This lake was a large body of water into which the river emptied—in fact it was more like the widening of the stream than a real lake, but a lake it was called in spite of that. In its centre was Crest Island, of good size.
Soon the four students were in the barge, a four-oared craft, with enough seats so that the quartette could row with an oar each, after the manner of those in a shell.
“Take out the rudder,” directed Frank. “We’ll have to make our own course, for it can’t be worked by one’s feet as in a four-oared shell.”
Phil unshipped the rudder, and they rowed out into the middle of the stream. It was easy going down with the current, but they realized that it would be harder coming back. However, they were out for practice as much as anything else, and did not mind a stiff pull.
“I wonder what sort of a stroke we pull?” said Tom, as they rowed on.
“Oh, we probably have lots of faults,” admitted Frank. “But they can be corrected.”
“It’s a pretty big chunk to bite off—to think of beating Boxer Hall, where the fellows have been rowing for years, and we just starting in,” commented Sid.
“Oh, stranger things have happened,” declared Tom. “We can do it.”
Then began a spirited discussion of the splendid offer that had been made to Randall, and a talk as to what the other students would think of it. The four chums were enthusiastic over the prospect.
“Say,” called Tom, after a bit. “This is all right, and lots of fun, but we’ve come down quite a way, and we’ve got to think of going back. This current is fierce.”