And then there was such a hubbub that hardly a word of what was said could be understood. As before, the horns and rattles added to the din, and if the brass band was playing nobody heard it.
Gif was certainly handling his crew superbly, but the coxswain of the Longley oarsmen also understood his business, and now he increased the stroke just a little and then slowly but surely Longley began to creep up an inch at a time. Now it was less than a yard behind, now only a foot, and now the two shells were once more bow and bow.
“That’s the way to do it, Longley! Hurrah!”
“Keep it up! Make Colby take your wash!”
There had been a moment of intense suspense and silence, but now another roar went forth as the hopes of Longley revived. Everybody was again on his feet and all sorts of objects were thrown into the air, many of them going overboard into the lake. And now the racers had rounded the second mark and had but little more than a mile to go. This was close to the shore at Clearwater Hall, and many people lining the bank were on hand to encourage the young oarsmen.
Longley had crept ahead a full yard, but now Gif spoke quietly but earnestly to those under him. His body swayed back and forward a little quicker and with a longer motion, and the oarsmen caught the swing, their bodies moving with the precision of a machine. The long eight-oared shell seemed fairly to leap from the water, and in a twinkling the lead of the rival shell was cut down and Colby shot ahead.
[“Hurrah! Look at that!”] was the cry. [“Colby leads!”]
[“HURRAH! LOOK AT THAT! COLBY LEADS!”]
“Come on, you duffers!” yelled Dan Soppinger. “Come on! The race is yours!”