It was now June and the weather, after the long rain, was perfect. Within a few days Boxer Hall and Fairview would meet in their annual water carnival, swimming as well as boat races, and, as some of the Randall boys had entered in the swimming contests, it was planned to send a big delegation from that college to the meet.
“We can get a line on their rowing that way,” said Sid, and the others agreed with him.
Meanwhile the flooded river was subsiding, and a few days after their visit to the girls, our four friends went out for a row again. In the meanwhile they had secured some books on the subject of sculling, and, as they went down stream, they endeavored to correct their faults.
But, as is always the case when you try to do something opposite to the way you have learned it, whether that way be good or bad, there was trouble.
“I can’t row for a cent the way the book says it ought to be done,” declared Tom.
“Me either,” came from Sid.
“And yet that’s the right way,” said Frank. “I guess we’ll get on to it after a bit. But let’s row our old way now, and go down to Crest Island. That will make a good distance, and test our wind. Later we can row right. Anyhow, if we have a coach he’ll show us the ropes. Give way now, everybody!”
They made good speed, and, a little later, were nearing the island, the largest one of three or four that dotted the lake. Crest Island was the home of several cottagers in Summer.
“Look! What’s that!” cried Tom, as they neared the upper point of the bit of water-surrounded land.