“’Fraid not,” Harry answered. “It’s all over. It was won before it began.”
It was certainly won long before it was finished. Amid excited cheering and frantic waving of flags, a single boat glided past the finish line. The other crew had gone to pieces up the course.
“Who are those that won?” Mr. Danforth called over the rail to one of the boats that were clustered thick under the yacht’s stern.
“The college boys,” some one answered. “Plattsburgh crew stopped to fish.”
“I don’t believe they did,” said the girl, incredulously.
“No, I don’t either; there isn’t any good fishing up there,” said Harry, soberly.
“Who ought I to cheer for?” she asked, surveying the party.
“Well, I guess those college boys are right in your line,” Harry said. “They’re certainly first-class oarsmen. I believe they come from somewhere over in Massachusetts, don’t they? What’s that their friends are waving?”
Amid much laughter, the blue-sweater crowd had hoisted a great banner above their little craft, on which was printed in charcoal:
These are our regulations,—