There was a craning forward by all. Many who had fieldglasses used them. Ruth produced a pair.
“Who’s leading?” begged Tom, in an agony of doubt.
“Fairview!” she replied.
“No, really?” and he almost grabbed the binoculars from her hands. “That’s right,” he admitted, grimly. “But our boys are pulling strong.”
“If they can only win!” breathed Sid.
“Keep still!” commanded Phil, whose nerves, as were those of his chums, were at a tension.
Cheers began to drift along the shore, coming from the crowds lining the banks.
“Randall has pulled up!” cried Sid. “Our boys are rowing strong!”
“They’ve got a ways to go to finish,” murmured Tom. “Oh, if they can last it out!”
Randall had a good lead now, and it was seen that Fairview was splashing badly. It developed later that two of her four-oared crew were overtrained—they could not stand the heart-breaking strain at the finish.