The two Randall eights—the old and the new—had separated to allow Boxer Hall to come between them, if it was her desire to have a friendly brush. At first it seemed as though Boxer would decline, but, at the last moment, the course of the boat was changed, and she shot straight for the open water between the other two craft.
“Now for it!” murmured Jerry in a low voice. “Be ready, fellows!”
Hardly had he spoken when, at a shout from their coxswain, the Boxer rowers suddenly increased their stroke. They had waited until almost on even terms with the other two boats, and evidently hoped to catch our friends unawares.
But they reckoned without their host, for Jerry and his fellow coxswain gave the order to increase, and the sixteen lads responded nobly.
Only for an instant did Boxer Hall hold her advantage. She did shoot ahead, but in a moment her two rivals were on even terms with her, and there they hung for more than a minute.
“Well, it didn’t work—did it?” called Jerry over to Pinky Davenport, who had succeeded Dave Ogden as coxswain of the Boxer eight.
“What didn’t work?” asked Pinky, innocently.
“Oh, you didn’t jump us,” and Jerry laughed, for he saw by the confused look on his rival’s face, as well as on the countenances of the others that their little trick—fair enough in its way—had been discovered.
But if Randall hoped to have matters all her own way, or even remain on even terms, she was much mistaken. For a time the impromptu brush had all the appearances of a real race, and the three boats seemingly tried as hard to win as though the championship of the river depended on it.