“Rah! F. L. E. M. M. I. N. G.! Fszt! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!”
“Nine-ty-two! Rah! Rah-oh-ah!”
The race was over, and the blue had won. Once more, ninety-two was triumphant; but the junior captain was not half the hero in the boys’ eyes that Frank Osborn was, when he was landed, dripping, from the boat which had picked him up, and stowed away in the doctor’s carriage, for a quick drive homeward in the sunset.
CHAPTER XVI.
IN THE RAVINE.
It was two weeks after the regatta, and again the boys were on the water. Six of the Wilders had taken advantage of a pleasant Saturday afternoon to walk up to the lake, and take out the Flemming for two or three hours’ fishing. For some time they had been watching their lines with a patience which was but ill-rewarded, for they had only a meagre number of worthless little fish to show for their waiting. Now, at the suggestion of Max, they were about to seek a fresh ground, and with their light anchor still dragging, they were slowly rowing up to the northern end of the lake, to try their fortunes in a deep, quiet pool which they had known of old. Suddenly Harry paused on his oars.
“Halt! I say,” he exclaimed. “This place is too cool and pleasant to leave; let’s lie off here for half an hour and enjoy it. We shall have time then for all the fishing we want.”
“Only four weeks more,” sighed Jack; “and then where’ll we be?”
“‘We’re goin’ ’ome; we’re goin’ ’ome;
Our ship is at the shore;