“Say, where do I come in?” suddenly asked Boswell. “I was at bow, and now—I’m nowhere, Mr. Lighton.”
“I’ll work you in another crew, Boswell,” said the coach, sharply.
“But I want to be in the varsity.”
“This isn’t the varsity any more than any other collection of eight rowers is. The varsity isn’t picked yet, and won’t be until the Fall.”
“Well, this looks very much like the varsity to me,” sneered Boswell. “All the fellows in it are on the varsity nine——”
“That’ll do you!” said the coach, snappily.
“Then I’m not to row at bow?”
“Not in this eight.”
“Then I don’t row at all!” and, with a fierce glance at the selected rowers, the rich lad turned sharply and walked off to the dressing rooms.