“Those Boxer Hall lads will be up in the air all right when they learn that their trophies are gone,” suggested Sid. “I wonder if there were any of the ones they won in the last meet?”
“They didn’t get many,” chuckled Frank. “But it will be quite a loss to them. However, it’s none of our funeral. I wouldn’t trust any of my jewelry to a man who would go off and leave it in a motor-boat for a night and a day.”
“Oh, well, he didn’t mean to. When he got that message about his mother, I suppose it flustered him,” said Tom, in extenuation.
“It’s hard to blame him,” commented Frank. “But he’s in a pickle all right. Now let’s do some fast rowing.”
They hit up the pace, but they did not have enough practice to maintain it, especially in the heavy barge, and soon they were all panting, while the oars took the water raggedly, and Sid caught a crab that nearly sent him overboard.
“I guess we need some coaching,” admitted that lad, when he had recovered himself. “We’re not racers yet, by a long shot. Slow down a bit, fellows.”
“Oh, we’re too soft!” complained Frank. “We’ll never amount to anything in a shell if we can’t stand this. Think of a four-mile row at top speed.”
“But we’ll be in better shape for it after a course of training and some coaching,” declared Phil. “Then, too, we’ll have this Summer vacation to practice in.”
At slower speed they rowed up to their boathouse dock, and were soon strolling across the campus to their room, discussing the events of the last few hours.
“I can’t get over the nerve of that jeweler!” exclaimed the Big Californian. “He nearly got me going.”