7 Hunt, P. L., Cavendish (cox.) 8 1 ---------- Average 12 2-3/4 1884. _Putney to Mortlake, Monday, April 7, 12.54 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Gridley, R. C., Third Trinity 10 6 2. Eyre, G. H., Corpus 11 3-1/2 3. Straker, F., Jesus 12 2 4. Swann, S., Trinity Hall 13 3 5. Churchill, F. E., Third Trinity 13 2-1/2 6. Haig, E. W., Third Trinity 11 6-2/3 7. Moore, C. W., Christ's 11 12-3/4 Pitman, F. J., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 11-1/2 Biscoe, C. E. T., Jesus (cox.) 8 2 ---------- Average 11 13 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Shortt, A. G., Christ Church 11 2 2. Stock, L., Exeter 11 0 3. Carter, C. R., Corpus 12 10 4. Taylor, P. W., Lincoln 13 1 5. McLean, D. H., New 12 11-1/2 6. Paterson, A. R., Trinity 13 4 7. Blandy, W. C., Exeter 10 13 Curry, W. D. B., Exeter (stroke) 10 4 Humphreys, F. J., Brasenose (cox.) 7 4 ------------ Average 11 12-11/16 1885. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, March 28, 12.26 p.m._ OXFORD, 1. st. lbs. 1. Unwin, W. S., Magdalen 10 10-1/2 2. Clemons, J. S., Corpus 11 9 3. Taylor, P. W., Lincoln 13 6-1/2 4. Carter, C. R., Corpus 13 2 5. McLean, H., New 12 12 6. Wethered, F. O., Christ Church 12 6 7. McLean, D. H., New 13 1-1/2 Girdlestone, H., Magdalen (stroke) 12 7 Humphreys, F. J., Brasenose (cox.) 8 2 ------------ Average 12 6-13/16 CAMBRIDGE, 2. st. lbs. 1. Symonds, N. P., Lady Margaret 10 8 2. Hardacre, W. R., Trinity Hall 10 8 3. Perrott, W. H. W., First Trinity 12 2-1/2 4. Swann, S., Trinity Hall 13 3-1/2 5. Churchill, F. E., Third Trinity 13 2-1/2 6. Haigh, E. W., Third Trinity 11 8 7. Coke, R. H., Trinity Hall 12 4 Pitman, F. J., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 11-1/2 Wilson, G., Third Trinity (cox.) 7 11 ---------- Average 11 13 1886. _Putney to Mortlake, Saturday, April 3, 1.38 p.m._ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Bristowe, C. J., Trinity Hall 10 8-1/2 2. Symonds, N. P., Lady Margaret 10 10 3. Walmsley, J., Trinity Hall 12 1 4. Flower, A. D., Clare 12 8-1/2 5. Fairbairn, S., Jesus 13 9 6. Muttlebury, S. D., Third Trinity 13 3 7. Barclay, C., Third Trinity 11 3 Pitman, F. J., Third Trinity (stroke) 11 10-1/2 Baker, G. H., Queen's (cox.) 6 9 ------------ Average 11 13-11/16 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Unwin, W. S., Magdalen 10 11 2. Bryne, L. S. R., Trinity 11 11-1/2 3. Robertson, W. St. L., Wadham 11 7-1/2 4. Carter, C. R., Corpus 13 0-1/2 5. McLean, H., New 12 12 6. Wethered, F. O., Christ Church 12 6 7. McLean, D., New 13 0 Girdlestone, H., Magdalen (stroke) 12 9-1/2 Maynard, W. E., Exeter (cox.) 7 12 ------------ Average 12 3-23/32 1887. _Putney to Mortlake, March 26. (Time, 20 min. 52 sec.)_ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. McKenna, R., Trinity Hall 10 7 2. Barclay, F., Third Trinity 11 1 3. Landale, P., Third Trinity 12 0-1/2 4. Oxford, J. R., King's 13 0 5. Fairbairn, S., Jesus 13 5-1/2 6. Muttlebury, S. D., Third Trinity 13 6-1/2 7. Barclay, C., Third Trinity 11 8 Bristowe, C. J., Trinity Hall (stroke) 10 7-1/2 Baker, G. H., Queen's (cox.) 7 1 OXFORD,[20] 2. st. lbs. 1. Holland, W. F. C., Brasenose 10 7 2. Nickalls, G., Magdalen 12 1 3. Williams, L. G., Corpus 12 5 4. Parker, H. R., Brasenose 13 3 5. McLean, H., New 12 8-1/2 6. Wethered, F. O., Christ Church 12 5 7. McLean, D. H., New 12 9 Titherington, A. F., Queen's (stroke) 12 2 Clarke, H. F., Exeter (cox.) 7 9 [20] Oxford broke an oar (No. 7) at Barnes Bridge. 1888. _Putney to Mortlake, March 24. (Time, 20 min. 48 sec.)_ CAMBRIDGE, 1. st. lbs. 1. Symonds-Tayler, R. H., Trinity Hall 10 7 2. Hannen, L., Trinity Hall 11 3 3. Orde, R. H. P., First Trinity 11 7 4. Bell, C. B. P., Trinity Hall 12 13-1/2 5. Muttlebury, S. D., Third Trinity 13 7 6. Landale, P., Trinity Hall 12 4 7. Maugham, F. H., Trinity Hall 11 5 Gardner, J. C., Emmanuel (stroke) 11 7 Roxburgh, J. R., Trinity Hall (cox.) 8 2 OXFORD, 2. st. lbs. 1. Holland, W. F. C., Brasenose 11 0 2. Parker, A. P., Magdalen 11 11 3. Bradford, W. E., Christ Church 11 9 4. Fothergill, S. R., New 12 10 5. Cross, H., Hertford 13 0-1/2 6. Parker, H. R., Brasenose 13 5 7. Nickalls, G., Magdalen 12 4 Frere, L., Brasenose (stroke) 10 0-1/2 Stewart, A., New (cox.) 7 13-1/2 [Illustration: OXFORD COURSE _London: Longmans & Co._ E. Weller] O.U.B.C.: COLLEGE AND CLUB RACES. _OXFORD UNIVERSITY COLLEGE EIGHTS: HEAD OF THE RIVER._ 1815 Brasenose (?) 1822 Christ Church 1823 No races 1824 Exeter 1825 Christ Church 1826 Christ Church 1827 Brasenose 1828 {Balliol {Christ Church later on 1829 Christ Church 1830 No races 1831} No records 1832} 1833 Queen's 1834 Christ Church 1835 Christ Church 1836 Christ Church 1837 Queen's 1838 Exeter 1839 Brasenose[21] 1840 Brasenose 1841 University 1842 Oriel 1843 University 1844 Christ Church 1845 Brasenose 1846 Brasenose 1847 Christ Church 1848 Christ Church 1849 Christ Church 1850 Wadham 1851 Balliol 1852 Brasenose 1853 Brasenose 1854 Brasenose 1855 Balliol 1856 Wadham 1857 Exeter 1858 Exeter 1859 Balliol 1860 Balliol 1861 Trinity 1862 Trinity 1863 Trinity 1864 Trinity 1865 Brasenose 1866 Brasenose 1867 Brasenose 1868 Corpus 1869 University 1870 University 1871 University 1872 Pembroke 1873 Balliol 1874 University 1875 University 1876 Brasenose 1877 University 1878 University 1879 Balliol 1880 Magdalen 1881 Hertford 1882 Exeter 1883 Exeter 1884 Exeter 1885 Corpus 1886 Magdalen 1887 New College [21] O.U.B.C. founded. _WINNERS OF THE UNIVERSITY PAIR-OARS._ 1839 R. Menzies, F. W. Menzies, R. S. Fox (cox.), University. 1840 O. B. Barttelot, Corpus Christi; E. Royds, Brasenose; T. Evett (cox.), Corpus Christi. 1841 H. E. C. Stapylton, W. Bolland, J. H. Griffiths (cox.), University. 1842 W. Wilberforce, G. E. Hughes, G. B. Lewis (cox.), Oriel. 1843 M. Haggard, W. H. Milman, F. J. Prout (cox.), Christ Church. 1844 M. Haggard, W. H. Milman, F. J. Prout (cox.), Christ Church. 1845 M. Haggard, W. H. Milman, C. J. Fuller (cox.), Christ Church. 1846 A. Milman, E. C. Burton, H. Ingram (cox.), Christ Church. 1847 W. G. Rich, A. Milman, Christ Church. 1848 T. H. Michel, C. H. Steward, Oriel. 1849 E. M. Clissold, Exeter; J. W. Chitty, Balliol. 1850 J. C. Bengoagh, Oriel; J. W. Chitty, Balliol. 1851 R. Greenall, R. Prescot, Brasenose. 1852 W. F. Short, W. L. Rogers, New. 1853 C. Cadogan, Christ Church; W. F. Short, New. 1854 C. Cadogan, Christ Church; W. F. Short, New. 1855 A. F. Lonsdale, E. Warre, Balliol. 1856 E. Warre, A. F. Lonsdale, Balliol. 1857 P. W. Phillips, J. Arkell, Pemberton. 1858 T. B. Shaw-Hellier, Brasenose; F. Ho'comb, Wadham. 1859 B. de B. Russell, R. F. Clarke, St. John's. 1860 W. B. Woodgate, H. F. Baxter, Brasenose. 1861 W. Champneys, W. B. Woodgate, Brasenose. 1862 R. Shepherd, W. B. Woodgate, Brasenose. 1863 C. P. Roberts, M. Brown, Trinity. 1864 C. P. Roberts, M. Brown, Trinity. 1865 R. T. Raikes, Merton; M. Brown, Trinity. 1866 G. H. Swinney, G. H. Morrell, Merton. 1867 W. C. Crofts, F. Crowder, Brasenose. 1868 A. V. Jones, Exeter; W. C. Crofts, Brasenose. 1869 F. Pownall, A. V. Jones, Exeter. 1870 J. Mair, St. Alb.; C. J. Vesey, St. John's. 1871 J. W. M'C. Bunbury, Brasenose; A. G. P. Lewis, University. 1872 H. J. Preston, A. S. Daniel, University. 1873 W. Farrer, Balliol; M. Farrer, Brasenose. 1874 M. Farrer, H. Benson, Brasenose. 1875 H. J. Preston, University; Edwardes-Moss, Brasenose. 1876 H. M. Marriott, T. C. Edwardes-Moss, Brasenose. 1877 D. J. Cowles, W. L. Giles, St. John's. 1878 T. C. Edwardes-Moss, Brasenose; W. A. Ellison, University. 1879 C. R. L. Fletcher, F. P. Bulley, Magdalen. 1880 E. Staniland, Magdalen; L. R. West, Christ Church. 1881 C. Lowry, R. de Haviland, Corpus. 1882 G. C. Bourne, New; C. H. Sharpe, Hertford. 1883 A. G. Shortt, A. B. Shaw, Christ Church. 1884 W. S. Unwin, Magdalen; J. Reade, Brasenose. 1885 H. McLean, D. H. McLean, New. 1886 H. McLean, D. H. McLean, New. 1887 M. E. Bradford, F. W. Douglas, Christ Church. _WINNERS OF THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY SCULLS,_ _Originally presented by Members of Christ Church._ 1841 T. T. Peocock, Merton 1842 H. Morgan, Christ Church 1843 Sir F. E. Scott, Christ Church 1844 Sir F. E. Scott, Christ Church 1845 J. W. Conant, St. John's 1846 E. S. Moon, Magdalen 1847 E. C. Burton, Christ Church 1848 D. Wauchope, Wadham 1849 T. Erskine Clarke, Wadham 1850 T. Erskine Clarke, Wadham 1851 W. Heaven, Trinity 1852 H. M. Irving, Balliol 1853 W. F. Short, New 1854 W. F. Short, New 1855 E. Warre, Balliol 1856 E. Warre, Balliol 1857 R. W. Risley, Exeter 1858 R. W. Risley, Exeter 1859 H. F. Baxter, Brasenose 1860 T. R. Finch, Wadham 1861 W. B. Woodgate, Brasenose 1862 W. B. Woodgate, Brasenose 1863 J. E. Parker, University 1864 E. B. Michell, Magdalen 1865 J. Rickaby, Brasenose 1866 W. L. Freeman, Merton 1867 W. C. Crofts, Brasenose 1868 W. C. Crofts, Brasenose 1869 A. C. Yarborough, Lincoln 1870 A. C. Yarborough, Lincoln 1871 J. W. McC. Bunbury, Brasenose 1872 C. C. Knollys, Magdalen 1873 J. B. Little, Christ Church 1874 A. Michell, Oriel 1875 L. C. Cholmeley, Magdalen 1876 D. J. Cowles, St. John's 1877 T. C. Edwardes-Moss, Brasenose 1878 J. Lowndes, Hertford 1879 J. Lowndes, Hertford 1880 H. S. Chesshire, Worcester 1881 H. S. Chesshire, Worcester 1882 G. Q. Roberts, Hertford 1883 A. E. Staniland, Magdalen 1884 W. S. Unwin, Magdalen 1885 W. S. Unwin, Magdalen 1886 F. O. Wethered, Christ Church 1887 G. Nicholls, Magdalen _WINNERS OF THE UNIVERSITY FOUR-OARS._ 1840 Brasenose 1841 University 1842 University 1843 Oriel 1844 University 1845 Christ Church 1846 Christ Church 1847 Christ Church 1848 Oriel 1849 Brasenose 1850 Brasenose 1851 Christ Church 1852 Trinity 1853 Trinity 1854 Exeter 1855 Exeter 1856 Balliol 1857 Pembroke 1858 Balliol 1859 University 1860 Brasenose 1861 Trinity 1862 University 1863 Trinity 1864 University 1865 University 1866 University 1867 University 1868 University 1869 Balliol 1870 Balliol 1871 Christ Church 1872 Balliol 1873 University 1874 Brasenose 1875 University 1876 Brasenose 1877 Brasenose 1878 Magdalen 1879 Hertford 1880 Magdalen 1881 Hertford 1882 Hertford 1883 Corpus 1884 Magdalen 1885 Magdalen 1886 Magdalen 1887 Brasenose C.U.B.C.: COLLEGE AND CLUB RACES. _CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY BOAT CLUB: HEAD OF THE RIVER._ 1827 Trinity 1828 St. John's 1829 St. John's 1830 {Lent, St. John's {May, Trinity 1831 {Lent, St. John's {May, First Trinity 1832 First Trinity 1833 {Lent, First Trinity {May, Christ's 1834 {Lent, First Trinity {May, Third Trinity 1835 {Lent, Third Trinity {May, Second Trinity 1836 {Lent, First Trinity {May, Corpus 1837 Lady Margaret 1838 Lady Margaret 1839 First Trinity 1840 Caius 1841 Caius 1842 Peterhouse 1843 First Trinity 1844 Caius 1845 First Trinity 1846 First Trinity 1847 First Trinity 1848 Third Trinity 1849 {Lent, Third Trinity {May, Second Trinity 1850 First Trinity 1851 {Lent, Lady Margaret {May, First Trinity 1852 First Trinity 1853 First Trinity 1854 {Lent, First Trinity {May, Lady Margaret 1855 Lady Margaret 1856 Lady Margaret 1857 Lady Margaret 1858 {Lent, Lady Margaret {May, First Trinity 1859 {Lent, Trinity Hall {May, Third Trinity 1860 First Trinity 1861 First Trinity 1862 Trinity Hall 1863 Third Trinity 1864 Trinity Hall 1865 Third Trinity 1866 First Trinity 1867 First Trinity 1868 First Trinity 1869 First Trinity 1870 First Trinity 1871 First Trinity 1872 Lady Margaret 1873 First Trinity 1874 First Trinity 1875 Jesus 1876 Jesus 1877 Jesus 1878 Jesus 1879 Jesus 1880 Jesus 1881 Jesus 1882 Jesus 1883 Jesus 1884 Jesus 1885 Jesus 1886 Trinity Hall 1887 Trinity Hall _WINNERS OF THE UNIVERSITY PAIR-OARS._ 1844 T. W. Brooks and W. P. Cloves, First Trinity. 1845 S. Vincent and E. P. Wolstenholme, First Trinity. 1846 T. M. Hoare and T. M. Gisborne, St. John's. 1847 S. Vincent and W. Maule, First Trinity. 1848 A. B. Dickson and W. L. G. Bagshawe, Third Trinity. 1849 A. Baldry, First Trinity, and W. L. G. Bagshawe, Third Trinity. 1850 J. B. Cane and C. Hudson, St. John's. 1851 E. Macnaghten, First Trinity, and F. W. Johnson, Third Trinity. 1852 W. S. Langmore and E. Hawley, Sidney. 1853 R. Gordon and J. G. Barlee, Christ's. 1854 R. C. Galton, First Trinity, and H. Blake, Corpus. 1855 H. Blake, Corpus, and J. Wright, St. John's. 1856 R. Gordon and P. H. Wormald, Christ's. 1857 R. E. Thompson and N. Royds, First Trinity. 1858 R. Beaumont and F. W. Holland, Third Trinity. 1859 D. Ingles, First Trinity, and J. P. Ingham, Third Trinity. 1860 R. P. Fitzgerald, Trinity Hall, and J. P. Ingham, Third Trinity. 1861 A. D. A. Burney and A. M. Channell, First Trinity. 1862 J. G. Chambers, Third Trinity, and R. Neave, Trinity Hall. 1863 R. A. Kinglake and J. R. Selwyn, Third Trinity. 1864 R. A. Kinglake and W. R. Griffiths, Third Trinity. 1865 J. R. Selwyn and W. R. Griffiths, Third Trinity. 1866 W. R. Griffiths, Third Trinity, and J. U. Bourke, First Trinity. 1867 E. Hopkinson and H. Herbert, Christ's. 1868 C. Pitt-Taylor and J. Blake-Humphrey, Third Trinity. 1869 L. P. Muirhead and E. Phelps, Sidney. 1870 John B. Close and G. L. Rives, First Trinity. 1871 James B. Close and John B. Close, First Trinity. 1872 H. E. Rhodes and E. Hoskyns, Jesus. 1873 P. J. Hibbert and E. Sawyer, Lady Margaret. 1874 G. F. Armytage and C. D. Shafto, Jesus. 1875 W. B. Close and G. C. Dicker, First Trinity. 1876 T. E. Hockin and C. Gurdon, Jesus. 1877 J. G. Pinder and C. O. L. Riley, Caius. 1878 A. H. Prior and H. Sanford, Lady Margaret. 1879 J. A. Watson-Taylor, Magdalene, and T. E. Hockin, Jesus. 1880 L. R. Jones and E. Priest, Jesus. 1881 J. F. Keiser and S. P. Smith, First Trinity. 1882 W. K. Hardacre and F. C. Meyrick, Trinity Hall. 1883 C. J. Bristowe and F. C. Meyrick, Trinity Hall. 1884 P. S. Propert and S. Swann, Trinity Hall. 1885 R. H. Coke and S. Swann, Trinity Hall. 1886 S. D. Muttlebury and C. Barclay, Third Trinity. 1887 S. D. Muttlebury and C. T. Barclay, Third Trinity. _WINNERS OF THE UNIVERSITY FOUR-OARS._ 1849 First Trinity 1850 Lady Margaret 1851 Third Trinity 1852 First Trinity 1853 Lady Margaret 1854 Third Trinity 1855 Trinity Hall 1856 Lady Margaret 1857 Magdalene 1858 Third Trinity 1859 Third Trinity 1860 First Trinity 1861 First Trinity and Trinity Hall rowed a dead-heat. 1862 Third Trinity 1863 Lady Margaret 1864 Lady Margaret 1865 Third Trinity 1866 First Trinity 1867 Emmanuel 1868 Sidney 1869 Sidney 1870 First Trinity 1871 First Trinity 1872 First Trinity 1873 Jesus 1874 First Trinity and Jesus rowed a dead-heat. 1875 Jesus 1876 Jesus 1877 Jesus 1878 Lady Margaret 1879 Lady Margaret 1880 Jesus 1881 Jesus 1882 Third Trinity 1883 Third Trinity 1884 Third Trinity 1885 Third Trinity 1886 Trinity Hall 1887 Trinity Hall _WINNERS OF THE CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY SCULLS._ (COLQUHOUN CHALLENGE SCULLS). _Presented in 1837 by P. Colquhoun, Esq., to the lady Margaret Boat Club, and by that Club in 1842 to the competition of the C.U.B.C._ 1837 Berney, Lady Margaret 1838 Antrobus, Lady Margaret 1839 Vincent, Lady Margaret 1840 Shadwell, Lady Margaret 1841 Shadwell (no challenger) 1842 Denman, First Trinity 1843 Thompson, Peterhouse 1844 Miles, Third Trinity 1845 Cloves, First Trinity 1846 Maule, First Trinity 1847 Bagshawe, Third Trinity 1848 Bagot, Second Trinity 1849 Miller, Third Trinity 1850 Cowle and Hudson[22] 1851 Macnaghten, First Trinity 1852 Courage, First Trinity 1853 Galton, First Trinity 1854 Wright, Lady Margaret 1855 Salter, Trinity Hall 1856 Beaumont, Third Trinity 1857 Busk, First Trinity 1858 Ingles, First Trinity 1859 Faley, Lady Margaret 1860 Channell, First Trinity 1861 J. C. Hawkshaw, Third Trinity 1862 C. B. Lawes, Third Trinity 1863 J. G. Chambers, Third Trin. 1864 G. D. Redpath, First Trinity 1865 H. Watney, Lady Margaret 1866 G. Shann, First Trinity 1867 G. H. Wright, First Trinity 1868 E. Phelps, Sidney, and F. E. Marshall, First Trinity 1869 No race; postponed to 1870 1870 J. B. Close, First Trinity 1870 J. H. D. Goldie, Lady Mar. 1871 C. W. Benson, Third Trinity 1872 James B. Close, First Trinity 1873 A. C. Dicker, Lady Margaret 1874 W. B. Close, First Trinity 1875 S. A. Saunders, Second Trinity 1876 J. C. Fenn, First Trinity 1877 T. W. Barker, First Trinity 1878 H. Sandford, Lady Margaret 1879 Prior, Lady Margaret 1880 J. Keiser, First Trinity 1881 J. C. Fellowes, First Trinity 1882 F. W. Fox, First Trinity 1883 S. Swann, Trinity Hall 1884 F. J. Pitman, Third Trinity 1885 J. M. Cowper-Smith, First Trinity 1886 J. C. Gardner, Emmanuel 1887 C. B. P. Bell, Trinity Hall [22] Dead heat and division. PROFESSIONAL WINNERS OF REGATTAS AND CHAMPIONSHIPS. _WINNERS OF THE AQUATIC CHAMPIONSHIP._ +-----------------+---------------+---------------+------------+-----+ | Date | Winner | Loser | Course | Time| +-----------------+---------------+---------------+------------+-----+ | | | | |m. s.| | 1831, Sept. 9 |C. Campbell |C. Williams | W. to P. | -- | | 1838, Nov. 1 |C. Campbell |R. Coombes | W. to P. | -- | | 1846, Aug. 19 |R. Coombes |C. Campbell | P. to M. |26 15| | 1847, Sept. 29|R. Coombes |R. Newell | P. to M. |23 46| | 1851, May 7 |R. Coombes |T. Mackinnery | P. to M. |25 5| | 1852, May 24 |T. Cole |R. Coombes | P. to M. |25 15| | 1852, Oct. 14 |T. Cole |R. Coombes | P. to M. |23 35| | 1854, Nov. 20 |J. A. Messenger|T. Cole | P. to M. |24 30| | 1857, May 12 |H. Kelley |J. A. Messenger| P. to M. |24 30| | 1859, Sept. 29|R. Chambers |H. Kelley | P. to M. |25 25| | 1860, Sept. 18|R. Chambers |T. White | P. to M. |23 15| | 1863, April 14|R. Chambers |G. W. Everson | P. to M. |25 27| | 1863, June 16 |R. Chambers |R. A. W. Green | P. to M. |25 25| | 1865, Aug. 8 |H. Kelley |R. Chambers | P. to M. |23 26| |_a_1866, July 4 |H. Kelley |Hammill | Tyne |33 29| |_b_1866, July 5 |H. Kelley |Hammill | Tyne | -- | | 1866, Nov. 22 |R. Chambers |J. H. Sadler | P. to M. |25 4| | 1867, May 6 |H. Kelley |R. Chambers | Tyne |31 41| | 1868, Nov. 17 |J. Renforth |H. Kelley | P. to M. |23 15| | 1874, April 16|J. H. Sadler |R. Bagnall | P. to M. |24 15| | 1875, Nov. 15 |J. H. Sadler |R. W. Boyd | P. to M. |29 2| |_c_1876, June 27 |E. Trickett |J. Sadler | P. to M. |24 35| | 1876, |{ A match was made between Trickett and | | | |{ Lumsden, but the latter forfeited. | | | | { A match was made between Sadler and | | | 1876, June 29 | { Higgins for the Championship, subject to | | | | { the former beating Trickett, but after | | | | { being defeated Sadler forfeited. | | | 1877, May 28 |R. W. Boyd |J. Higgins | P. to M. |29 0| | |{ Trickett beat Michael Rush for the | | | 1877, June 30 |{ Championship of the World, on the Parmatta| | | |{ River, New South Wales. | | | 1877, Oct. 8 |J. Higgins |R. W. Boyd | P. to M. |24 10| | 1878, Jan. 14 |J. Higgins |R. W. Boyd | Tyne | Foul| | 1878, June 3 |J. Higgins |W. Elliott | P. to M. |24 38| | |{ _d_ W. Elliott beat R. W. Boyd in final }| | | 1878, Sept. 17|{ heat of race for the 'Sportsman's' }|24 20| | |{ Challenge Cup, Putney to Mortlake. }| | | 1879, Feb. 21 |W. Elliott |J. Higgins | Tyne |22 1| | 1879, June 16 |E. Hanlan |W. Elliott | Tyne |21 1| | 1880, Nov. 16 |E. Hanlan |E. Trickett | Thames |26 12| | 1881, Feb. 14 |E. Hanlan |E. C. Laycock | P. to M. |25 41| | 1882, April 3 |E. Hanlan |R. W. Boyd | Tyne |21 25| | 1882, May 1 |E. Hanlan |E. Trickett | P. to M. |28 0| | 1884, May 22 |E. Hanlan |E. C. Laycock | Nepean | -- | | | | |Riv., N.S.W.| | | 1884, Aug. 16 |W. Beach |E. Hanlan | Paramatta | -- | | | | |Riv., N.S.W.| | | 1885, Feb. 28 |W. Beach |C. Clifford | Paramatta |26 0| | | | |Riv., N.S.W.| | | 1885, Mch. 28 |W. Beach |E. Hanlan | Paramatta |22 51| | | | |Riv., N.S.W.| | | 1885, Dec. 18 |W. Beach |N. Matterson | Paramatta |24 11| | | | |Riv., N.S.W.| -1/4| | 1886, Sept. 18|W. Beach |J. Gaudaur | P. to M. |22 29| | 1886, Sept. 25|W. Beach |Wallace Ross | P. to M. |23 5| +-----------------+---------------+---------------+------------+-----+ (_a_) This was virtually a row over for Kelley, and no time was taken. (_b_) Won on a foul. (_c_) The first occasion of the Championship being taken from England. (_d_) Boyd passed the post first, but the race was awarded to Elliott on the foul. [Illustration: CAMBRIDGE COURSE _London: Longmans & Co._ E. Weller] THAMES NATIONAL REGATTA FOR WATERMEN. _CHAMPION FOURS (Winners)._ 1854 _Elswick Crew._--Winship, Cook, Davidson, Bruce, Oliver (cox.) 1855 _Shakspeare Crew._--Wood, Carrol, Ault, Taylor, Malony (cox.) 1856 _North and South Crew._--H. Clasper, W. Pocock, R. Chambers, T. Mackinney, G. Driver (cox.) 1857 _Newcastle Crew._--J. H. Clasper, A. Maddeson, R. Chambers, H. Clasper, Short (cox.) 1858 _Pride of the Thames Crew._--G. Francis, S. Salter, T. White, G. Hammerton, J. Driver (cox.) 1859 _Newcastle Crew._--J. H. Clasper, R. Chambers, E. Winship, H. Clasper, R. Clasper (cox.) 1860 _London Crew._--T. Pocock, J. Wise, T. White, H. Kelley, W. Peters (cox.) 1861 _Kilmorey Crew._--G. Hammerton, J. W. Tagg, E. Winship, R. Chambers, R. Clasper (cox.) 1862 _Newcastle Crew._--J. H. Clasper, R. Chambers, E. Winship, H. Clasper, R. Clasper (cox.) 1863 _Thames Crew._--H. Harris, T. G. Tagg, J. W. Tagg, G. Hammerton, R. W. Hanna (cox.) 1864 _Pride of the Thames Crew._--T. Hoare, H. Kelley, J. W. Tagg, G. Hammerton, R. Hammerton (cox.) 1865 _Sons of the Thames Crew._--F. Kilsby, R. Cook, G. Cannon, J. Sadler, S. Peters (cox.) 1866 _Pride of the Thames Crew._--T. Hoare, J. Pedgrift, J. Sadler, G. Hammerton, J. Hill (cox.) _SCULLS._ 1854 H. Kelley, Fulham 1855 R. Chambers, Newcastle 1856 H. Kelley, Fulham 1857 R. Chambers, Newcastle 1858 R. Chambers, Newcastle 1859 J. Wise, Kew 1860 G. Hammerton, Teddington 1861 H. Kelley, Fulham 1862 R. Cooper, Redheugh 1863 R. A. W. Green, Australia 1864 H. Kelley, Putney 1865 R. Chambers, Newcastle 1866 R. Cooper, Redheugh _PAIR-OARS (Winners)._ 1854 Pocock and Clasper 1855 Winship and Bruce, Elswick 1856 Winship and Bruce 1857 Hammerton and Francis, Teddington 1858 Hammerton and Francis 1860 Winship and Chambers, Newcastle 1861 Winship and Chambers 1862 Winship and Chambers 1863 Green and Kelley, Australia and Putney 1864 Kilsby and Cook, London and Oxford 1865 Kilsby and Cook, London and Oxford 1866 G. Hammerton and J. Sadler, Surbiton _APPRENTICES' SCULLS: COAT AND BADGE (Winners)._ 1856 G. Hammerton, Teddington 1857 S. Salter, Wandsworth 1858 E. Bell, Richmond 1859 W. Hemmings, Richmond 1860 E. Eagers, Chelsea 1861 T. Hoare, Hammersmith 1862 J. W. Tagg, Moulsey 1863 R. Cook, Oxford 1864 T. Wise, Hammersmith 1865 J. Callas, Richmond 1866 W. Sadler, Putney THAMES NATIONAL REGATTA (_Second Series_). _FOURS._ 1868 _Newcastle Crew._--J. Taylor, M. Scott, A. Thompson, R. Chambers (Wallsend) (stroke), T. French (cox.) 1869 _Surbiton Crew._--J. Sadler, J. Pedgrift, W. Messenger, G. Hammerton (stroke), R. Hammerton (cox.) 1870 _Newcastle Crew._--R. Hepplewhite, J. Percy, J. Bright, R. Chambers (stroke), F. M'Lean (cox.) 1871 _Glasgow Crew._--J. Moody, T. Smillie, J. Calderhead, W. Calderhead (stroke), J. M. Green (cox.) 1872 _Hammersmith Crew._--H. Thomas, T. Green, J. Anderson, W. Biffen, jun. (stroke), G. Martin (cox.) 1873 _Hammersmith Crew._--T. Green, H. Thomas, J. Anderson, W. Biffen (stroke), H. Goldsmith (cox.) 1874 _Hammersmith Crew._--T. Green, H. Thomas, J. Anderson, W. Biffen (stroke), G. Holder (cox.) 1875 _Newcastle Crew._--R. Hepplewhite, W. Nicholson, R. Bagnall, R. W. Boyd (stroke), J. Cox (cox.) 1876 _Thames Crew._--W. F. Spencer, H. Thomas, J. Higgins, T. Green (stroke), J. Holder (cox.) _PAIRS._ 1868 J. Taylor and M. Scott, Newcastle 1869 J. Taylor and T. Winship, Newcastle 1870 G. Carr and T. Matfin, Newcastle 1871 W. Biffen, jun. and G. Hammerton 1872 J. Taylor and T. Winship, Newcastle 1873 R. Bagnall and J. Taylor, Newcastle 1874 W. Biffen and H. Thomas 1875 R. Bagnall and R. W. Boyd, Newcastle 1876 T. Green and H. Thomas, Thames _SCULLS._ 1868 J. Renforth, Newcastle 1869 J. Renforth, Newcastle 1870 J. H. Sadler, Surbiton 1871 _a_ J. Anderson, Hammersmith 1872 _b_ J. Anderson, Hammersmith 1873 _b_ A. Hogarth, Sunderland 1874 _b_ R. W. Boyd, Newcastle 1875 _b_ T. Blackman, London 1876 T. Blackman, Dulwich (_a_) Limited to men who have never sculled for a stake of 50_l._ (_b_) For men who have never sculled for a stake of 100_l._ _APPRENTICES' SCULLS: COAT AND BADGE._ 1868 W. Biffen, Jun., Hammersmith 1869 J. Griffiths, Wandsworth 1870 W. Messenger, Teddington 1871 T. Green, Hammersmith 1872 H. Messum, Richmond 1873 J. Phillips, Putney 1874 W. Phillips, Putney 1875 J. Tarryer, Rotherhithe 1876 H. Clasper, Oxford THAMES INTERNATIONAL REGATTA. _CHAMPION SCULLS._ 1876 R. W. Boyd, 1877 T. Blackman, 1878 W. Elliott. _CHAMPION FOURS._ 1876 _a_ Tyne crew, 1877 Thames crew, 1878 Tyne crew. (_a_) After a foul, the Tyne men won on the second day. _CHAMPION PAIRS._ 1876 R. W. Boyd and W. Lumsden. 1877 J. Higgins and H. Thomas. 1878 R. W. Boyd and W. Lumsden. ROYAL THAMES REGATTA, _Established 1843_. _WATERMEN'S PRIZES._ 1843 No race for professionals. 1844 FOURS.--_London four_, T. Coombes, Phelps, Newell, and R. Coombes beat H. Clasper's crew for 100_l._ prize. SCULLS.--H. Clasper won in the first 'outrigged' sculling boat. 1845 FOURS.--H. Clasper, R. Clasper, W. Clasper, and Hawtor beat Coombes's four. 1846 FOURS.--T. Coombes, Newell, Phelps, and R. Coombes won. 1847 No race. 1848 Clasper's crew won (Coombes in the boat). 1849 Clasper's crew won fours. (This was the last year of the regatta.) BRITISH REGATTA IN PARIS, 1867 (EXHIBITION YEAR). _CHAMPION FOURS._ 1867 _Albion Crew, Newcastle._--J. Taylor, M. Scott, A. Thompson, R. Chambers (St. Anthony's) (st.), T. Richardson (cox.) _PAIR-OARS._ R. Cook and H. Kelley, Oxford and London. _SCULLS._ H. Kelley, Putney. WORLD'S REGATTA ON THE THAMES. 1880 On November 18 a sculling regatta organised by an American firm, 'The Hop Bitters' Co., was commenced on the Thames. It lasted three days, and prizes amounting to 1,000_l._ were given and won as under:-- 1. Elias C. Laycock, Sydney, N.S.W. £500 2. Wallace Ross, St. John's, New Brunswick 300 3. George Hosmer, Boston, U.S.A. 140 4. Warren Smith, Halifax, Nova Scotia 60 WINNERS OF DOGGETT'S COAT AND BADGE. 