“We never said we didn’t want you in the eight!” declared Frank. “In fact I thought you did as well at bow as anyone. It was the coach’s doings.”
“All right,” replied Boswell. “It doesn’t matter. I rather think I prefer this, on the whole. And I’m going to win, too!” he boasted.
“Good! We hope you do!” exclaimed Tom. Then, to his chums he added: “Come on, let’s get back to the island and enjoy it before he starts his monkey business there. I wonder when his cottage opens?”
“I saw a woman and a man working around there to-day, just before we left,” volunteered Sid.
“Then Bossy’s folks must be coming soon—more’s the pity—I mean as far as he is concerned,” put in Phil. “His folks may be decent enough, but he’s the limit.”
“I suppose he and that English pal of his—Pierce—will be drinking tea every afternoon at five o’clock,” said Tom. “They’ll have their cakes and Young Hyson out on the lawn, and—Oh, ‘slush, isn’t it fierce! A bally rotter, dontcherknow!’”
“The Knockers Club will please come to order!” exclaimed Frank, in mock seriousness.
“Say, I guess we have been piling it on pretty thick,” admitted Tom, with a grin. “Let’s get in our old tub, and pull back. It’s my turn to rest this trip.”
Laughing and joking, with occasional references to the proper way to handle an oar, and some talk of the offer of Mr. Pierson to coach them, the lads rowed back to their camp. They spent the next two days in getting the place in better shape.
“For exhibition purposes,” Sid explained. “The girls might come to lunch some day.”