There was a breathless silence, and all eyes were turned on Frank Merriwell, who flushed beneath this sudden attention.
"There was one man on the crew who was not in condition to row in the race to-day, and I came very
near letting him out. Now I am glad I did not, for, although he had a bad felon on his left hand, there was no man of the crew who pulled a stiffer stroke or showed more lasting powers till the finish was reached. He fainted then, it is true, but it was because of the frightful pain in his hand and arm, and I wish you to remember that he did not faint till the victory was won."
"Merriwell! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"
Not even Bob Collingwood himself received a greater ovation. Frank was seized, he was lifted aloft, he was perched on the shoulders of his friends, and then there was a general howl for a speech.
Frank felt himself thrill from his hair to his toes; his eyes were dimmed with moisture, even though he laughed. In his bosom there was a choking sensation of gratitude and love for his comrades and the admiring throng around him. He forgot that he had a single foe at Yale—that he had a foe in all the wide world.
"Boys," he said, somewhat brokenly, "I did my best for dear old Yale—that is all."
That was all he said. It was enough. It seemed
to touch a chord in every breast, and there was a ring of patriotism in the cheering that followed.
"Here's to good Old Yale—drink it down!
Here's to good Old Yale—drink it down!
Here's to good Old Yale,
She's so hearty and so hale—
Drink it down! drink it down! down! down!"