1791 T. Easton, Old Swan 1792 J. Kettleby, Westminster 1793 A. Haley, Horselydown 1794 J. Franklin, Putney 1795 W. Parry, Hungerford 1796 J. Thompson, Wapping Old Stairs 1797 J. Hill, Bankside 1798 T. Williams, Ratcliff Cross 1799 J. Dixon, Paddington Street 1800 J. Burgoyne, Blackfriars 1801 J. Curtis, Queenhithe 1802 W. Burns, Limehouse 1803 J. Fowler, Hungerford 1804 C. Gingle, Temple 1805 T. Johnson, Vauxhall 1806 J. Godwin, Ratcliff Cross 1807 J. Evans, Mill Stairs 1808 G. Newell, Battle Bridge 1809 F. Jury, Hermitage 1810 J. Smart, Strand 1811 W. Thornton, Hungerford 1812 R. May, Westminster 1813 R. Farson, Bankside 1814 R. Harris, Bankside 1815 J. Scott, Bankside 1816 T. Senham, Blackfriars 1817 J. Robson, Wapping Old Stairs 1818 W. Nicholls, Greenwich 1819 W. Emery, Hungerford 1820 J. Hartley, Strand 1821 T. Cole, sen., Chelsea 1822 W. Noulton, Lambeth 1823 G. Butcher, Hungerford 1824 G. Fogo, Battle Bridge 1825 G. Staples, Battle Bridge 1826 J. Foett, Bankside 1827 J. Foss, Fountain Stair 1828 R. Mallett, Lambeth 1829 S. Stubbs, Old Barge House 1830 W. Butler, Vauxhall 1831 R. Oliver, Deptford 1832 R. Waight, Bankside 1833 G. Maynard, Lambeth 1834 W. Tomlinson, Whitehall 1835 W. Dyson, Kidney Stairs 1836 J. Morris, Horselydown 1837 T. Harrison, Bankside 1838 S. Bridge, Kidney Stairs 1839 T. Goodrum, Vauxhall Stairs 1840 W. Hawkins, Kidney Stairs 1841 R. Moore, Surrey Canal 1842 J. Liddey, Wandsworth 1843 J. Fry, Kidney Stairs 1844 F. Lett, Lambeth 1845 J. Cobb, Greenwich 1846 J. Wing, Pimlico 1847 W. Ellis, Westminster 1848 J. Ash, Rotherhithe 1849 T. Cole, jun., Chelsea 1850 W. Campbell, Winchester 1851 G. Wigget, Somer's Quay 1852 C. Constable, Lambeth 1853 J. Finnis, Tower 1854 D. Hemmings, Bankside 1855 H. White, Mill Stairs 1856 G. W. Everson, Greenwich 1857 T. White, Mill Stairs 1858 C. J. Turner, Rotherhithe 1859 C. Farrow, jun., Mill Stairs 1860 H. J. M. Phelps, Fulham 1861 S. Short, Bermondsey 1862 J. Messenger, Cherry Garden Stairs 1863 T. Young, Rotherhithe 1864 D. Coombes, Horselydown 1865 J. W. Wood, Mill Stairs 1866 A. Iles, Kew 1867 H. M. Maxwell, Custom House 1868 A. Egalton, Blackwall 1869 G. Wright, Bermondsey 1870 R. Harding, Blackwall 1871 T. J. Mackinney, Richmond 1872 T. G. Green, Hammersmith 1873 H. Messum, Richmond 1874 R. W. Burwood, Wapping 1875 W. Phelps, Putney 1876 C. T. Bullman, Shadwell Dock 1877 J. Tarryer, Rotherhithe 1878 T. E. Taylor, Hermitage Stairs 1879 Henry Cordery, Putney 1880 W. G. Cobb, Putney 1881 G. Claridge, Richmond 1882 H. A. Audsley, Waterloo 1883 J. Lloyd, Chelsea 1884 C. Phelps, Putney 1885 J. Mackinney, Richmond 1886 H. Cole, Deptford 1887 W. G. East RIVERS AND COURSES. _RIVER LEA._ Distance from /---------^---------\ LIMEHOUSE HERTFORD m. f. m. f. Hertford 27 7 0 0 Hertford Lock 27 2 0 5 Ware Lock 25 7 2 0 Ware 25 2 2 5 Hard Mead Lock 24 3 3 4 Amwell Lock 23 4 4 3 Stanstead Lock 22 7 5 0 Rye House, Hoddesdon 21 4 6 3 Feildes Weir Lock 21 2 6 5 Dobbs's Weir Lock 20 3 7 4 Carthagena Lock 19 6 8 1 Broxbourne Lock 19 1 8 6 Aqueduct Lock 17 5 10 2 Cheshunt Mill 16 7 11 1 Waltham Common Lock 15 7 12 0 Waltham Abbey Lock 14 7 13 0 Romney Marsh Lock 14 3 13 4 Enfield Lock 13 1 14 6 Ponder's End Lock 11 2 16 5 Pickett's Lock 10 2 17 5 Edmonton Lock 9 2 18 5 Stone Bridge Lock 8 2 19 5 Tottenham Lock 7 3 20 4 Tottenham Railway Bridge. 6 7 21 0 Lea Bridge. 5 0 22 7 Homerton Lock 4 2 23 5 Duckett's Canal Junction 3 1 24 6 Old Ford Lock 2 6 25 1 Bow Railway Bridge 2 3 25 4 Bow Bridge 2 1 25 6 Bromley Lock 1 4 26 3 Britannia Lock 0 1 27 6 Limehouse Cut Entrance 0 0 27 7 _LENGTH OF RACING COURSES._ Barnes Regatta Course 1-1/2 mile Barrow, Walney Channel 2 miles 600 yards Bedford Regatta 3/4 mile Blyth, Flanker to Cowper Gut 2 miles Bristol, from Hotwells to Bristol 1-1/2 mile Boston, River Witham 2-1/2 miles Cambridge 1-1/2 mile Chester 1-1/4 mile Clydesdale 1-1/2 mile Cork 2 miles Derby 1 mile Dublin 2-1/4 miles Durham 1 mile 300 yards Ely, Littleport to Adelaide Bridge 2-1/2 miles Exeter 2-1/2 miles Halton Water 1-3/4 mile Henley-on-Thames 1 mile 2-1/2 furlongs Huntington 1-3/4 mile " for time races 3 miles Hollingworth Lake 3 miles Hereford 1 mile 536 yards Ipswich 1 mile 700 yards King's Lynn, Champion Course 2 miles " Prince of Wales's Course 1-1/4 mile Kingston-on-Thames, Seething Wells to Kingston Bridge 1-1/4 mile Lincoln, sculling and pair-oared 3/4 mile " four-oared 1-1/2 miles London Bridge to Old Swan, Chelsea 4 miles 3 furlongs Manchester 2 miles Moulsey (down stream) 1-1/4 mile Newark, Devonmouth to Magnus Boathouse 1 mile Oxford, Iffley to the Barges 1-1/8 mile " Abingdon Lasher to Nuneham Cottage 1-1/2 mile Putney to Barnes Bridge 3 miles 6 furlongs " to Chiswick 2 miles 4 furlongs " to Hammersmith 1 mile 6 furlongs " to Mortlake 4 miles 3 furlongs Richmond, Sion House to Richmond Bridge 1 mile 7 furlongs " Cross Deep, Twickenham, to Richmond Railway Bridge 1 mile 5 furlongs Stockton-on-Tees, Portrack Course 4 miles " " " above bridges 1-1/2 mile Stourport 1-1/4 mile Sunderland, North Hylton to Spa Well 1 mile Tyne, High Level Bridge to Waterson's Gates 1 mile " " " Meadow's House 1-3/4 mile " " " Armstrong's Crane 2 miles " " " West Point of Paradise Quay 2-1/2 miles " " " Scotswood Suspension Bridge 3 miles 713 yards " " " Lemington Point 4-1/2 miles Tewkesbury 2 miles Walton-on-Thames (up stream) 1 mile Warwick 1-1/2 mile Worcester 1 mile _DISTANCES OF WEIRS ETC. OXFORD TO LECHLADE._ Distance from /--------^-------\ OXFORD LECHLADE BRIDGE BRIDGE m. f. m. f. Oxford Bridge 0 0 36 0 Godstow Lock 3 3 33 0 King's Weir 4 4 31 4 Ensham Bridge 7 5 28 3 Pinkhill Lock 10 0 26 0 Skinner's Weir 11 0 25 0 Badlock Ferry 12 4 23 4 Ridge's Weir 16 0 20 0 Newbridge 17 2 18 6 Shifford Weir 19 0 17 0 Dexford Weir 20 0 16 0 Tenfoot Weir Bridge 22 0 14 0 Kent or Tadpole Bridge 23 5 12 3 Bushey Weir 24 5 11 3 Old Nan's Weir 26 1 9 7 Old Man's or Harper's Weir 26 7 9 1 Radcot Bridge 28 3 7 5 Eaton or Hart's Upper Weir 31 3 4 5 Buscot Lock 33 3 2 5 St. John's Bridge 35 2 0 6 Lechlade Bridge 36 0 0 0 _TABLES OF DISTANCES OF LOCKS ETC. ON THE THAMES._ Distance from /----------^---------\ OXFORD FOLLY LONDON BRIDGE BRIDGE m. f. m. f. Oxford Folly Bridge (stone) and Lock 0 0 110 1-1/4 Iffley Lock 1 1 109 0-1/4 Rose Island 1 7-1/2 108 1-3/4 Sandford Lock 2 5-3/4 107 3-1/2 Abingdon Lock 7 0-1/4 103 1 Abingdon Bridge (stone) 7 3 102 5-1/2 Culham Lock 9 5-1/4 100 4 Clifton Lock 12 2-3/4 97 6 Clifton Hampden Bridge (brick) 12 6-3/4 97 2-1/2 Day's Lock 15 3-1/4 94 6-1/2 Shillingford Bridge (stone) 17 7-1/2 92 1 Benson Lock 19 0-1/4 91 1 Wallingford Bridge (stone) 20 2-3/4 89 6-1/2 Wallingford Lock 20 6-3/4 81 7 Little Stocke Ferry 23 0-3/4 87 0-1/2 Moulsford Ferry 24 3-1/2 85 5-3/4 Cleeve Lock 25 5-1/2 84 3-3/4 Goring Lock 26 3 83 6-1/4 Basildon Railway Bridge 27 5 82 4-1/4 Whitchurch Lock 30 3 79 6-1/4 Pangbourne Bridge 30 4-1/2 79 4-3/4 Maple Durham Lock 32 5-1/2 77 3-3/4 Caversham Bridge (iron) 36 0-3/4 74 0-1/2 Caversham Lock 36 6 73 3-1/4 Sonning Lock 39 3 70 6-1/4 Sonning Bridge (brick) 39 5-1/4 70 4 Shiplake Lock 42 0-1/4 68 1 Wargrave Railway Bridge 42 2-1/2 67 7-3/4 Wargrave Ferry 42 4-1/2 67 4-3/4 Marsh Lock 44 5 65 4-1/4 Henley Bridge (stone) 45 4 64 5-1/2 Regatta Island (from this to Henley Bridge is the usual Regatta course) 46 7-1/2 63 1-3/4 Hambledon Lock 47 6-1/2 62 2-3/4 Medmenham Abbey and Ferry 49 6-1/2 60 2-3/4 Hurley Lock 51 2 58 7-1/4 Temple Lock 51 7-1/2 58 1-3/4 Marlow Suspension Bridge (iron) 53 3-1/2 56 5-3/4 Marlow Lock 53 5 56 4-1/4 Cookham Railway Bridge (wooden) 56 0-1/4 54 1 Cookham Bridge (iron) 57 2 52 7-1/4 Cookham Lock 57 5 52 4-1/4 Boulter's Lock 60 0-3/4 50 0-1/2 Maidenhead Bridge (stone) 60 6-1/2 49 2-3/4 Maidenhead Railway Bridge (brick) 60 0-1/4 49 1 Bray 61 6-1/2 48 2-3/4 Bray Lock 62 0-1/2 48 0-3/4 Monkey Island 62 0-1/4 47 3 Queen's Island 63 2-1/4 46 7 Boveney Lock 64 7-1/2 45 1-3/4 Windsor Railway Bridge (iron) 66 6-1/4 43 3 Windsor Bridge (iron) 67 1-1/4 43 0 Windsor Lock 67 4-3/4 42 4-1/2 South-Western Railway Bridge (iron) 67 7 42 2-1/4 Victoria Bridge (iron) 68 3 41 6-1/4 Datchet 68 7-1/2 41 1-3/4 Albert Bridge (iron) 69 6 40 3-1/4 Old Windsor Lock 70 4-1/2 39 4-3/4 Magna Charta Island 71 7-1/2 38 1-3/4 Bell Weir Lock 73 3-3/4 36 5-1/2 Staines Bridge (stone) 74 3-1/2 35 5-3/4 Staines Railway Bridge (iron) 74 6-1/4 35 3 Penton Hook Lock 76 1-1/2 33 7-3/4 Laleham Ferry 76 7-1/4 33 2 Chertsey Lock 77 7-3/4 32 1-1/2 Chertsey Bridge (stone) 78 0-3/4 32 0-1/2 Shepperton Lock 79 6 30 3-1/4 Shepperton 80 4 29 5-1/4 Halliford 81 0-3/4 29 0-1/2 Walton Bridge (iron) 81 7-1/2 28 1-3/4 Sunbury Lock 83 4-3/4 26 4-1/2 Hampton Ferry 85 5-3/4 24 3-1/2 Moulsey Lock 86 4-3/4 23 4-1/2 Hampton Court Bridge (iron) 86 5-3/4 23 3-1/2 Thames Ditton Ferry 87 4-3/4 22 4-1/2 Messenger's Island 88 5-3/4 21 3-1/2 Kingston Bridge (stone) 89 5-1/4 20 4 Kingston Railway Bridge (iron) 89 6-1/4 20 3 Teddington Lock 91 2-1/4 18 7 Twickenham Ferry 92 5-1/2 17 3-3/4 Richmond Bridge (stone) 94 0-1/4 16 0-3/4 Richmond Railway Bridge (iron) 94 3-1/2 15 5-3/4 Isleworth (Railhead) Ferry 94 7-1/2 15 1-3/4 Isleworth 95 2-1/2 14 6-3/4 Brentford Ferry 96 4-1/2 13 4-3/4 Kew Bridge (stone) 97 1 13 0-1/4 Strand-on-the-Green Railway Bridge (iron) about 97 5 12 4-1/4 Barnes Railway Bridge (iron) 99 0-3/4 11 0-1/2 Hammersmith South Bridge (iron) 100 7-3/4 9 1-1/2 Putney Bridge (wooden) 102 5-3/4 7 3-1/2 Battersea Railway Bridge 104 4-1/4 5 5 Battersea Bridge (wooden) 105 1-1/4 5 0 Chelsea Suspension Bridge (iron) 106 1-1/4 4 0 Vauxhall Bridge (iron) 107 1-1/2 2 7-3/4 Lambeth Suspension Bridge (iron) 107 6 2 3-1/4 Westminster Bridge (iron) 108 1-1/2 1 7-3/4 Charing Cross Railway Bridge (iron) 108 4-1/2 1 4-3/4 Waterloo Bridge (stone) 108 6-1/2 1 2-3/4 Blackfriars Bridge (iron) 109 3 0 6-1/4 Southwark Bridge (iron) 109 6-3/4 0 2-1/2 Cannon Street Railway Bridge (iron) 110 0 0 1-1/4 London Bridge (stone) 110 1-1/4 0 0 _ON THE RIVER MEDWAY._ Distance from /---------^---------\ SHEERNESS TONBRIDGE m. f. m. f. Tonbridge 46 4 0 0 Tonbridge Lock 46 2 0 2 Giles's Lock 45 5 0 7 Eldridge's Lock 44 4 2 0 Porter's Lock 43 5 2 7 East Lock 42 0 4 4 Nook Weare Lock 41 3 5 1 New Lock 40 4 6 0 Sluice Weare Lock 40 0 6 4 Brandbridge's Lock 39 3 7 1 South-Eastern Railway Bridge 39 0 7 4 Stoneham Lock 38 6 7 6 Yalding Village 37 6 8 6 Hampstead Lock 37 3 9 1 Wateringbury Bridge 35 4 11 0 Yeston Lock 34 2 12 2 Yeston Bridge 34 1 12 3 East Farleigh Lock 32 0 14 0 East Farleigh Bridge 32 0 14 4 Maidstone Lock 29 7 16 5 Maidstone Bridge 29 6 16 6 Gibraltar Lock 27 6 18 6 Aylesford Bridge 25 6 20 6 Snodland Ferry 20 4 26 0 Lower Halling Ferry 18 4 28 0 Rochester Bridge 14 0 32 4 Rochester Railway Bridge 14 0 32 4 Chatham 12 4 34 0 Chatham Dockyard 12 0 34 4 Upnor Castle 11 0 35 4 Gillingham 8 4 38 0 River Swale 2 0 44 4 Sheerness 0 0 46 4 _ON THE RIVER WEY._ Distance from /---------^---------\ THAMES LOCK GODALMING m. f. m. f. Godalming 20 1 0 0 Catshail Lock 19 3 0 0 Unsted Lock 18 3 1 6 Broadford Bridge 17 5 2 6 Shalford Railway Bridge 17 0 3 0 St. Catherine's Lock 16 5 3 4 St. Catherine's Ferry 16 3 3 6 Guildford Lock 15 5 4 4 Guildford Bridge 15 4 4 5 Stoke Lock 12 4 7 5 Bower's Lock 11 5 6 4 Trigg's Lock 9 5 10 0 Scud Heath 9 1 11 5 Worsfold's Gates 8 7 11 2 Paper Court Lock 7 3 12 6 Newark Lock 6 1 14 0 Pirford Lock 5 2 14 0 South-Western Railway Bridge 3 0 17 1 New Haw Lock 2 4 17 0 Cox's Lock 1 5 18 4 Weybridge Lock 1 0 19 1 Thames Junction Lock 0 0 20 1 APPENDIX. _THE EARLY HISTORY OF BOAT RACING AT THE UNIVERSITIES._[23] [23] Reprinted from _Land and Water_ of December 17, 1881. The history of early college boat racing is not strictly that of the University boat race itself, but it is closely wound up with it, and it was, moreover, the origin of that aquatic rivalry between the two Universities which led to the first match of 1829. Oxford had inaugurated eight-oared rowing; that introduced inter-college bumping races. Cambridge followed suit and established similar races, and hence arose the constant study of aquatics which produced the first match. For these reasons, we think that the history here given will be read with interest by all University oarsmen, the more so because it, to the best of our knowledge, has never before appeared in print. No official record of their early races has been preserved; the oldest boating record in Oxford is the Brasenose Club Book, dating 1837. That of the O.U.B.C. commences with its establishment, 1839. The 'Charts' of the boat races from 1837, published by Messrs. Spiers & Sons, and which were not invented till after the year 1850, obtain the retrospective racing, prior to the time when they first appeared, from the MS. records of the B.N.C. book, the contents of which were communicated to the publishers by the late Rev. T. Codrington. But prior to 1837 all is blank. For the lost history here unearthed we are indebted to the reminiscences and diaries of oarsmen of those days still in the land of the living. Oxford started college boat racing before Cambridge. It does not seem quite clear as to when bumping races actually commenced. Two or three colleges had boat clubs and manned eight oars, and at first it seems to have been the practice for out-college men to join the club and crew of colleges to which they did not belong. The eight oars seem to have been in the habit of going down to Sandford or Nuneham to dine, and of rowing home in company. From Iffley to Oxford they were inclined to race to see who could be home first. They could not race abreast, so they rowed in Indian file, and those behind jealously tried to overtake the leaders. Hence began the idea of starting in a fixed order out of Iffley Lock, of racing in procession, and of an overtaken boat giving place to its victor on the next night of procession. In 1822, at all events, there were bumping races. Christ Church seems to have been head. There was a disputed bump between B.N.C. and Jesus, and some violence seems to have occurred, B.N.C. trying to haul down the Jesus flag, and the Jesus men defending their colours. The dispute was finally closed by Post of B.N.C. saying, 'These cries of "Jesus" and "B.N.C." remind me of the old saying:-- Different people are of different opinions; Some like leeks, some like onions.' (The oars of Jesus were decorated with leeks.) The quarrel was made up, and the crews went together to Nuneham in their racing boats. Unfortunately Musgrave, one of the party, fell overboard and was drowned during the festivities. In 1823 there were no eight-oared races, the sad accident of the year before having cast a gloom over the pursuit. But several boats were manned. Christ Church refused to put on a boat in consequence of Stephen Davis, the boat-builder, rowing in the B.N.C. eight, and Isaac King (who eventually took Davis's business) in the Jesus boat. Some strong feeling was displayed on this point. When the B.N.C. boat came up the river, the Christ Church men used to run alongside of it for many nights shouting, 'No hired watermen.' After this year no watermen rowed in the college crews. Exeter had a boat afloat that year, built by Hall of Oxford. She was called the 'Buccleuch' in honour Of the Duke of that ilk. Among the Exeter men was one Moresby, who was a relative of a naval captain of that name, and through his advice Exeter ordered an eight-oar of Little, of Plymouth. She was finished in time to be put on in 1824, and became famous as the 'Exeter white boat.' Stephen Davis was sent with a carriage constructed for the purpose, to meet the boat at Portsmouth, whither she was brought by sea. As this boat was built of deal, a raft was provided to receive her--the first use of a raft for this purpose at Oxford. The oars sent with the boat were such as are used at sea, and made of ash. They were discarded in favour of ordinary oars, such as those already in use for fresh-water rowing. She was found to be too high out of the water, so Isaac King cut her down one streak. The boat, as depicted in Turner's water-colour drawing of her, was taken when she was afloat and unmanned; her crew were painted in her afterwards; consequently she rides too high out of the water. The boats on the river in 1824 were, at the beginning of the season, Christ Church 1, B.N.C. 2, Exeter 3. Exeter bumped B.N.C. under the willows on the first night; the next night of racing Christ Church took off, and Exeter became head by the other's default. The races were renewed another day, and B.N.C. bumped Christ Church. This was the _last_ year in which the boats started out for Iffley Lock. The racing has hitherto been conducted on this principle; the start between the boats were just so much as the dexterity of the stroke could obtain. He, the stroke, stood on the bow thwart, and ran down the row of thwarts; pushing the boat along with his shoulder against the lock gates, he reached his own thwart, by which time the impetus had shot the boat clear of the lock, he dropped on to his own seat, and began to row. The oarsmen had their oars 'tossed' meantime. The boat next in order then followed the same process, and so on. The boats lay in _échelon_ while waiting for the start. Bulteel, who was stroke of B.N.C. in the disputed race of 1822 (above mentioned), and who afterwards was elected Fellow of Exeter in 1823, was especially skilful at this. The Exeter crew of 1824 were: Wareing, Dick, Parr, Dowglass, J. C. Clutterbuck, Cole, R. Pocklington (father of D. Pocklington, stroke of Oxford in 1864), Bulteel (stroke), S. Pocklington (cox.) The Rev. J. C. Clutterbuck, now rector of Long Wittenham, near Abingdon, is well known as a conservator of the Thames, to whom the Universities and rowing men are much indebted for the clauses in the Conservancy Acts which give that body powers to clear the river for boat racing. The names of the other two crews of 1824 have not come fully to posterity, but among B.N.C. are Meredith, North and Karle (stroke); and in the Christ Church crew were Hussey, Baring and Smyth (stroke). In 1825 the boats started in line along the bank, each having its umpire to regulate the distance between it and its neighbours (one length). The boats at starting were Exeter, Christ Church Worcester, Balliol (in this order). Exeter had discarded their old love, and had got a 'black boat,' larger than the old 'white boat,' but not so fast, according to later experiments. However, they elected to row in her at first, and Christ Church bumped them, also Worcester on a subsequent night. Later on Exeter rebumped Worcester, and at the close of the racing the order was: Christ Church, Exeter, Worcester, Balliol. Smyth was again stroke of Christ Church, and R. Pocklington stroke of Exeter, in which Messrs. Clutterbuck, Parr, Dowglass, Cole, and Wareing rowed again, with Messrs. Harndon and Day as recruits. The term 'Torpid' seems to have arisen about this date, and to have been applied to the 'second' boats of colleges, such as Christ Church, who launched a second boat in 1826. Later on the 'Torpids' took to racing among themselves as a separate class, and under distinct qualifications. In 1826 the following rules were drawn up for the boat-racing, and we give them verbatim:-- _Rule_ 186.--Resolved (1) That racing do commence on Monday, May 1. (2) That the days for racing be Monday and Friday in each week, and that if any boat does not come out on those days its flag do go to the bottom. (3) That no out-college crews be allowed to row in any boat, except in cases of illness or other unavoidable absence, and then that the cause of such absence be signified to the strokes of the other boats. (4) That the boats below the one that bumps stop racing, and those above continue it. (5) That there be a distance of fifty feet between each boat at starting. (6) That the boats start by pistol shot. (7) That umpires be appointed by each college to see each boat in its proper position before starting, and to decide any accidental dispute. H. Saunders, Ch. Ch. H. Moresby, Ex. Coll. E. A. Hughes, Jes. Coll. Henry Towers, Ch. Ch. T. North, B. N. Coll. H. Roberts, Ball. Coll. Of the details of the racing, all that we can gather is that Christ Church finished head. In 1827 rules were again drawn up and signed at a meeting of strokes; the new code being much the same as its predecessor, but with one or two small alterations. There was no U.B.C. in existence, and therefore no fixed code, but only such as was agreed on from year to year. _Rules for Boat-Racing, 1827._ (1) That the racing do begin on May 29. (2) That the days of racing be Tuesday and Friday in each week, and that if any boat does not come out on those days its flag do go to the bottom. (3) That no out-college man be allowed to row in any boat. (4) That no boat be allowed to race with less than eight oars. (5) That the boats below the one that bumps stop racing, those above continue it. (6) That there be a distance of fifty feet between each boat at starting. (7) That the boats start by pistol shot. (8) That umpires be appointed by each college to see each boat in its proper place at starting, and to settle any accidental dispute. The rules of the racing signed by:-- C.H. Page, Ch. Ch. R. T. Congreve, B.N.C. A. C. Budge, Ex. Coll. R. Pennefather, Ball. Coll. F. C. Chaytor Geo. D. Hill, Trin. Coll. David Reid T. Fox During these races Christ Church lost their pride of place. Balliol seems to have first displaced them, and they in turn fell victims to B.N.C. who remained head. The exact details of the racing and full list of boats in this are unfortunately wanting. The racing of 1828 began as usual. No MS. copy of the rules has come to our hands for this year, but they are believed to be a reproduction of those of 1827. The racing resulted thus:-- June 1.--Order of starting B.N.C., Balliol, University, Christ Church, Trinity, Oriel. B.N.C. and Balliol remained in _statu quo_; Christ Church claimed a bump against University which the latter disputed. Oriel bumped Trinity. The disputed race between University and Christ Church was renewed on June 3, and the Christ Church men put wet paint on their bows so as to make sure of leaving their mark if they should touch their opponents. They effected their bump. The other boats do not seem to have raced on June 3. The next race was on June 4 between B.N.C., Balliol, Christ Church, University, Trinity, and Oriel. Balliol bumped B.N.C., and the other boats therefore ceased rowing according to the rules. The third race was on June 7. Balliol, B.N.C., Christ Church, University, Trinity, and Oriel, started in this order: Balliol kept ahead; Christ Church bumped B.N.C., and the two between them had therefore to cease rowing; Trinity then took off. On June 10 the races were renewed, but no bump was effected by any boat. On June 13 there was another race, and Christ Church displaced Balliol and went head. The races concluded on June 16, when Christ Church retained the headship, and B.N.C. rebumped Balliol. The Christ Church crew of 1828 were:--(bow) Goodenough; 2, Gwilt; 3, Lloyd; 4, Moore; 5, Hamilton; 6, Mayne; 7, Bates; (stroke) Staniforth. Hamilton became Bishop of Salisbury. In 1829, in consequence of the first match of its kind being then arranged with Cambridge, and the date being fixed for March 10, there were no bumping races. Christ Church were accredited as head of the river, from their having held that position from the preceding year; and they were saluted as such. A scratch race, however, was improvised on Commemoration afternoon, between the boats, apparently manned by mixed crews of all colleges. It seems to have been a bumping and not a level race, for the record of the race is 'no bump.' In 1830 the races were renewed, and the following colleges put on eights:--Christ Church, B.N.C., Balliol, University, St. John's, in the order named. The racing began on June 8, and Balliol bumped B.N.C. On June 11, another race, and no bump by any boat. On June 15, St. John's bumped University, the others above them retaining their places and rowing to the end, as the bump was astern of them. On June 18 another race, but no bump. On June 20 another race, and no bump. We hope at a later period to supply the hiatus in history between this last mentioned year and 1837, in which year the written records of the B.N.C. book commenced, and for which charts of the races are published. Meanwhile we shall thankfully receive any information on this subject from the heroes of those days who may now be alive and hearty. [Illustration: HENLEY COURSE _London: Longmans & Co._ E. Weller] _HENLEY, PAST AND FUTURE._[24] [24] From the _Field_, July 5, 1886. The inauguration of a new era in the history of Henley Regatta naturally tends to make the mind wander into vistas of the past, perhaps even more than into speculations of the future. There are oarsmen living who can recollect when Henley Regatta did not even exist, and yet we are within an appreciable distance (three years) of the 'jubilee' of the gathering. There are sundry old Blues of the 1829 match still hale and hearty, and the regatta was not founded until ten years after that date. _Apropos_ of that 1829 match, we have never seen it officially recorded that in the race Cambridge steered up the Bucks and Oxford in the Berks channel of the river, where the island divides it. Yet we have heard the Rev. T. Staniforth, the Oxford stroke, relate the fact. For some strange reason, the general opinion of _habitués_ of the river prior to that match was that the Bucks channel gave the better course. The boughs of the island trees obstructed the Berks channel more than now, and this may explain the delusion. However, the Oxonians doubted the soundness of local opinion, and tested in practice the advantages of the two channels by timing themselves through each. They naturally found the inside course the shorter cut. In the race they adopted it, while Cambridge, so we hear, took the outside channel; and the previous lead of Oxford was more than trebled by the time that the boats came again into the main river. Times and ideas of rowing have changed much since the first regatta at Henley opened and closed with contests for the Grand Challenge Cup, the only prize at its foundation. The 'Town' Cup seems to have been the next addition, under the name of the 'District Challenge' Cup, in 1840; but it does not figure again until 1842, and in 1843 takes the name of the Town Cup. There were first class fours 'for medals' in 1841, but the Stewards' Cup was not founded till the following year. The 'Diamonds' appeared in 1844. 