“I couldn’t get here. I was afraid they weren’t going to let me off at all. If they hadn’t, I’d have cut the job entirely. How I’d like to be in you fellows’ shoes! The Newbury cox will be the only one on their boat to see Westcott’s to-day. Gee, but I wish I was pulling an oar!”
Roger glanced with curiosity at Pete’s face to see what effect this boundless confidence had upon him. Pete was grinning broadly, but only with pleasure in Happy’s society. He didn’t need the stimulus of artificial encouragement.
“Arlington Trust. Fill ink-wells and run errands. Three dollars a week. It nearly pays for my lunches.”
“Don’t get discouraged,” urged Pete. “Perhaps you’ll be made a vice-president next year.”
“I’ll probably get a raise next year that’ll pay my car fares,” answered Hutchins, calmly. “Where’s old Withers? Do you suppose he’ll remember me?”
“He’ll never forget the man that stepped through the bottom of the pair-oar!” declared Pete. “He’s sore about it yet.”
That was the first link in a chain of reminiscences that sent the minutes flying. Hutchins had not succeeded in getting into college in spite of an extra year, and two long summers of arduous slaving; but he was the jolliest, best-hearted chap that Westcott’s had ever failed to make a scholar of, and he couldn’t open his mouth without being entertaining. Eaton had just reminded him of his historic attempt to prove to the coach by argument that he wasn’t feathering under, when two harsh toots of a steam whistle cut his explanations short and sobered all faces.
“Trowbridge!” exclaimed Eaton and Pete, in unison.
“Three. If Trowbridge is ahead, we’re close behind, you can depend on that,” said Talbot.
“Not yet. They’re some distance up, still.”
For two minutes they waited in silence, listening. Then the whistle screeched once more, this time distinctly nearer.
“One! Two!” counted Hutchins. “Trowbridge! Come on out!”
The captain made no objection, and the crowd broke for the float. They were none too soon. The launch was breasting the water a length out from the arch in midstream. Alongside, but still under the bridge, was Mac’s crew, an indistinct streak in the shadow. From the second arch inshore, the bow of the Trowbridge boat was just emerging. Ten seconds later, both boats were clear of the bridge, sweeping towards the finish line. No other crew was in sight.