“We started down just as an inferior college eight came along, pulling a regulation good hard stroke. Caffrey said: ‘We may as well race this eight now they are here,’ and started us up. He is heavy, but he knows more about managing a crew than all the other coxes together, and everybody has confidence in him and doesn’t get rattled. He pushed us along as fast as we could go to a bridge. We had a fraction of a length start, but we gained until we went through the bridge a length ahead of the other crew. Of course the eight was not racing, but it was pretty good for us, to spurt a four-oar faster than an eight goes when rowing at a good pace. This was not one of the Varsity eights, of course, but an upper class eight, or a club eight. It would have been the height of ridiculousness and especially of freshness to row against the freshmen or the 2d or 3d Varsity. After a short stop to tell us what he wanted us to do, we went all the way back to the boat-house without a break and at a good pace. On the way down Caffrey talked to us, telling us how to save strength or favor some muscle, and trying to get us to rest on the recovery.
“I was dead tired when we got to the boat-house, but I think I pulled just as hard on the tired stretch as at any other time, excepting, of course, the race. I think Caffrey raced us to give us confidence and to get us into the habit of not getting rattled. And now for the most important thing of all. I was promoted to the second. It was because I pulled so hard and didn’t give in or weaken. Pete told me so while we were dressing. Weld must take the pair-oar. I’m out of that. I may get kicked back in a little while, but it will not be from lack of effort on my part if I do. I would rather make the second crew than anything else (except the first), as that means something; for our crews are in a different class from any of our other teams, and 2d crew this year means 1st crew next year (if I can possibly make it)!
“That was on Tuesday. Since then I’ve been rowing on the second every practice without being kicked, but I live in a continual state of terror that some one will oust me from my place. Of course there’s only Wilmot and Weld, and Wilmot’s too short and fat to be any good, while Weld is not supposed to have the staying power, but I shan’t be free from worry until the race starts (and that’s still nearly three weeks off). Even if I can hold my place, I might get sick or hurt somehow, and so be thrown out.
“On Friday we went out in the worst weather we ever had. The rain blew so fast that sheets of it would go into Mike’s megaphone, so that he really spent more time in blowing out water than in talking, though this was only when we were bucking the wind. We were all soaked about five minutes after we left the boat-house. The waves were very bad, often piling right over the boat. The rain came down so fast that it looked like a mist, and you couldn’t see the shore from the middle of the river. We didn’t stay out long, for there was no chance for good rowing. When we came in, we found that the roof leaked. Little Mike was down on the Newbury bunch because some one of them pinched his collar buttons one day, so that he hadn’t anything to button his collar to. So he put the clothes of the Newbury crews, who were still out, under the leak.
“This is a terribly long letter and will cost something to send it to Buenos Aires, but I wanted to tell you all about the crew business even if it does bore you. It means a lot to me. If you went to Westcott’s, you would understand. You can read between the lines that my health is good and the studies are going all right. I got 82 in a history exam, on Monday. Love to all.
“Your affectionate son,
“Roger.”
“What do you think of that?” asked Mrs. Hardie, four weeks later, after her husband had patiently toiled through the letter. “Fancy their going out in a tempest that soaked them in five minutes!”
“I don’t care about that,” said Mr. Hardie. “It’s the race that troubles me. It is a great strain on the heart, and the Hardies have a tendency to weak hearts.”
“Roger takes after me, and my family have good tough hearts,” returned Mrs. Hardie, quickly, seeing, as she thought, a disposition on the part of her husband to disapprove the boy’s rowing. She was touched that her son should count on her loving interest in all that occupied his thoughts; she objected strongly to making use of his confidences to thwart the ambitions which he cherished most deeply, thus perhaps banishing forever the frankness in which her mother heart delighted.