AFTER THE BOAT RACE.
"Breka Co ax Co ax Co ax!
Breka Co ax Co ax Co ax!
O—up! O—up!
Paraboleau!
Yale! Yale! Yale!
'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!
Yale!!!"
Imagine a thousand, full-lunged, hearty, healthy American lads shouting this cry in unison! It was a sound never to be forgotten by those who heard it. The victorious blue fluttered everywhere.
Harvard had made a gallant fight, and it had been "nobody's race" almost to the finish. The Yale crew proved superior, but it won purely by brawn and stamina. Old oars confessed that up to the last half mile Harvard had shown better coaching and had seemed to establish the superiority of the Oxford oar and stroke over American methods.
But "Old Eli" had seemed to feel that it would be a lasting disgrace to be vanquished by anything about
which there was an English flavor. The spirit of Bunker Hill and '76 was aroused, and the defenders of the blue were willing to die in the struggle if such a sacrifice could bring victory.
It was not the first time that pure grit had won against odds.
As the Yale boat crossed the line Frank lay, deaf to all the tumult of applause, his eyes closed, but still with his pale face set in a look of mingled pain and unyielding determination.
"It's Merriwell!" exclaimed Bob Collingwood. "I had forgotten him."
His words were drowned by the roaring of the excited thousands and the shrieking of the whistles.