"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:
