Page:The Eight-Oared Victors.djvu/303

Rh Boswell, rowing with the others to the start, was almost upset in his mind as was Tom.

"So, he thinks I stole that pin—all the jewelry, I expect!" he mused. "What can I do? What shall I do? I wonder where in the world Mendez is? If I could only find him"

"Mind where you're going, Randall!" called a sharp voice, and Boswell changed his course, that had threatened to cut into the Fairview shell.

Boswell and the others reached the starting line. There they got into position, the last word was given, there was a moment of suspense, and the warning gun was fired. Then came the final signal, and they were off.

Three backs bent to the stroke, six oars took the water, there was a swirl of foam and bubbles. Tiny whirlpools formed at the ends of the spoons, and the single race was under way.

"Oh, If I can only win—if I can only win!" thought Boswell.

And the lads from Boxer Hall and Fairview thought the same thing.

It was half way to the finishing mark. Boswell was rowing well, and was maintaining the slight lead he had. Casting a glance over his shoulder to note his course, his eyes swept the crowd on the river bank, near which he was. A face seemed to stand out from among the others.

"Mendez! Mendez!" cried Boswell.