The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 27
CHAPTER XXVII
A BRUSH WITH BOXER
"What do you think about it, boys?" called Mr. Lighton, from the launch where he and Mr. Pierson were sitting to do the coaching as they glided along. "Do you want to try it?"
"Sure thing!" answered Tom.
"Of course," assented Pete Backus, from the second eight.
"All right. Just row along then, and don't make any allusion to a race," advised Mr. Lighten. "If they want to pick up and come in, let them. Only—don't let them win!" he added, significantly. "Even if it is only a friendly brush."
"Let them win! I should say not!" declared Frank. "Be ready to pick me up quick now, fellows, when Jerry gives the word to spurt."
"Aye, aye, sir!" echoed Bricktop Molloy, from his position behind the stroke oar.
"And say, we don't want to let those fellows do us, either," went on Percy Pineford, coxswain of the second eight. "Let's beat the varsity and Boxer Hall, too."
"If we can," remarked Harry Chapin, who was at stroke.
"We can if you'll pull hard enough and fast enough." retorted the coxswain.
"Naturally. That's as easy as pons asinorum to say, but not so easy to do," commented number six—Billie Burden.
"Say, if you lads want to have any breath left for rowing you'd better stop talking," commented the coach, and after that there was silence in the varsity as well as in the second eight.
On came Boxer Hall, and not a Randall lad but envied their long, powerful stroke, so evenly done, and with such seeming power back of it. But Boxer Hall had been turning out winning crews for several years, and they had had much practice.
But, with all that, as Mr. Lighton and Mr. Pierson watched the two crews of Randall, out of whose numbers they hoped would come a varsity winner, the head coach remarked: "Our boys do very well."
"Very well indeed," responded the Cornell man. "In fact I like their stroke better than that of Boxer Hall's. It is likely to last longer, and is not so tiring. Our boys feather better, too."
"Yes, thanks to your instruction this Summer to Tom Parsons and his three chums. Four good rowers in a boat help to put it in the champion class."
If it was the intention of Boxer Hall to indulge in a race with our friends the river champions gave no intention of it at this time. They rowed on slowly, being some distance down the stream. The water was wide at this point, and there was room for several craft abreast, even with the long oars in the outriggers which set well out over the gunwales.
"Watch out for a sudden spurt," advised Frank, in a low voice to Jerry, who nodded in his coxswain's seat, and got the tiller ropes in a firm grasp.
Boxer Hall was known to be foxy, and if she could creep up on her rival, and, by a sudden increase in the stroke, gain such an advantage that Randall would find it hard to overcome the lead obtained, it would look as though our friends were outclassed. But there were wise boys at Randall, too.
The two Randall eights—the old and the new—had separated to allow Boxer Hall to come between them, if it was her desire to have a friendly brush. At first it seemed as though Boxer would decline, but, at the last moment, the course of the boat was changed, and she shot straight for the open water between the other two craft.
"Now for it!" murmured Jerry in a low voice. "Be ready, fellows!"
Hardly had he spoken when, at a shout from their coxswain, the Boxer rowers suddenly increased their stroke. They had waited until almost on even terms with the other two boats, and evidently hoped to catch our friends unawares.
But they reckoned without their host, for Jerry and his fellow coxswain gave the order to increase, and the sixteen lads responded nobly.
Only for an instant did Boxer Hall hold her advantage. She did shoot ahead, but in a moment her two rivals were on even terms with her, and there they hung for more than a minute.
"Well, it didn't work—did it?" called Jerry over to Pinky Davenport, who had succeeded Dave Ogden as coxswain of the Boxer eight.
"What didn't work?" asked Pinky, innocently.
"Oh, you didn't jump us," and Jerry laughed, for he saw by the confused look on his rival's face, as well as on the countenances of the others that their little trick—fair enough in its way—had been discovered.
But If Randall hoped to have matters all her own way, or even remain on even terms, she was much mistaken. For a time the impromptu brush had all the appearances of a real race, and the three boats seemingly tried as hard to win as though the championship of the river depended on it.
Then the second eight began falling behind. The lads made a gallant effort to keep up, but the grind was too much for them.
"It's up to us now!" declared Jerry, in a low voice. "I'm going to push you fellows!" and he set the stroke at a heart-breaking pace.
His lads stood the "gaff" for a while, and then, noting the distress on the faces of several, Jerry, much against his will, had to lower the rapidity of the stroke.
Boxer Hall had held pace with her rival, giving them stroke for stroke, and now as Pinky saw his opponents in distress, he called for a quick spurt. And to the credit of Boxer Hall, be it said that her men responded in excellent style. They kept up the pace until, in a swirl of water, they had passed the varsity Randall eight, leaving that and the second craft behind. And then, to show that they had their nerve with them, the Boxer Hall rowers did not let up for another minute, sending their craft on at racing speed, even after they had won, and Randall was resting on her oars, completely "tuckered out."
It was a bad beating for Randall, and the faces of the two coaches as they came up in their launch showed the disappointment they felt.