Page:The Eight-Oared Victors.djvu/15

Rh "Hello, Duck!" greeted Sid with a cheerful grin.

"Where have you been, Frank?" asked Tom. "I was just coming out to join you."

Evidently this was Frank Simpson, the "Big Californian," the reason for the nickname being obvious.

"Come ahead—all of you," invited Frank. "It isn't so bad, and I guess it's going to clear up."

"I believe you're right!" agreed Tom, and there was an instant change in his voice. "It has almost stopped. Come on!" he cried. "You fellows stop boning, and we'll make a party of it. It's early yet, only the clouds make it seem dark."

"Wait a minute," suggested Frank, as he saw that the others were likely to fall in with Tom's idea. "Have you fellows heard the news?"

"Has Moses granted a Roman holiday?" asked Sid.

"Or has Pitchfork consented to resign?" added Phil.

"Neither one. This is the greatest news ever. And it's just the kind of a day to impart it, for it has to do with water. Fellows, do you think Randall could get into the rowing game—I mean as it ought to be gotten into? Do you think we could make up a crew—or two crews for that matter—an eight and four—that could put it all over Boxer Hall and Fairview Academy? Do you think