The stroke was slackened, to the relief of all, for, though they were sturdy lads, rowing was a form of exercise to which they were not much accustomed, especially in a shell. The strangeness of the seats, the toe stretchers, and the outriggers added to their confusion, so that the fatigue was almost as much one of attention and brain power as of muscle.
“Now for a turn against the current,” remarked the coach, when they had gone on a mile or two more. “This will give you some resistance to work against.”
The shell was turned, after a fashion, Mr. Lighton being anxious not to bring too much strain on the outriggers, the turning action always involving this.
“Give way!” came the command, and the shell started back up stream.
This was harder work, but the coach, desiring to know if he had any members on the crew who were likely to prove of less service than the others, kept them all up to a good stroke. There was some panting when the float was reached, a larger crowd than before being there to welcome the first tentative crew. But, to do the lads justice, not one but had stood the strain well, even the fault-finding Boswell.
“Well rowed for the first time!” complimented Mr. Lighton. “Now, then, a good shower bath and a rub-down, and then some light exercise to keep from getting stiff, for you have used muscles to-day that seldom came into play before. Now who’s for another crew?” and he picked out eight more lads, who went off in the shell.
“That was great!” cried Tom, as, with his three particular chums he started for the gymnasium.
“It sure was,” agreed Sid. “I never thought I could do so well.”
“And I never knew I could do so rotten!” came from Frank. “I used to think I was some pumpkins with an oar, but this has taken all the conceit out of me.”
“Same here,” agreed Phil. “But I think we’re on the right road.”