“Well, it’s another little wrinkle—one of a number—we’ve learned about the boat,” spoke Tom, when they were once more under way.
“All good things have to come to and end, I suppose,” remarked Sid, when they had landed and were bidding the girls good-bye. “But we hope there’ll be more excursions.”
“You can always ask us—at least as long as we’re here,” said Mabel. “Though I’m afraid we’ll have to go next week. It’s been perfectly lovely of Madge to keep us this long——”
“Indeed you’re not going so soon!” declared the hostess. “Why, you haven’t been here any time at all yet, and when you do go I’ll be so lonesome——”
“So will we!” chorused the lads. “Don’t go,” and the girls laughingly promised to stay as long as possible.
True to their determination, the lads went out in the four-oared shell the next day, with Mr. Pierson in the launch to coach them. He put them through some stiff practice, and increased the stroke to a number where the boys were almost on the point of protesting. But they realized that they needed it, though they were glad to stop when the word was given.
“A few days of that will put you in the way of bettering your wind,” said the old college graduate, with a whimsical smile. I have spoken of him as an “old” graduate, but, in point of fact he was not at all an elderly man. I merely used “old” in a comparative sense.
“I wonder what’s the matter with Boswell?” ventured Sid, as they rowed the shell back to the college float, and prepared to motor back in the launch. “I haven’t seen him out practicing to-day.”
“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “And say, did it strike any of you as queer the way that Mexican was looking for him?”
“Somewhat,” admitted Frank.