Following the conversation between Colonel Colby and Mr. Garrison Gif called upon his father and the two held a talk lasting the best part of an hour. When the son was ready to leave his face glowed with satisfaction.
“It’s dandy of you, Dad! Just dandy!” he said, catching his parent by the hand. “And won’t the others be surprised!”
“Are you going to tell them now, Gif? Before I arrange those details?”
“I suppose I might. But, no! I think I’ll keep them guessing for a while. I’ll just hint at what is coming.”
“You are to have some boat races here soon, I believe?”
“Yes, Dad. They come off Saturday.”
“Of course you hope to win?”
“We certainly do! You see, I’m at the head of the student athletic committee, and that, of course, takes in rowing here. The races are to be against Longley Academy, the place that has been recently turned into a military school.”
That day Mrs. Garrison appeared to see her husband and was glad to know that he was not injured nearly as much as she had anticipated. She remained with him for several days, being the guest of Colonel Colby, whom she knew quite well.
In a large school like Colby Hall there were, of course, many who could row well, and in the past there had been a number of races on the river and the lake. There were, in fact, a number of regular crews, and the school possessed an eight-oared shell, two four-oared shells, and a dozen or more singles and doubles.
“There will be three races,” announced Gif. “A race for the singles, one for the four-oared, and one for the eight-oared.”
“What about the motor-boat?”
“Colonel Colby wouldn’t think of that. He said that these contests must be contests of muscle, not gasoline.”
There had been a general try-out of all the available material for races in the school, and as a result of this three cadets had been chosen to represent Colby in the singles against three cadets from the rival academy. Then four other cadets with a coxswain were entered for the four-oared shell and eight cadets with a coxswain for the final event.
“Hurrah! we’re in the four-oared event,” cried Randy, catching his twin by the arms. “We’re to row in that race along with Spouter and Dan Soppinger.”
“Gee, I hope we win!” was the reply.
“Oh, we’ve got to win!”
“Of course you’ve got to win,” broke in Fred. “If you don’t win I’ll lambaste the life out of you!”
“You’ve got to do it for the glory of Colby!” exclaimed Jack. “We’ve got to smother Longley Academy.” Secretly it fretted him and Fred not a little to think that as officers of the school battalion they could not participate in any of these contests.
“What is Gif going to do? Just sit and look on?” questioned Andy.
“No. He’s to be coxswain of the eight.”
“And who will manage our four?”
“That hasn’t been decided yet; but it will probably be Walt Baxter.”
“Well, he’s all right,” answered Andy.
Every afternoon after the school session was over those who were to participate in the various races went down to the river to practice. Gif and his assistants were here, there, and everywhere directing the work. And even old Si Crews, the gymnastic instructor, did what he could to aid the cadets.
“If only it doesn’t rain on Saturday!” said Jack.
He had heard through Martha that the girls at Clearwater Hall were to come down to Haven Point and occupy a dock which had been hired for the occasion. This dock and a number of others were to be gayly decorated with bunting supplied by Colonel Colby. To make the occasion more festive the colonel and the owners of Longley Academy had hired a local brass band.
At last the all-important day arrived, and although it was rather cloudy early in the morning by eleven o’clock the sun came out brightly, much to everybody’s satisfaction.
The races were to start at two o’clock, and shortly after one the visitors from all directions began to come in; those from across the lake in various kinds of boats and others by carriage and automobile. Soon the docks at Haven Point were crowded and a row of men, women and young people lined the lake for a mile or more.
The Colby cadets had a dock to themselves directly next to that occupied by the girls from Clearwater Hall. The boys were in fine fettle, and no sooner had they assembled than they boomed out with their well-known refrain:
And the singing of this refrain was followed by a blare from tin horns and the noisy sound of many rattles.
But Longley was also at hand with a song of its own, followed by wild cheering and a number of catcalls.
“Here is where Colby Hall gets snowed under!”
“They won’t be in it with good old Longley!”
“Make it three straight victories, boys! Three straight victories!”
And to this the cadets of Colby Hall answered with equal vigor.
“Colby to the front, first, last, and all the time!”
“There is only one military academy on this lake, and that’s good old Colby!”
“Don’t forget to show ’em what real rowing means!”
And then came cries and toots and rattles from both schools until the noise was fairly deafening and the girls, who were between the two factions, had to hold their ears.
“Oh, I do hope Colby Hall wins!” whispered Ruth to Martha.
“You don’t wish it any more than I do,” was the quick reply.
“Spouter is going to row with Andy and Randy and Dan Soppinger,” put in May. “Oh, I do hope they come out ahead!”
“I just heard something,” put in another girl, Alice Strobell by name. “Tommy Flanders is going to row in the four-oared race and Paul Halliday and Billy Sands and another cadet are to be with him.”
“Oh, in that case they’ll row against our crowd!” cried Annie Larkins, her chum. And then the brass band struck up and everybody listened to the music.
The three cadets from Colby Hall to enter the singles were Bart White, Darrell Harkness, and Peter Floyd. They had wanted to be officers of the battalion, but having failed of election and still being somewhat popular Gif had given them the chance of representing the school on the water.
