Page:The Eight-Oared Victors.djvu/132

120 Evidently it was a little trick, played with the hope that Randall would spurt, and give her rivals an opportunity to sweep ahead of them in splendid style, thus winning the impromptu race. If such was the intention Randall did not bite at the bait, for Frank, in a few whispered words to Jerry, advised him not to signal for a quicker stroke.

"Say, is this a race or a crocheting party?" grumbled big Dutch Housenlager. "Vat you t'ink, Kindlings."

"I'm thinking that—I'm—getting winded," panted Dan Woodhouse.

"Silence up there!" exclaimed Jerry, sharply. "It isn't a talking match, whatever else it is! You'll get all the race you want pretty soon. We're coming to a good stretch and I think they'll hit it up there. Be ready for the word, fellows."

"Say, boys, he talks; but he won't let us!" complained Bricktop, winking at Jerry.

"That means you!" insisted the coxswain. He glanced ahead. The launch with the coach had speeded off and was some distance up the river now, evidently waiting for the finish of the little brush.

The talk in the Randall eight had been carried on in low tones, for sounds carry wonderfully