“Here is where we’ll show Colby Hall what’s what!” said one of the crowd. “After all, it’s the eight-oared race that counts. The others are only of secondary importance.”
“Sour grapes!” yelled one of the Colby cadets who overheard this remark. “You know the four-oared race is almost as important as the one to come off.”
As soon as they could do so, the Rover twins and their chums who had won the four-oared race put their shell away, had a rub-down, donned their uniforms, and then joined the other cadets. The Longley crew also put their shell away, and then Tommy Flanders and his cronies seemed to disappear.
“I guess they don’t want to be questioned about the race,” remarked Ruth to Martha, when they chanced to see the Longley boys hurrying off.
“Well, it’s a bitter pill for anybody to swallow,” answered Jack’s sister. “No one likes to be defeated.”
Flanders, Halliday, Sands and a number of others had come over to the Haven Point side of the lake in a private motor-boat belonging to an old boatman named Nat Durgin. The craft was one that had been on the lake for a great number of years, being used for all sorts of odd jobs.
“Come on! We’ll watch the last race from out on the lake,” said Flanders. “I’m not going back in that bunch to be laughed at.”
“Just my idea,” answered Paul Halliday, lighting a cigarette.
They had hired the motor-boat for the afternoon, so they could go where they pleased. Durgin himself ran the craft, not caring to trust it in the hands of any one else. He was a nice old fellow, although a bit lazy, and nearly everybody around the lake knew him.