Page:The Eight-Oared Victors.djvu/135

Rh Fairview was a good quarter of a length ahead. Another minute and she was a half.

"One more stroke!" pleaded the coxswain, and Frank nodded desperately. Slowly Randall began creeping up again, but it could not last.

And then came a narrow turn in the river, a rather dangerous place with cross currents.

"Easy all!" called Roger Barns, and his crew ceased rowing. It was a signal that the impromptu race was over.

"Easy all!" commanded Jerry, with a sigh that they had not won. But at that Fairview was only a scant quarter of a length In advance. Randall had been beaten, but not by much.

"Congratulations!" called Roger to his rival steersman. "You've coming on, Randall."

"Oh, we'll beat you in the Fall," retorted Jerry, cheerfully.

"We'd have walked away from you if it hadn't been the tail end of the season," declared Hadfield Spencer, the Fairview stroke. "We're not in training."

"Oh, don't crawl," said the coxswain. "They rowed a good race."

And this was praise indeed, from no mean rival, and from the coxswain of a crew that had given Boxer Hall, the river champions, a hard race.

"Well done, boys! Well done!" exclaimed