Page:The Eight-Oared Victors.djvu/315

Rh "How much longer?" asked Frank, as he shifted himself on his sliding seat.

"Not much, I guess," replied Mr. Lighton, looking at his watch. "About"

A shot boomed out from the starter's boat.

"There goes the warning gun," the coach interrupted himself. "A minute more. Take it easy at the start, boys. It isn't a hundred-yard dash, remember. The hard work will come at the end. Steady all—eyes in the boat—row hard—and—win!"

And, with these final words, Mr. Lighton steamed off in his launch, the other coaches also leaving their crews to themselves.

The race was to be down stream, and, in order to make an even start, the stern of each shell had been made fast to an anchored boat in the middle of the river. At the signal the retaining ropes were to be loosed, and the race would start. Eager ears waited for the final signal.

"Get ready boys!" called Jerry Jackson, his eyes on his watch, which he had fastened before him. "You've got about fifteen seconds more."

There were sharp intakings of breath, and the young coxswain, glancing at his crew, noted with satisfaction that the slight tendency toward nervousness, exhibited by some, had disappeared. They were all cool and eager.

Crack! came the report of the starting gun