The time had come for the crews to take to the river. The Boston schools row under the patronage of the Boston Athletic Association, which provides boats and coaches, arranges for the races, and furnishes prizes. Each school enters two fours, a first and second, which compete in separate races. As Westcott’s possessed a pair-oar of her own, there were places in the boats for ten men exclusive of the coxswains. Talbot narrowed down his squad to eleven, allowing an extra man for accidents and illness, and getting rid of the rest by the easy method of not inviting them to report on the river. Hardie, to his delight, received orders to bring his rowing clothes to the boat-house. He did so fully conscious that his destination was neither the first nor the second. Talbot had said nothing to this effect,—indeed, Talbot, now that the rowing season was actually to begin, abated something of his intimacy,—but there was a general agreement as to the provisional formation of the crews which was almost authoritative. Of the new men who had come out, three had shown promise of skill as oarsmen. One of them was Bursley, a quiet fellow who came in every day from a suburb a dozen miles out, tall, muscular, and teachable. Louis Tracy was another, and finally McDowell, who, though he had grown during the year, was still undersized. On the first crew were to be tried—so the report ran—Talbot, Bursley, Eaton, and Pitkin; on the second, Weld, Sumner, L. Tracy, and McDowell; Wilmot, Hardie, and Redfield would thus be left over for the pair-oar.
This forecast proved correct except in one particular. To his surprise, Roger got a trial the first day out, at two on the second. We may well call it a trial, for such it surely was to all concerned. More accurately described, it was a demonstration of incapacity. Roger’s struggles with his oar stirred his rowing companions to fierce growls, the coxswain to abuse, the loiterers on the float to gestures and grins of malicious enjoyment. Poor Number Two couldn’t get his oar in right; it twisted in his hand and pulled under, it wouldn’t come out when it ought and as it ought. Delayed by the insidious clutch of the water, he started his slide before he had freed his blade, and his knees rose and blocked the backward movement of his handle. Though he put forth extraordinary efforts to master the oar, the oar insisted on mastering him. By good luck and violent slide rushing, he managed to avoid taking Number Three in the back, but half the time he was holding or backing water, and all the time he was preventing bow from keeping stroke. Strive as he might with mind and body, his strength wrought nothing but confusion. A half-hour of this fruitless wrenching and blundering was all the crew could stand; the boat was headed in, and Roger was unceremoniously dumped upon the float.