“Maybe Walt is holding them in a little,” answered the young major. “Those Longley boys may be using up their muscle too quickly.”
Presently the island was rounded and the two four-oared shells started for the finishing line. Longley was still a hundred feet or more in advance and kept that distance in spite of what the other boat seemed to be doing to overtake them.
“It’s our race! It’s our race!” yelled the Longley cadets enthusiastically, and caps, rattles, and horns were thrown wildly up into the air.
Then came the last quarter of the race, and now it could be seen that the coxswain of the Colby shell was talking earnestly to those under him. At once the stroke of the Colby oarsmen was increased, and slowly but surely the craft began to creep closer and closer to that ahead.
“That’s the stuff, Colby! Go to it!” yelled Jack at the top of his lungs. “Colby! Colby! Colby!” and this cry was taken up over and over and over again, ringing out up and down and across the lake.
And now the finish of the race was but a hundred yards off. Longley was still nearly a hundred feet ahead, but the oarsmen in that craft, and especially Tommy Flanders, looked all but winded. They tried in vain to increase their stroke. It could not be done, and the only result of the effort was to throw Paul Halliday out of stroke and thus for an instant to disorganize the whole crew. Then slowly but surely, with set teeth and eyes that seemed to strain from their sockets, the Colby crew came on.
“Row! Row!” called out Walt Baxter sharply. “Row! Row!” suiting the words to the movement of his body.
And the cadets under him did row as they had never rowed before, and when the finishing line was still ten yards away they flashed past the other crew and came in victorious by half a length.