'Pairs' came into existence in 1845, styled 'silver wherries,' and the then winners, Arnold and Mann, of Caius, have ever been handed down by tradition as something much above the average. The prize became 'silver goblets' in 1850, and the first winners of them were Justice Sir Joseph Chitty and Dr. Hornby, provost of Eton. The Ladies' Plate was called the 'New' Cup when it appeared in 1845. At that time it was open to the world, like the Grand. Clubs from the Thames won it on sundry occasions. In 1857 it was restricted to schools and colleges as now, copying the 'Visitors' Cup' for fours, founded upon parallel principles in 1847. The Wyfold Cup dates from 1847, though it does not figure in the local official calendar of the regatta as a four-oar prize until 1856. In the latter year it became a four-oar prize, open to all, and the Argonauts won it and the 'Stewards,' with the same crew. Later on it obtained its present qualification. As to the forgotten functions of the 'Wyfold' between 1847 and 1856, we venture to record them. The cup originally was held by the winner of the trial heats for the Grand. If the best challenger won the Grand also, or if the 'holders' did not compete, then the same crew would take both Grand and Wyfold for the season; but the Grand holders were ineligible to row for the Wyfold. This latter anomaly in time induced the executive to obtain leave from the donor to alter the destination of the cup and to devote it to fours. Local races flourished in the forties and fifties. Besides the Town Cup, there were local sculls, sometimes for a 'silver wherry,' and sometimes for a presentation cup. Local pairs existed from 1858 to 1861 inclusive. The Thames Cup began life in 1868 as a sort of junior race, but later on obtained its present qualification. There was a presentation prize for fours without coxswains in 1869, but the Stewards' Cup was not opened for fours of the modern style till 1873; and the Visitors' and Wyfold were similarly emancipated a year later. The advent and disappearance of the Public Schools' Cup need no comment. We well recollect the sensation produced by the first keelless eight, that of Chester, in 1856. The club came like a meteor, and won both Grand and Ladies' (the latter being an open race for the last time in that year). The art of 'watermanship' had not then reached its present pitch. The Chester men could not sit their boat in the least; they flopped their blades along the water on the recovery in a manner which few junior crews at minor regattas would now be guilty of; but they rowed well away from their opponents, who were only college crews. In that year, in consequence of the Chester ship being some dozen feet shorter than the iron keeled craft of Exeter and Lady Margaret, a question arose as to how the boats should be adjudicated past the post. The boats started by _sterns_, therefore Chester would be giving several feet start if adjudged at the finish by bows. So the stewards ordered the races to be decided by _sterns_ past the post. This edict remained in force, but unknown to the majority of competitors, till after 1864. In that year the winner of the Diamonds reached the post several lengths before his opponent, but stopped opposite to it in a stiff head wind. The loser came up behind him leisurely, chatted, and shoved the winner past the post by rowlocks locking. Presently it transpired that the official fiat was 'won by a foot,' and that the judge did not consider the race over until the winner's stern was clear of the line! This discovery caused some inquiry, and the half-forgotten edict of 1857 was thus repealed; and races have since then been adjudged again by bows. Among other reminiscences, we can recall the old starting 'rypecks,' with bungs and cords attached; these bungs had to be held by competitors till the signal to start; the ropes often fouled rudder lines, and were awkward to deal with. In 1862 the system of starting with sterns held from moored punts, now in vogue, was first adopted. Such are some of the recollections which evolve themselves at this date, when we are on the eve of a new era and a new course. The old 'time' records, which have been gradually improving and which, to our knowledge, are recorded in the most random manner in the local calendar, will now have to stand or fall by themselves. A new course, with less slack water in it, will hardly bear close comparison with an old one as to time. The old soreness of fluky winds, and 'might have beens,' laid to the discredit of much-abused Poplar Point, must now find no longer scope. Luck in station there still will be, inevitably, when wind blows off shore; but there now will be no bays to coast, and no Berks corner to cut. The glories of Henley bridge have been on the wane for some years past; we can remember when enterprising rustics ranked their muck carts speculatively along the north side of the bridge; but fashion and the innovation of large moored craft have lost the bridge much of its old popularity. Besides, the newly planted aspens along the towpath, which were given to replace the old time-honoured 'poplars,' shut off the view of the reach from the bridge. It is no longer possible, telescopically, to time opponents in practice from the Lion and Angel window, as of old. It is not so much as twenty years ago that steamers were unknown on the reach. The 'Ariel' (the late Mr. Blyth's) was the first of her kind built by Mr. Thornycroft. Till then, row-boats had the reach to themselves. We are old enough to recall the Red Lion flourishing as a coaching inn; then came its breakdown, when 'rail' broke the 'road,' and it shut up, until Mrs. Williams, the veteran landlady, who erst welcomed, and is still welcomed by, so many retired generations of oarsmen, migrated from the Catherine Wheel in 1858, and re-opened the Lion once more. The strength of amateur talent is treble what it was twenty-five years ago. After the pristine Leander retired from action, and the St. George's shut up, and the Old Thames Club dispersed, the Universities had Henley almost to themselves as to eights and fours until Chester woke them up in eights in 1856, and the Argonauts four a year or two before produced the nucleus of the talent which in 1857 burst upon the world under the new flag of the L.R.C. They were joined by Kingston in a four in 1859. In 1861 Kingston had their first eight. Thames, in like manner, began modestly with a four, which in due time developed winning Grand eights. We have already spoken of the march of watermanship. A quarter of a century ago the idea of amateurs sitting a keelless eight or four, without rolling rowlocks under, until they had first practised for days or weeks in a steady craft, would have been derided. In these days three or four scratch eights can be manned any day at Putney, capable of sitting a racing ship, and of trying starts with trained University crews. We are not _laudatores temporis acti_ as to oarsmanship; sliding seats spoilt form and style at first until they were better understood; but, in our opinion, there are now (_cæteris paribus_ as to slides _versus_ fixed seats) many more high-class oarsmen than were to be found thirty, or even twenty, years ago. There are more men rowing, and more science, and better coaching than of old. 'Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona;' but we believe that there are on the average some five Agamemnons now afloat for every two in the fifties and early years of the sixties. Nor do we wonder at it with four or five times as many men on the muster rolls of rowing clubs of the present day. As to boat-building, we think that the 'lines' of racing eights have fallen off. We can recall no such capacity for travelling between the strokes as in Mat Taylor's best craft, _e.g._ the Chester boat and the old 'Eton' ship; both of which did duty and beat all comers for many years. While looking back with interest, we look forward with hope, and believe that the new Henley will maintain, and perhaps improve, its modern enhanced and extended standard of oarsmanship, and that the new course, when fairly tried, will encourage, rather than discourage, competition that looks for fair field and no favour. [Illustration: PUTNEY COURSE _London: Longmans & Co._ E. Weller] _THAMES PRESERVATION ACT._ In 1884 a Committee of the House of Commons sat to inquire into the best method of preserving public rights and those of riparians on the Thames. The latter had developed so much pleasure traffic during the last quarter of a century that some 'highway' legislation on the subject became imperative. An Act for regulating steam-launch traffic on the Thames had been passed in 1883. The report of the Committee produced the following Act, which should be read by all who intend to navigate the Thames for pleasure. Draft by-laws, to carry out the provisions of this Act in detail, have twice been propounded by the Thames Conservancy during 1886, and a third code was drafted early in 1887, but the first two editions provoked so much hostile criticism that the Conservancy withdrew them; and, up to the date of going to press, the third edition of proposed by-laws, which still seems too objectionable in many details, has not received the sanction of the Board of Trade, which is necessary before the code can become law. THAMES PRESERVATION ACT, 1885. 48 & 49 VICT. CAP. 76. _An Act for the preservation of the River Thames above Teddington Lock for purposes of public recreation, and for regulating the pleasure traffic thereon._ [_August 14, 1885._] Whereas the River Thames is a navigable highway; and whereas, by reason of the increase of population in London and other places near the said river, it has come to be largely used as a place of public recreation and resort, and it is expedient that provision should be made for regulating the different kinds of traffic in the said river between the town of Cricklade and Teddington Lock, and upon the banks thereof within the limits aforesaid, and for the keeping of public order and the prevention of nuisances, to the intent that the said river should be preserved as a place of regulated public recreation; Be it therefore enacted by the Queen's most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows: PART I.--NAVIGATION. 1. _Public right of navigation._--It shall be lawful for all persons, whether for pleasure or profit, to go and be, pass and repass, in boats or vessels over or upon any and every part of the River Thames, through which Thames water flows, between the town of Cricklade and Teddington Lock, including all such backwaters, creeks, side-channels, bays and inlets connected therewith as form parts of the said river within the limits aforesaid. 2. _Private artificial cuts not to be deemed parts of the river._--All private artificial cuts for purposes of drainage or irrigation, and all artificial inlets for moats, boathouses, ponds, or other like private purposes, already made or hereafter to be made, and all channels which by virtue of any conveyance from or agreement with the Conservators, or the Commissioners acting under any of the Acts mentioned in the First Schedule to this Act, or by any lawful title have been enjoyed as private channels for the period of twenty years before the passing of this Act, shall be deemed not to be parts of the said river for the purposes of the last preceding section, or any provisions consequent thereon. 3. _Conservators may exclude the public._--Notwithstanding anything in the first section contained, it shall be lawful for the Conservators from time to time to exclude the public for a limited period from specified portions of the said river, for purposes connected with the navigation, or with any public work or uses, or for the preservation of public order. 4. _Right of navigation to include anchoring and mooring._--The right of navigation hereinbefore described shall be deemed to include a right to anchor, moor, or remain stationary for a reasonable time in the ordinary course of pleasure navigation, subject to such restrictions as the Conservators shall from time to time by by-laws determine; and it shall be the duty of the Conservators to make special regulations for the prevention of annoyance to any occupier of a riparian residence, by reason of the loitering or delay of any house-boat or steam-launch, and for the prevention of the pollution of the river by the sewage of any house-boat or steam-launch. Provided that nothing in this Act, or in any by-law made thereunder, shall be construed to deprive any riparian owner of any legal rights in the soil or bed of the river which he may now possess, or of any legal remedies which he may now possess for prevention of anchoring, mooring, loitering, or delay of any boat or other vessel, or to give any riparian owner any right as against the public, which he did not possess before the passing of this Act, to exclude any person from entering upon or navigating any backwater, creek, channel, bay, inlet, or other water, whether deemed to be part of the River Thames as in this Act defined or not. Provided also, that the powers given by this clause shall be in addition to, and not to be deemed to be in substitution for, any powers already possessed by the Conservators. 5. _Riparian owner to remove obstructions unless maintained for twenty years._--Any person obstructing the navigation hereinbefore described, by means of any weir, bridge, piles, dam, chain, barrier, or other impediment, shall be liable to be called upon by the Conservators to remove the same, and his refusal to do so shall be deemed to be a continuing offence within the meaning of this Act, and the obstruction itself shall be deemed to be a nuisance to the navigation unless the same, or substantially the same, has been maintained for the period of twenty years before the commencement of this Act. 6. _Provision against shooting or use of firearms on the river._--From and after the passing of this Act it shall be unlawful to discharge any firearm, air-gun, gun, or similar instrument over or upon the said river within the limits aforesaid, or the banks or towpaths thereof, or any land acquired by the Conservators under the provisions of this Act, and every person discharging any firearm, air-gun, gun, or similar instrument over or upon the said river limits as aforesaid, or the banks or towpath thereof, or any such land as aforesaid, shall be deemed to have committed an offence under this Act. PART II.--REGULATION OF PLEASURE-BOATS. 7. _Registration of boats._--In addition to the rights and duties of the Conservators relating to registration and tolls already created by the Thames Navigation Act, 1870, the Thames Conservancy Act, 1878, and the Thames Act, 1883, or by any other of the Acts in the First Schedule to this Act mentioned, it shall be lawful for the Conservators to direct by by-law that all boats or vessels, with the exception of any such class of boats or vessels as may, together with the reasons of such exception, be specified in any such by-law for pleasure navigation, shall be registered, together with the true names and addresses of the owners thereof respectively, in a General Register to be kept at their chief office in a form by them to be prescribed, and as to all vessels propelled by steam power, and all house-boats, and all rowing or sailing boats plying for hire, and any such other particular class of boats or vessels as by them from time to time by by-law, may be prescribed to issue licences to ply upon any part of the upper navigation, or upon a limited part thereof only, according to regulations in each case by them to be made by by-law in manner hereinafter provided. 8. _Navigating without registration to be an offence._--From and after the dates by any such by-law to be fixed respectively, it shall be an offence under this Act to use any boat or vessel of the class mentioned in the same by-law, on any part of the river to which such by-law applies, unless such boat or vessel shall have been previously registered or licensed in manner therein provided. 9. _Lists to be kept of private boats and boats for hire._--In the General Register in the seventh section of this Act mentioned, separate lists shall be kept of boats and vessels used for pleasure navigation by private owners, and of boats and vessels let for hire. The former class of boats or vessels shall be distinguished, according to regulations to be made from time to time by the Conservators, by a registered number, crest, badge, or mark, and the latter class by a registered number; and the provisions of section eleven and section thirteen of the Thames Act, 1883, as to displaying or concealing the same or number of any steam-launch shall be deemed in all cases to apply to the said registered numbers, crests, badge, and marks respectively, with such modifications as the Conservators may by such regulations from time to time direct. 10. _Renewal of yearly registration._--It shall be lawful for the Conservators by by-law to enact as to any or all of the classes of boats or vessels by them from time to time required to be licensed or registered as aforesaid, that such licence or registration shall be renewed at any interval not being less than one year. 11. _Fee for registration._--It shall be lawful for the Conservators to charge, in respect of boats or vessels registered under this Act, sums not exceeding the sums following; that is to say, for each registration of a pleasure-boat not being a house-boat, a sum not exceeding two shillings and sixpence, and for each registration of a house-boat a sum not exceeding five pounds; and if such house-boat shall be more than thirty feet in length, a further sum not exceeding twenty shillings in respect of every complete five feet and the fraction of an incomplete five feet by which such house boat shall exceed thirty feet in length. Provided always that nothing in this Act shall require a boat or vessel not being a house-boat to be registered oftener than once in three years. 12. _Present registration or licence not to be affected._--Nothing in this Act shall require any vessel which may under any Act be required to be registered or licensed by the master, wardens, and commonalty of watermen and lightermen of the River Thames to be registered or licensed under this Act. 13. _First registration._--For the purposes of the last preceding section a fresh registration or licence of any boat or vessel in a class other than that in which the same was first registered or licensed shall be deemed a first registration or licence. 14. _Application of ss. 7, 8, 9, and 14 of The Thames Act, 1883, to all registered boats and vessels._--The provisions of sections seven, eight, nine, and fourteen of The Thames Act, 1883, as to registered owners of steam-launches, shall apply to the registered owners of all boats or vessels for the time being registered pursuant to the provisions of this Act, and of the by-laws in that behalf from time to time in force, and the same section nine and section fourteen shall be read as if the words 'boat or vessel' therein were substituted for the word 'steam-launch,' and as if the words 'this Act' therein referred to the present Act. 15. _Every boat or vessel to be deemed to be in charge of one person._--Every boat or vessel used for pleasure navigation upon any part of the River Thames within the limits aforesaid shall be deemed to be in charge of one person, who shall be in every case a registered owner, or the person duly appointed or permitted by him to be in charge, or the person hiring such boat or vessel, and, in the absence of any such person, then any person having control or being in command of such boat or vessel. 16. _Person in charge to be responsible for order_.--Every person who for the time being is in charge of any boat or vessel shall be responsible for the preservation of order and decency, and for the observance of the provisions of this Act; and upon proof that an offence under this Act has been committed by any person on board such boat or vessel, and that the person in charge has refused to give the name and address of the offender, then the person in charge shall be deemed to have committed an offence under this Act. PART III.--GENERAL POWERS. 17. _Conservators may accept and hold land for certain purposes._--In addition to their existing powers to take and hold land, it shall be lawful for the Conservators to accept and hold any land which any person may offer to them for dedication to public uses in connection with the purposes of this Act, upon such terms and conditions as they may see fit, and it shall be lawful for the Corporation of the City of London, or the Metropolitan Board of Works, and for the University of Oxford, or, subject to the provisions of the Municipal Corporations Act, 1882, so far as they are applicable, for the Corporation of the City of Oxford, or any corporation or other person, to give, grant, dedicate, convey, or devise any land or right over land to the extent of their estates and interests respectively, unto the Conservators, for the purpose of enabling the public to use such and or any part thereof as a public highway, or as a place of public resort, or for the purpose of creating bathing-places or camping-grounds or landing-places, or for any other purposes connected with this Act, any of the provisions of the Act passed in the ninth year of the reign of King George the Second, chapter thirty-six, or any other statute or any rule of law to the contrary notwithstanding. 18. _Acquisition by agreement of right of abstracting water from the river._--Where any company or person is entitled under any Act of Parliament, grant, custom, or otherwise, to any right of abstracting or appropriating water which might otherwise flow or find its way into the river, it shall be lawful for any such person on the one hand and the Conservators or any other person on the other hand, to enter into and carry into effect an agreement or agreements for the conveyance of such right to the Conservators; and every such right may be conveyed to the Conservators by deed, and shall as from the date of such conveyance be absolutely extinguished to the intent that such water shall thereafter be allowed to flow into the river. And it shall be lawful for any of the companies supplying water within the Metropolis to make contributions out of their capital or revenue in aid of the acquisition and extinguishment of any such right, and for the Conservators to accept such contributions and contributions from any other person or persons and employ them for that purpose. 19. _Alteration and suspension of by-laws._--It shall be lawful for the Conservators, in addition to all powers of making by-laws already possessed by them under the Acts mentioned in the First Schedule hereto, to make, and from time to time to suspend or alter in the same manner and with the same consent as in the same Acts is provided, all by-laws which they may deem necessary for the purposes mentioned in this Act, or in the Second Schedule hereto. 20. _Continuing offences._--Any act or default in contravention of any of the said by-laws or of the provisions of this Act, which after due notice is repeated or continued, shall be a continuing offence under this Act. PART IV.--PROCEDURE. 21. _Penalty for offence against the Act._--Any person convicted of an offence under this Act shall, where no other penalty is provided by this Act or any of the Acts mentioned in the First Schedule hereto, or by any by-law made thereunder respectively, be liable to a penalty not exceeding forty shillings. 22. _Penalty for continuing offence._--Any person convicted of an offence which is a continuing offence under this Act shall, where no greater penalty has been provided for such offence by any of the Acts mentioned in the First Schedule hereto, be liable to a penalty not exceeding five pounds. 23. _Jurisdiction of certain justices._--For the purposes of this Act, and of every by-law to be made by the Conservators thereunder, the jurisdiction of all justices of the peace for the counties of Surrey, Berkshire, Wiltshire, Gloucester, Oxford, Buckingham, and Middlesex, and of the magistrates for the city of Oxford, and of every other borough, the police jurisdiction of which extends to any place upon the River Thames within the limits aforesaid, and the jurisdiction, powers, and authority of the Proctors of the University of Oxford and the marshals and officers acting under them, and the power and authority of the Metropolitan Police, and of all police officers and constables acting for any of the said counties or boroughs, shall extend over the whole of the River Thames, and the towpaths, banks, and precincts thereof, within the limits aforesaid. 24. _As to place where offence committed._--For the purposes of any proceedings in respect of any offence under this Act, or under any of the Acts mentioned in the First Schedule hereto, every such offence shall be deemed to have been committed, and every cause of complaint in respect thereof shall be deemed to have arisen either in the place in which the same actually was committed or arose, or in any place in which the offender or person complained against may be. 25. _Bailiffs and servants of Conservators may be sworn in as police constables._--It shall be in the power and at the discretion of the Conservators to procure all or any of their water-bailiffs, river-keepers, lock-keepers, or other servants, to be sworn in as police constables for any of the counties or boroughs aforesaid, but they shall not be liable, without the consent of the Conservators, to be called upon to perform the duties of such police constables, except for the purposes of this Act or of the Acts mentioned in the First Schedule hereto. 26. _Proceedings for summary conviction._--Proceedings in relation to any offence or continuing offence under this Act or any of the Acts mentioned in the First Schedule hereto, or under any by-law already made or hereafter to be made by the Conservators, or for the recovery of any penalty under this Act or any of the said Acts mentioned in the First Schedule hereto, or any by-law made thereunder respectively, may be taken before a court of summary jurisdiction, according to the provisions of the Summary Jurisdiction Acts, and all such penalties, whether recovered summarily or otherwise, shall be paid to the Conservators, and shall form part of their funds. 