"In the year and a half that he has been here," said Hamilton, "he has made a greater record in athletics than any other man ever made in twice that time. And think of his rowing the race to-day with that hand, and then fainting the moment he knew the line was crossed and Yale had won! I tell you, Creighton, that fellow is all sand—every bit of him."
"That's what he is," nodded Creighton. "He is running over with the true Yale spirit. I tell you, my
boy, Old Yale bears mighty men! Come, let's kill this bottle of fizz, which I got off the ice expressly for Merriwell, confound him!"
Then they lost little time in opening the bottle and swallowing its sparkling contents.
Bob Collingwood was overwhelmed with congratulations. He said very little before the crowd, but to a particular friend he declared:
"It is one of the marvels of the year that we won to-day. Harvard outrowed us for fully three-quarters of the course, and she would have finished in the lead if her crew had been as stocky as ours. Their stroke is easier on a man than ours."
"Then you acknowledge at last that the Oxford stroke is superior to the American?" eagerly questioned the friend.
"I have acknowledged nothing yet, but I fear I'll be forced to."
The jubilant fellows were making the boathouse ring with songs of victory. About twenty flushed lads were roaring: