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
