Both coxswains were counting steadily to keep the rowing smooth and even, and Chippie’s boat had already caught up to the extent of half a length, when an angry exclamation escaped one of the boys who had “caught a crab”, and, at the same time, lost his balance—tumbling over backwards with his feet in the air.
“All but Number Three keep on rowing,” cried Chippie. “Easy, there, Number Three! You must not pull the boat around. All right, Dick. Now, all together,—keep stroke! One, two!—one, two!—one, two!—” Thanks to Chippie’s presence of mind, the incident had only cost them one boat’s length, so that they found themselves a length and a half behind the other boat, instead of half a length, as they had been before.
“It was your fault, Guy,” muttered Dick under his breath, to the boy behind him.
“Keep your mouth shut and your oar going, Dick,” cried the coxswain; “we’ve got to save this race first, and you can blame other people afterwards.”
Some of the boys in the other boat, when they had noticed Dick’s mishap, had begun to laugh and sensibly slackened up their pace. Chippie noticed this, and it gave him a new interest in gathering his men together to do their best.
“Now, boys,” said he, in a low but distinct tone, “pull yourselves together, and we may win out yet. The other crew have begun wool-gathering, and that will give us a chance either to win or make it a tie.”
Then, “one, two!—one, two!—” he began his firm rhythmical count, and every boy in the boat felt the effect of Chippie Smith’s quiet determination.
In another minute the chuckling boys of the other crew were surprised to notice that they were only a half length ahead. Then they stopped grinning, and Malloy got back on his job, which he realized he should never have left for a moment.
But now it seemed that they had come too near to the goal to recover themselves entirely. Chippie Smith’s boat had too strong a headway, and the whole crew were working together like animated clockwork. They managed to cross the line practically at the same time as their opponents, and the question of which boat actually was the winner had to be referred to a committee of three boys who were in the jib netting at the finish. The race was so close that the committee itself was not unanimous, although Chippie Smith’s boat was declared the winner by the distance of a mere hair’s breadth.
When it was all over, Mr. Wentworth sent for Chippie and shook hands with him.