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,
