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.
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