cautioned Mr. Lighton, who had not even turned his head to see the approaching shell behind him. "It will be a temptation, I know, but we are not ready for a spurt yet."
"Are we going to let them pass us?" demanded the rich lad, almost forgetting to row.
"Don't talk!" came sharply from the coxswain. "It's your business to row, Boswell, if you want to be in this eight. You almost lost a stroke then, and see how the boat slews! I have to shift the rudder to correct it, and in a race that might mean the loss of considerable distance. Pick up your stroke, and don't race!"
The face of the rich lad expressed disappointment, and his was not the only one. Certainly it was a bit galling to let Boxer Hall—their ancient rival—pass them, and the first time Randall was out in her eight, too!
But afterward all admitted the wisdom of the course taken by the coach. They were in no condition to race, and, green as most of them were as to how to behave in a tricky shell, they might have had an upset. Not they would have minded that, but they would have been the laughing-stock of Boxer Hall.
On came the rivals, the oars being feathered beautifully. They took the water with that peculiar chugging sound that always denotes a well-trained crew.