27. _Moneys paid to the Conservators to be carried to the Conservancy Fund._--All moneys recovered or received by the Conservators or their secretary, or other officer under any of the provisions of this Act, shall be carried to the Conservancy Fund, and all moneys arising in respect of the Upper River, as defined by the Acts mentioned in the schedule hereto, shall be credited to the Upper Navigation Fund. 28. _Saving clause._--Saving always to the Queen's most Excellent Majesty, her heirs and successors, and to all and every other person or persons and body or bodies politic, corporate or collegiate, and his, her, or their heirs, successors, executors, and administrators, all such right, title, estate, and interest, as they or any of them could or ought to have had or enjoyed of, in to or in respect of the river and the banks and towpaths thereof within the limits aforesaid in case this Act had not been passed, excepting so far as relates to the said right of navigation and other rights expressly declared and provided for by this Act. 29. _Definitions._--In this Act the following terms have the several meanings hereby assigned to them, unless there be something in the subject or context repugnant to such construction (that is to say): The terms 'the River Thames' and 'the said river' shall for the purposes of this Act mean and include all and every part of the River Thames specified in section one, excepting the cuts, inlets, and channels specified in section two; The term 'the Conservators' means the Conservators of the River Thames; The term 'due notice' means a notice in writing given by the Conservators or any person duly authorised in writing by them to act in their behalf; The words 'consent of the Conservators' shall mean permission in writing signed by the secretary of the Conservators; The term 'by-law' includes rules, orders, and regulations; The term 'person' includes corporation; The term 'land' includes land of any tenure, and tenements and hereditaments, corporeal or incorporeal, and houses and other buildings, and also an undivided share in land, and any rights over land whatsoever, whether appendant, appurtenant, or in gross; The term 'precincts' includes any place within a hundred yards of the said river on either side thereof; The term 'vessel' shall include any ship, lighter, barge, launch, house-boat, boat, randan, wherry, skiff, dingey, shallop, punt, canoe, raft, or other craft. 30. _Short title._--This Act may be cited as 'The Thames Preservation Act, 1885.' SCHEDULE I. 24 Geo. II. c. 8, 30 Geo. II. c. 21, 11 Geo. III. c. 45, 14 Geo. III. c. 91, 15 Geo. III. c. 11, 17 Geo. III. c. 18, 28 Geo. III. c. 51, 35 Geo. III. c. 106, 50 Geo. III. c. cciv., 52 Geo. III. c. xlvi., 52 Geo. III. c. xlvii., 54 Geo. III. c. ccxxiii., 20 & 21 Vict. c. cxlvii. (the Thames Conservancy Act, 1857), 27 & 28 Vict. c. 113 (the Thames Conservancy Act, 1864), 29 & 30 Vict. c. 89 (the Thames Navigation Act, 1866), 30 & 31 Vict. c. ci. (the Thames Conservancy Act, 1867), 33 & 34 Vict. c. cxlix. (the Thames Navigation Act, 1870), 41 & 42 Vict. c. ccxvi. (the Thames Conservancy Act, 1878), 45 & 47 Vict. c. lxxix. (the Thames Act, 1883). SCHEDULE II. PURPOSES FOR WHICH BY-LAWS MAY BE MADE UNDER THE POWERS AND PROVISIONS OF THIS ACT. 1. For preventing offences against decency by persons using the River Thames, and the banks and towpaths thereof, or any land acquired by the Conservators under the provisions of this Act. 2. For preventing disorderly conduct, or the use of obscene, scandalous, or abusive language to the annoyance of persons using the said River Thames or the banks or towpaths thereof, or any land acquired by the Conservators under the provisions of this Act. 3. For preventing any nuisance to riparian residents or others by persons using the river. 4. For preventing trespasses upon any riparian dwelling-houses or the curtilages or gardens belonging thereto. 5. For regulating the navigation with a view to the safety and amenity of the said river in relation to the purposes of this Act. 6. For preventing injury to flowering and other plants, shrubs, vegetation, trees, woods and underwoods on or near the said river. 7. For preventing bird-catching, bird-nesting, bird-trapping, and the searching for, taking, or destruction of swans' and other birds' nests, eggs, or the young of any birds or other animals on or about the said river, saving all existing rights of fowling, shooting, hunting, and sporting. 8. For preserving the various notice-boards and other works and things set up by the Conservators or with their consent. 9. For preventing disturbance of the navigation provided for by this Act. 10. For registering and licensing boats or vessels, and for regulating the conditions of such licences, and the letting or hiring of boats, vessels, conveyances, horses or other animals, in connection with the purposes of this Act. 11. For imposing penalties for breaches of by-laws, subject to the provisions of this Act and of the Acts in the First Schedule mentioned. INDEX. Abdominal strains, treatment of, 175 Ailments, 172-176 Amateur, the, anomalous status of, 193; definition of term, 48, 194; Henley executive definition, 194; foundation of Amateur Rowing Association, 195; A.R.A. rules, 195; regulations for the conduct of amateur regattas, 197-199; conditions imposed on foreign crews, 199; laws of boat-racing approved by A.R.A., 239 Amateur Rowing Association, 195-199, 239, 240 Amateurs, past and present:-- Babcock, J. C., 105; Barnes, 35; Bayford, J., 35, 36; Birch, R. O., 104; Bishop, 35; Brickwood, E. D., 29, 107, 138, 172, 174, 185, 234; Brown, M., 86; Brown, W., 105; Bulteel, 315; Carter, 35; Casamajor, 134, 137, 138; Chambers, J. G., 44, 223, 239; Chinnery, Walter and Harry, 231; Close, J. B., 105; Clutterbuck, Rev. J. C, 315; Cobb, Rhodes, 234; Copplestone, 35, 36; Corkran, Colonel Seymour, 86; Cox, J. R., 138; Donaldson, Rev. S. A., 209; Edwardes-Moss, T. C, 181, 227; Fawcus, 184; Godfrey, 85, 86; Goldie, J. H. D., 86, 117, 181; Griffiths, W. R., 86; Gulston, F. S., 87, 88, 105, 107; Henley, E. F., 152; Herbert, C., 184; Hoare, W., 86, 176; Hornemann, 35; Hughes, G., 156; Jacobson, 89; Labat, R. H., 226; Le Blanc Smith, 195, 197; Lesley, R., 86; Lewis, 35; Lloyd, 35; Long, A. de L., 105; Long, W., 87; Lowndes, 141; Marsh, 35; Marshall, T. H., 92; Menzies, F., 156; Montagu, C. F., 203; Morrison, Allan, 234, 235; Morrison, George, 89, 234, 235; Mossop, 87; Musgrave, 32, 314; Nadin, 184; Parker, J. E., 134, 137; Payne, 141; Peard, 35, 36; Pelham, 34-46; Percy, 103; Phillips, R. M., 37; Pitman, 86; Playford, Frank, 134, 227, 234; Playford, H. H., 234, 235; Revell, 35; Rhodes, H., 86, 116, 117; Risley, Rev. R. W., 234, 235; Rowe, G. D., 179; Shadwell, Rev. A., 92, 156; Shaw, Captain, 35, 36; Staniforth, Rev. T., 30, 32, 34, 319; Unwin, W. S., 134; Wallace, 184; Warre, 209, 213; Way, 116, 117; Weedon, 35; West, 86; Wood, 182; Wynne, 89; see under Temple of Fame, 243-296 Aquatic championship, winners of the, 296 Authors quoted, see under Books Bathing, 156 Beach, W., champion of the world, 236, 237 Biglin-Coulter crew, the, 105 Biremes, 12, 15-17 Blisters, treatment of, 173, 175 Boats, early history of, 3; sanpans, 4, 6, 10; Ulysses' boat, 5; dug-outs, 6; canoes, 7; cayaks, 8; Madras surf-boats, 9; analogy of construction with that of orders of fishes, 9; Chinese junks, 10; Egyptian boats, 12; Ph[oe]nician vessels, 13; ships of Homer, 13; biremes, 15-17, 25; triremes, 17, 18, 20-23; pace of the ancient Greek galleys, 24; early Roman vessels, 24; boat-building, 142; wherries, 142; skiffs, 143, 144; gigs, 143, 144; 'carvel' build, 143; inrig and outrig, 144; dingies, 145; dimensions, 145-152; prices, 146, 148; shape, 150, 151; position of seats, 151 Boat-builders:-- Archer (of Lambeth), 35; Clasper, Jack, 146, 147; Goodman, 213; Hall (of Oxford), 314; Little (of Plymouth), 314; Perkins (Sambo), 213; Salter, Messrs., 145, 152; Searle, 35, 213; Sewell, 147; Swaddell and Winship, 147; Taylor, Mat, 87, 147-149, 151, 213, 322; Thornycroft, 322; Tolliday, 213 Boils, treatment of, 173, 174 Books, &c. and authors quoted: Archéologie Navale, 25; Aristophanes, 18; 'Argonaut,' 147, 148; Bell's Life, 28, 34, 35, 110, 147; Boating Calendar, 206; Boat Racing, 27, 31, 162, 172, 185; Brickwood, E. D., 27, 31, 32, 95, 103, 104, 162; Denkmäler (Lepsius's), 10; Egan, T., 110, 147; Encyclopædia Britannica, 20; Field, the, 40, 107, 188, 319; Fleet of an Egyptian Queen (Duemichen's), 10; Frogs, 18; Graser, Dr., 20; Glossaire Nautique, 25; Herodotus, 9; Homer, 4, 5, 13; Horace, 3; Jal, M., 25; Land and Water, 30, 313; Lane, 122; Merivale, Dr., 33; Notes on Coaching (Dr. Warre's), 77; Oars and Sculls, 161; Old Blues and their Battles, 34; Record of the University Boat Race, 34; Rowing Almanack, 241; Socrates, 154; Stonehenge, 174; Staniforth, Rev. T., 30, 32; Treherne, G. T., 34; Urkunden über das Seewesen des attischen Staates, 20; Warre, Dr., 64, 77; Westminster Water Ledger, 27; Williamson, Dr., 28; Xenophon, 24 Brandy, as a restorative, 172 Building (boat), see under Boats Bumping races, 33, 313-315, 318 By-laws of boat clubs, 187 Cambridge University Boat Club, 32, 36, 42; head of the river, 292; pair-oars, 293; four-oars, 294; sculls, 295; races with Oxford, &c., 252-288; college and club races, 292-296; see Temple of Fame Canoes, 7 Captains, 79; qualifications for, 80; multitude of counsellors, 80; dealing with malcontents, 82-84; enforcement of punctuality, 84; position in boat, 85, 207; former identity of stroke and captain, 86; duties of, 87; recruiting, 87; selection by, of candidates for trial eights, 88; coaching of juniors by, 89; conduct of, on retirement from office, 90; resident in college, 90; lessons of the post, 91; list of captains of Eton boats, 214-216 Championship of the world, 296, 297; see also under Professional racing Chitty, Sir Joseph, 320 Clothing, Henley rule concerning, 51 Clubs, practical advantages of, 178; Star and Arrow, 179; early records of the Leander, 179-181; the Leander's matches with the Universities, 181; the Argonauts, 182; foundation of the London Rowing Club, 182; past and present composition of the Leander, 183; suburban clubs, 183; provincial clubs, 184; draft rules for the formation of, 185; by-laws, 187; extinction of small clubs, 188-191; list of those contending at Henley, 245-73; O.U.B.C. college and club races, 289-292; C.U.B.C. college and club races, 292-296 Clubs:-- Argonauts, 189, 269, 320, 322; Ariel, 190; Atalanta (New York), 106; Bath, 184; B.N.C. Oxon, 119, 122, 181, 267; Burton-on-Trent, 184; Cambridge London Rooms, 263; Cambridge Subscription Rooms, 285, 289; Chester, 182, 183; Christ Church, 31, 208; Corsair, 190; C.U.B.C., see under; Dublin, 106, 184; Durham, 184; Grove Park, 183; Guy's Club (London), 264; Ino, 190; John o' Gaunt, 184; Kingston, 43, 79, 87, 106, 109, 182, 183, 190, 210, 234, 322; Lady Margaret, 38, 106; Leander, 33, 34, 79, 117, 179, 180, 183, 190, 192, 211, 254-256, 258, 260, 272; London, 79, 87, 88, 105, 106, 180, 182, 183, 189, 190, 210, 211, 226, 228, 272, 273; Mersey, 184; Molesey, 190; Nautilus, 189; Newcastle, 184; Nottingham, 184; Oscillators, 122; Oxford Aquatic, 263; Oxford Radleian, 119; Oxford Etonians, 152, 180, 210; O.U.B.C. (see under); Pembroke (Oxon), 106, 109; Queen's College, Oxford, 31, 38, 85, 86; Radley College, 209; St. George's, 182, 261, 262; St. John's Canadian, 119; Severn, 184; Star, 189; Thames, 42, 79, 182, 183, 233, 265; Thames Subscription, 42, 234; Twickenham, 183, 190; University College, 87; Wandsworth, 181; West London, 183, 190; Westminster, 208, 209; see also Temple of Fame, 245-296 Coaching, 66; tendency to become 'mechanical,' 66; coach should be a scientific oarsman, 67; testing rowing apparatus, 67; cause of faults in rowing, 68; 'lateness,' 68; over-reach of shoulders, 69; meeting oar, 70; faulty swing, 70; screwing, 70; feather under water, 71; swing across boat, 71; prematurely bending the arms, 71; exercise of crew in paddling, 72, 73; watermanship, good and bad, 74, 75; firmness in dealing with pupils, 75; selection and arrangement of crew, 76; Dr. Warre's 'Notes on Coaching,' 77; consumption of liquid in training, 161 Colds and coughs, treatment of, 176 College races, 245-251 Colquhoun Challenge Sculls, 38; winners of, 295, 296 Conservators, Thames, powers of, 323-327 Course, boat's, 238 Coxswains, Henley Regatta rules concerning, 51; see also under Steering Diamond Challenge Sculls, rules, 48; Edwardes-Moss's victory, 227; winners of, 248 Diarrh[oe]a, treatment of, 175 Diet, 153-163 Dingey, the, 145, 146 Doggett's coat and badge, 26; list of winners of, 303, 304 Drink, 158 Dublin Trinity College, results of matches at Henley Regatta, 210, 211 Dug-outs, 6 Egyptian boats, 12 Entries, regulations concerning, 49 Eton, rowing at, 86, 87, 200; fishing and shooting at, 201; the river out of bounds, 201; Dr. Keate and the sham eight, 201; shirking abolished, 202; swimming enforced, 202; river masters and bathing places, 203; 'passing,' 203; changes in the course of the Thames, 203; first race under official patronage, 204; watermen as stroke or coach, 204; upper and lower boats, 204; names and number of boats, 204, 205; entries for eights, 205; captains and 'choices,' 205; procession on opening day, 206; practice, 207; procession on June 4, 207; position of captain of boat, 207; _v._ Christ Church four, 208; _v._ Westminster, 208, 209; _v._ Radley, 209; lists of results of races at Henley Regatta, 210-211; upper sixes, 211; four _v._ watermen, 212; punting and tub-sculling, 212; courses and winning point, 212; the Brocas, 212; times, 212; build of boats, 213; style of rowing, 213; list of captains of boats and notable events, 214-216 Festers, treatment of, 175 'Field,' article on Henley Past and Present, 319-323 Firearms, use of, on river, 325 Foreign crews, regulations concerning, 199 Fouls, 239 Four-oars, 118; without coxswain, 119; steering apparatus, 119; in practice, 122; winners of races, 249-251, 292, 294, 298, 299, 301, 302 Gigs, 143, 144 Gold Cup for eights, 42, 260 Goodford, Dr., 202, 209 