Trains from New York brought up graduates, who were anxious to back the crew of their own college, but, with all conditions pointing to a Harvard defeat by a crushing margin, even the most loyal Harvard men were chary of betting. They were willing to back their own crew, but to bet after such an exhibition of slow running as the Harvard crew had given, looked like throwing money away. Yale men, on the other hand, were naturally eager to bet, and they offered odds with the utmost liberality, feeling that they were justified in giving any sort of inducements.
On Sunday afternoon a number of visitors appeared both at Red Top and Gale’s Ferry. There was to be no work for the oarsmen, and parties were made up from both camps for sails on the sound; invitations enough to take care of twice as many men as were present, having come from the graduates, whose yachts were at anchor in the harbor.
At Gale’s Ferry, Dick Merriwell, still puzzled by what he and Benton had seen, was delighted at the arrival of Jim Phillips and big Bill Brady. Jim looked as if he had been resting for a month; and Dick, who had feared that the pitcher might suffer some bad effects from the terrible experience he had undergone while he was locked in the freight car, was much relieved.
“I’ve been feeding him up, Mr. Merriwell,” said Brady, with a grin. “His appetite is all right—I can testify to that. We’re gentlemen of leisure now—come up for a loaf, and we want to watch these oarsmen do the work.”
“All through work for the season, Bill?” asked Dick, with a smile. “How about you, Jim?”
“Oh, I’ll take a hand if there’s a good game in sight, any time,” said Jim. “But it’s a relief to have the strain of that championship over. I’ll admit that.”
“How about the weights, Brady?” asked Dick. “Have you ever thrown the hammer?”
“Gee!” said Brady, looking alarmed, “I thought I could make people forget that. Yes, I used to throw the twelve-pound hammer a little when I was in school. But I’ve never tried the sixteen-pound thing.”
“Well,” said Dick, looking a little maliciously at the big catcher, “they’re very anxious for weight throwers on the team for the Olympic games. In fact, the committee’s in rather a hole for men for several events. Some of the big men can’t manage to get away, and some of those who were counted on find that they have gone off a good deal since that last meet in London. So it looks as if a good many of us who hadn’t thought much about it will have a chance to go to Sweden after all.”
“Count me out of that,” said Brady positively. “I’m going up to my dad’s cottage on the Maine coast and just loaf all summer. The responsibility of helping to look after Jim Phillips all spring has worn me to a frazzle. I’m losing weight; I can’t sleep; and, in fact, I’m just being wasted away to a shadow.”