After all of the preliminaries had been arranged and the judges were in their places, the first race was called. It was for a little over a mile, around one of the small islands and back to the starting point. Soon the six single shells were lined up and at a report of a pistol they were off.
“Go it, boys! Go it for all you’re worth!” cried Jack enthusiastically. But this call was swallowed up in a volume of sound from several hundred throats.
The Colby Hall contestants held out well until the island, which was the turning point, was almost reached. Then, however, they began to lose ground, and when the island had been passed it was seen that the three oarsmen from Longley were in the lead.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! What did we tell you!” came from the cadets of the rival academy. “That’s the way to do it!”
“Come on, boys! The race is already yours!”
“Pull, Colby, pull!” screamed Fred, even though it was doubtful that his voice could carry such a distance. “Pull as you never pulled before!”
Swiftly the six single shells approached the finishing point of the race. Now it could be seen that one of the Longley oarsmen was slowly but surely dropping behind, while one of the rowers from Colby was just as surely forging ahead.
“Bart White is crawling up!”
“Pull, Bart! Pull!” was the cry from a Colby supporter. “You can win yet if you try!”
The finishing line was still ten yards off when suddenly Bart White passed the fellow from Longley who was dropping behind. Then he fought nobly to catch the two still ahead.
But the distance was too short to do this, and while he was crawling up steadily, before he could come within a length of the two forward shells they crossed the line amid yells from Longley which were deafening. The first race stood Longley first, second and fourth, with Colby third, fifth and sixth. As there had been but two prizes for this race, both went to Longley.
“Oh, dear! I hope we have better luck in the next event,” murmured May. She thought a great deal of her cousin Spouter, and wanted him to win.
Inside of half an hour the four-oared shell race was called, and out from one of the docks shot the Colby boat with Andy, Randy, Dan, and Spouter in their places and Walt Baxter as coxswain. From another dock shot the Longley shell containing Flanders, Halliday, Sands, and two cadets who were unknown to our friends.
It was plainly to be seen that in this race Longley Academy was “out for blood,” as the saying goes. Tommy Flanders’ face looked so stern that it was almost hateful, while Sands and Halliday showed that they were going to do everything possible to down their former schoolmates.
The intense rivalry resulted in some rather sharp maneuvering around the starting point, and some thought the Longley cadets endeavored to foul the Colby boat and possibly damage it. This led to some sharp remarks, which, however, were quickly stopped by those in charge of the affair. Both crews were ordered to their places and given very definite instructions regarding the race. Then came the word to get ready. Bang! went the pistol. They were off!
This race was to be an affair of about two miles around another one of the numerous islands which dotted the lake. The course had been laid out with care and motor-boats were doing their best to keep it clear.
The start was a beautiful one, and for a full half mile the two four-oared shells kept almost side by side. Then Colby Hall crept a little bit ahead.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Colby is gaining!”
“That’s the way to do it, boys!”
“The race is ours!”
But this last remark a moment later was seen to be premature, for with a mighty effort Longley increased its stroke and slowly but surely came up to the Colby shell and then with equal sureness passed it.
“Longley is ahead!”
“Stick to the front, boys! Don’t let ’em catch you!”
These and numerous other cries came from the supporters of the academy from across the lake. Thus encouraged, Longley kept forging ahead until a distance of at least a hundred feet separated them from Colby.
“Oh, dear!” moaned May. “We’re going to lose this race too!”
“Perhaps not,” answered Ruth Stevenson hopefully.
“Gee! why don’t our boys get a move on?” whispered Fred to Jack. The two young officers were side by side and the face of each showed his intense anxiety.
“Maybe Walt is holding them in a little,” answered the young major. “Those Longley boys may be using up their muscle too quickly.”
Presently the island was rounded and the two four-oared shells started for the finishing line. Longley was still a hundred feet or more in advance and kept that distance in spite of what the other boat seemed to be doing to overtake them.
“It’s our race! It’s our race!” yelled the Longley cadets enthusiastically, and caps, rattles, and horns were thrown wildly up into the air.
Then came the last quarter of the race, and now it could be seen that the coxswain of the Colby shell was talking earnestly to those under him. At once the stroke of the Colby oarsmen was increased, and slowly but surely the craft began to creep closer and closer to that ahead.
“That’s the stuff, Colby! Go to it!” yelled Jack at the top of his lungs. “Colby! Colby! Colby!” and this cry was taken up over and over and over again, ringing out up and down and across the lake.
And now the finish of the race was but a hundred yards off. Longley was still nearly a hundred feet ahead, but the oarsmen in that craft, and especially Tommy Flanders, looked all but winded. They tried in vain to increase their stroke. It could not be done, and the only result of the effort was to throw Paul Halliday out of stroke and thus for an instant to disorganize the whole crew. Then slowly but surely, with set teeth and eyes that seemed to strain from their sockets, the Colby crew came on.
“Row! Row!” called out Walt Baxter sharply. “Row! Row!” suiting the words to the movement of his body.
And the cadets under him did row as they had never rowed before, and when the finishing line was still ten yards away they flashed past the other crew and came in victorious by half a length.