Grand Challenge Cup, 40; rules concerning, 47; racing record, 182, 183, 210, 211, 253, 258, 259, 261, 262, 264-268, 270, 272, 273, 319, 320; list of winners, 245 Hanlan, E., Canadian champion, 227, 229-231, 236 Hawtrey, Dr., 204 Henley Regatta, foundation of, 38; old and new courses, 40; qualification rules for cups, 47; general rules, 48; definition of an amateur oarsman, 48; entries, 49; objections to entries, 50; course and stations, 50; a row over, 50; heats, 50; clothing, 51; coxswains, 51; flag, 51; umpire and judge, 51; prizes, 51; committee, 52; restrictions on foreign crews, 199; Eton eight first at, 209; results of Eton racing at, 210; advantage of Berks station at, 228; Oxford _v._ Cambridge at, 254; Leander _v._ Oxford at, 254; random recollections of, 319-323; see also Temple of Fame, 245-253, 258-262, 264-270, 272, 273 Hornby, Dr., 320 House-boats, 324, 325 Junks, Chinese, 10 Keate, Dr., 201, 202 Kelley, Harry, and his contests, 218, 220, 221, 223 Ladies' Challenge Plate, rules, 47; racing record, 210, 211; winners of, 248 'Land and Water,' article on Boat-racing at the Universities, 313-319 Laws of boat-racing, 238; boats' course, 238; fouls, 239; code adopted by Amateur Rowing Association, 239, 240; rule of the road on river, 241, 242 Limehouse to Hertford and intermediate distances, 304, 305 Medway (Sheerness to Tonbridge, and intermediate distances), 310 Milk, cautious use of, 161 Navigation of the Thames, regulations for, 324 Oxford and Cambridge University Boat Race, list of winners since 1828, 252 Oxford to Lechlade and intermediate distances, 306, 307 Oxford to London and intermediate distances of locks, &c., 307-310 Oxford University Boat Club, races of, with C.U.B.C. and other clubs, 32, 36, 42, 89, 252-258, 260-288; college eights (head of the river), 289; winners of pair-oars, 290; winners of sculls, 291; winners of four-oars, 292; college and club races, 289-292; see Temple of Fame Paddling, 72, 73 Pair-oars, the acme of watermanship, 123; give-and-take action, 124; 'jealous' rowing, 124; balance and steering, 126; the start, 126; manipulation of the oars, 126; winners of, at Henley, 246, 293 Paramatta, rowing on the, 229, 236 Passing swimmers at Eton, 203 Ph[oe]nicians, the, 13 Pleasure-boats, regulation of, 325 Professional races and their winners:-- The aquatic championship, 296, 297; Thames National Regatta (champion fours), 298; sculls, 299; apprentices' sculls (coat and badge), 299; T.N.R. (second series), fours, 299; pairs, 300; sculls, 300; apprentices' sculls (coat and badge), 300; Thames International Regatta, champion sculls, fours, and pairs, 301; Royal Thames Regatta, watermen's prizes, 301; British Regatta in Paris, fours, pairs, and sculls, 302; World's Regatta on the Thames, 302; winners of Doggett's coat and badge, 303 Professional racing, 217; the London waterman, 217; first championship of the Thames, 218; defeat of Kelley by Chambers, 218; Green defeated by Chambers, 220; Chambers beaten by Kelley, 220; Cooper and Chambers defeated by Kelley, 221; Hammill beaten by Kelley, 221; Hoare defeated by Sadler, 221; second defeat of Chambers by Kelley, 221; anecdote of Chambers, 222; Kelley defeats Sadler, 223; Renforth beats Kelley, 223; Sadler defeats Boyd, 224; Trickett defeats Sadler, 225; Boyd beats Higgins, 225; Higgins beats Boyd, 225; Higgins defeats Elliott, 226; Elliott beats Boyd and Higgins, 226; Elliott defeated by Hanlan, 227; Trickett beaten by Hanlan, 229; Hanlan's victories over Laycock and Boyd, 230; he beats Kennedy and Wallace Ross, 231; cause of deterioration in professional rowing, 232, 233; bad form with sliding seats, 224, 225, 229, 230, 232, 235; lapse of professional regattas, 233; Beach defeats Hanlan, 236; Gaudaur beaten by Beach, 237; Beach paddles away from Wallace Ross, 237 Professionals, past and present:-- Anderson, Jock, 225; Bagnall, 224; Beach, William, 236, 237; Biffen, 229, 234; Blackman, 225, 229; Boyd, R. W., 224, 225, 226, 229-231; Bubear, 146, 231, 236; Cannon, Tom, 204; Chambers, Robert, 103, 105, 137, 218-222, 228; Campbell, 28, 218; Clasper, Harry, 124,143, 218; Clasper, Jack, 103, 124; Clifford, T., 236; Cole, 29, Cooper, 220, 221; Everson, 219; Fish, 204; Gaudaur, 236, 237; Green, 137, 138, 220; Elliott, W., 226, 231; Hall, Jack, 204; Hammill, 221; Hanlan, Edward, 134, 137, 225-230, 235, 236; Haverley, Jack, 204; Hoare, T., 221; Kelley, Harry, 138,172, 218-223, 228; Kemp, 29; Kennedy, J. L., 231; Largan, 231; Laycock, Elias, 230, 231, 235; Lee, 199, 227; Luke, 226; Lumsden, 225; Matterson, Neil, 236; Noulton, 36; Paddle Brads, 204; Perkins, 231, 236; Piper, 204; Renforth, 104, 105, 223; Ross, Wallace, 230, 231, 237: Rush, 229; Sadler, J. H., 103, 221-223; Strong, 184; Tagg, 234; Taylor, 105; Teemer, 236; Trickett, 224, 225, 229, 230; West, George, 33; White, Tom, 219; Williams, 28; Williams, C., 218; Wise, 234; see also 296-304 Prizes, rules regarding, 51 Public Schools Challenge Cup for fours, winners of, 251 Punctuality, 84 Racing courses, length of, 305 Raws, cure of, 174 Regattas, amateur rules governing, 197-199; lapse of professional, 233; see Temple of Fame Regattas:-- Barnes, 43; British Regatta in Paris, 302; Harvard, 279; Henley, see under; International, 44; King's Lynn, 104; Metropolitan, 42, 189; Molesey, 43; National, 42; Paris International, 119, 152, 221; Philadelphia, 226; Reading, 44; Royal Thames, 301; Sons of the Thames, 234, 235; Tewkesbury, 184; Thames, 42, 180, 221, 234, 260, 263; Thames International, 301; Thames National, 298-300; Walton-on-Thames, 43; World's Regatta on the Thames, 302 Registration of boats, 325 Renforth, James, champion, 223 Rivers and courses, 304; distances of locks, &c., on river Lea from Limehouse to Hertford, 304; length of racing courses, 305; distances of weirs, &c., from Oxford to Lechlade, 306; tables of distances of locks, &c., from Oxford to London, 307-310; intermediate distances on river Medway from Sheerness to Tonbridge, 310; intermediate distances on river Wey from Thames Lock to Godalming, 311 Rowing, rise of modern, 26; Doggett's prize, 26, 303; Westminster 'Water Ledger,' 27; match between randan and four-oar, 28; modest championship stakes, 28; Kemp's match against time, 29; foundation of Wingfield Sculls, 29; University training, 30; first University race, 32; records of college racing, 33; Oxford eight steered by professional, 34; London and Oxford amateurs, 35; adoption of 'light blue' by Cambridge, 37; match between Universities at Henley, 37, 38; foundation of Henley Regatta, 38; pair-oar races established at Universities, 38; Colquhoun sculls and University sculls, 38; four-oar races, 39; regattas, 40; Grand Challenge Cup at Henley, 40, 42; the 'seven-oar episode,' 42; Thames Regatta, 42; 'National' Regatta, 42; Metropolitan Regatta, 42; Barnes Regatta, 43; minor regattas, 43; constitution and rules of Henley Regatta, 45-52; first principles of scientific rowing, 53-56; muscular movement and mental volition, 54, 55; instruction in details, 57, 58; stroke, 57; set of back, 58, 59; swing, 59; use of legs and feet, 59, 60, 62, 64; government of oar, 60, 62; recovery, 61-63; feathering, 63; notes on stroke, 64; origin and use of sliding-seats, 102-117; four-oared rowing, 118-122; pair-oared rowing, 123-126; sculling, 127-141; training, 153-177; clubs, 178-191; amateurs, 192-199; Eton, 200-216; watermen and professionals, 217-237; laws of racing, 238-242 Rule of the road on river, 241 Rules for boat-racing, 316, 317 Rules for the formation of rowing clubs, 185 Running, 168, 171 Rupture, treatment of, 175 Rypecks, 321 Sanpan, the, 4, 6 Scientific oarsmanship, art of, 53-65 Sculling, 127; management of sculls, 128, 129, 132, 136; first lessons, 128; stretcher, 128; rowlocks, 129; thowl, 128; even action of wrists, 130, 131, 132; steering, 131; feathering under water, 131; the swing, 134, 136, 137, 138; steering apparatus, 134; slides, 135; pace, 137, 138; taking an opponent's water, 139; pilots, 140 Sheerness to Tonbridge, 310 Siestas, 176 Silver Goblets for pair-oars, rules, 48 Skiffs, 143, 144 Sleep, 163 Sliding seats, their origin, 102-106; use, 107; merits and defects of, 108; superiority over fixed seats, 109; practice at, 112; swing, 113; recovery, 114; remedying faulty work on, 115; introduction at Eton, 213; professionals at fault in use of, 224, 225, 229, 230, 232, 235; Hanlan's superiority on, 227, 228 Smoking, 165 'Sportsman' Challenge Cup, 146, 226, 229 Sprains, treatment of, 176 Steamers at races, 219 Steering, 92; early days of the coxswain, 93; the coxswain's attitude and action, 94; handling the rudder-lines, 94; words of command, 94; turning, 95; 'coaxing with the rudder,' 95; landmarks, 95, 96; characteristics of the boat, 96; four-oars, 119; boy coxswains, 122; pair-oars, 125; in sculling, 131, 134 Stewards' Cup, rules, 49; racing record, 261, 262, 264, 266, 267, 269, 320; winners of, 245 Strains, treatment of, 175 Stroke, notes on the, 64 Surf boats, 9 Swimming at Eton, 202, 203 Tea, 172 Temple of Fame, the, a list of winners, crews and men, 243-304 Thames Challenge Cup, rules, 47; winners of, 250 Thames Lock to Godalming, 311 Thames Preservation Act, 323; navigation, 324; regulation of pleasure-boats, 325; general powers of conservators, 327; legislative procedure, 328 Thirst, 160-163 Torpid, the term, 316 Town Challenge Cup, winners of, 251 Training, 153; diet, 154; old training of a prizefighter or a waterman, 155; present course, 156; morning bathing, 156; breakfast, 156; luncheon, 157; dinner, 158; drink, 158; practice, 160; thirst, 160-163; consumption of fluids, 161-163; sleep, 163; period of training, 164; smoking, 165; aperients, 165; work, 166; running, 168, 171; the 'set' stroke, 169; starting, 169; avoidance of over-fineness of condition, 170; use of the toothbrush, 171; value of the 'odd man,' 171; the 'long course,' 171; meal before and between races, 172; ailments, 172-176; wraps, 176; siestas, 176 Triremes, 17, 18, 20-23 Universities, results of races at Henley Regatta, 210, 211; record of inter and club contests, &c., 254-288; early history of boat-racing at the, 313; Brasenose Club Book, 313; bumping races, 314; 'no hired watermen,' 314; the 'Buccleuch,' 314; first use of a raft at Oxford, 315; boats and crews in 1824, 315; the term 'Torpid,' 316; rules drawn up for boat-racing in 1826, 316; ditto for 1827, 317; results of racing in 1828, 317; racing in 1829 and 1830, 318 University oarsmen, lists of, with their weights, and races in which they rowed, 243-296 Visitors' Challenge Cup, winners of, 249 Water, abstraction of, from river, 327 Waterford, Marquis of, 34, 35 Water-gruel, as a corrective of thirst, 160 Watermanship, as a technical term, explained, 74, 75 Watermen, employed as stroke or coach, 204; and see under Professionals Westminster School, 208, 209 Wey (Thames Lock to Godalming and intermediate distances), 311 Wherries, 142, 218 Wingfield, Mr. Lewis, his institution of the prize which bears his name, 181 Wingfield Sculls, foundation of, 29; winners of the, 243, 244 Wraps, 176 Wyfold Challenge Cup, rules, 48; conditions held under, 320; winners of, 250 PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON +----------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | ADDITIONAL TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: | | | | The scans on which this e-book has been based have been | | generously made available by the Internet Archive. | | | | Footnotes have been moved to directly under the paragraph or | | table they refer to. | | | | Page 40: the July 1886: possibly a word is missing (issue or | | similar). | | | | Page 254 and further: body weights given in the tables do not | | always result in the average weights given in the tables. | | | | Where the scans were not clear, the text has been completed | | based on other scanned copies and on 'best guesses.' | | | | Inconcistencies (including hyphenation) and (typographical) | | errors in the original text have not been changed, except as | | indicated below. Some names are spelled inconsistently even | | when they (probbaly) refer to the same person: Mc... and M'...,| | Haig and Haigh, Hornemann, Horneman and Horniman, Langmore and | | Longmore, and Revell and Revel, etc. These have not been | | changed. | | | | Changes and corrections made to the text: | | Some obvious typographical and punctuation errors have been | | corrected silently; | | page 44: 'Bridgenorth' changed to 'Bridgnorth'; | | page 53 (chapter title): 'OARMANSHIP' changed to | | 'OARSMANSHIP' as elsewhere; | | page 155: 'at a gift' changed to 'as a gift'; | | page 257: 'Uppleby' changed to 'Appleby'; | | page 263: 'Magdalen' changed to 'Magdalene;' | | page 267: year (1851) added above 'Stewards' Cup'; | | page 272: 'Darrock' changed to 'Darroch'; | | page 279, 282: 'Edwardes Moss' changed to 'Edwardes-Moss'; | | page 281: 'Michison' changed to 'Mitchison'; | | page 304: 'Feildep Weir Lock' changed to 'Feildes Weir Lock';| | page 333: 'das attischen Staates' changed to 'des attischen | | Staates'; | | page 340: 'tooth-brush' changed to 'toothbrush' as in text; | | Map of Putney Course (caption): 'E. Wellar' changed to 'E. | | Weller'. | | | | The erratum has already been corrected in the text. | | | +----------------------------------------------------------------+