“All to the cream!”
“Nothing like ’em ever seen on this river before!”
“And look at the eight! Isn’t that a peach?”
“Easy there, Housenlager, that isn’t a ferry-boat!” and Jerry Jackson kept the big lad from stepping into the new eight-oared shell. The other exclamations, as may easily be surmised, came from the college lads as they gathered about the new float and boathouse, in front of which were the new craft that had been put in the water that day. It was a week or so after the opening of Randall, and matters were shaping themselves up in some kind of order.
“Two fours, four singles, two doubles and the eight!” remarked Tom. “Say, that committee of old grads certainly did themselves proud all right!”
“They sure did,” agreed Sid.
“And this boathouse can’t be beat!” added Phil, as he and the others inspected the new structure.
“I only hope that same thing applies to our boats,” remarked the Big Californian, grimly. “There’ll be something coming to us if they can’t be beaten.”
“Let’s get in and have a trial,” suggested Sid. “Come, we’ve got enough for two eights—one crew in the old shell and one in the new. We’ll find out if she’s stiff enough.”
“Better wait until Mr. Lighton gives the word,” suggested Tom. “They’ll want to soak up a bit, anyhow, being new; and our weight might open up the seams too much.”