They were half way over the second mile—half the course had been rowed.
Frank Simpson, watching Jerry, saw the little coxswain shoot a quick glance toward the Boxer Hall boat, and then stiffen in his seat.
“Hit it up!” cried Jerry, and he gave the signal for a thirty-per-minute stroke. But, even as he did Frank, risking something by taking his eyes off the coxswain, looked across the lane of water.
He saw the Fairview boat shoot ahead, while, the next instant the Randall shell, urged onward by the increased stroke, tried to minimize the advantage gained.
[CHAPTER XXXV]
THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
“Here they come, boys! Get ready!” yelled Bean Perkins, wildly waving his megaphone. “Here they come!”
“Oh wow!” shouted Joe Jackson. “For the love of Cæsar tell us who’s ahead.”
“It’s hard to see from here. But I think——”