Kingdon slapped Pence on the shoulder. "Plain as a pikestaff! Bootleg tried to pry the rock loose, and failed. He meant to squash our tent flat. He cut the lever and dug the hole under the rock. Then he set the stone for a fulcrum. But he couldn't budge the bowlder. Not even that night when he came over here from Clay Head."
"Then what——?"
"The rain did it. The rain, feeding into that hole, worked all around the bowlder and, 'long toward morning, away she went."
"Lucky you had that hunch to move," said Horace.
"More than luck," Kingdon said gravely. But he made no further explanation.
That day there was no rowing practice, so Kingdon's idea was not divulged until the day following. The only change in the arrangement of the positions of the crew he made at first was to have Pence and Pudge MacComber shift places.
"Oh, cracky!" Kirby muttered to the black-eyed chap. "What a chance! Pudge for stroke!"
Kingdon had no idea of keeping Pudge there permanently. He wanted the fat boy, who was not so ponderously slow now, exercise having reduced his corpulency to a marked degree, where he could watch his stroke. After a time, Kingdon sent him back to his former position and brought Pence forward to his own place at Number Seven, taking the stroke-oar himself.
"Now, fellows, I'll give you my idea," Kingdon said. "Length of stroke doesn't always make for power. The longer the stroke, the longer the recovery. For eight men to row successfully in unison, they should use a stroke that is well within the power of the one of the eight who naturally takes the shortest stroke."
"Pudge!" cried several.