Downs glanced a little doubtfully at his men. “I think so.”
“You’ll do it easier next time,” asserted the distinguished man. “A defeat like this breaks the spirit of a crew. What you want now is a good rest. I’ll see if I can’t get you a holiday for to-morrow.”
“That would be great! Do you think you can?”
President John’s knowing smile suggested mysterious reaches of influence which he was much too modest to mention. “I guess it can be arranged. We can’t afford to take any risks. The first name on that cup has got to be Newbury Latin.”
Westcott’s paddled in to the float, turning their boat over directly to Bainbridge Latin. Roger stripped for the shower in silence with lowering face.
“How do you feel now it’s over?” asked Pete, after staring for some seconds at his sullen companion. “All in?”
“No! Mad and disgusted!”
“You’ve nothing to be disgusted about,” said Eaton. “Rust says you pulled like a fiend the whole way. I’m the one to be disgusted. I didn’t row myself out at all.”
“That’s just it! If Pete had put up the stroke two minutes earlier, we’d have left ’em behind half a length! Now they’ll crow and the newspapers will call us a sandy but outclassed crew, and half the fellows will believe it.”
“Cut out the growling!” commanded the captain. “What I did was right, and I’d do it again. I didn’t know how you fellows were standing it, and there was no use in killing ourselves, with the finals on for day after to-morrow. But I’ll give you one sure pointer: you’ll have all the spurting you want on Friday.”