“It’s all over,” some one called.
Then a voice from the motor-boat following called, “Lengthen out!”
The cry seemed to give new courage to the pair in the second shell. Their prow again rode level with the second member of the rival crew. Again they bent forward, their oars seemed for a second glued to the boat’s side, and as they rose again she shot forward. Again, and still again, the lithe forms bent, forward, back, and with each rise of the straining figures the craft leaped forward.
Now the two shells were even, their crews rowing like demons. Then again amid the shouting from both shores, the voice from the motor-boat cried, “Lengthen out!” and the shell which had regained its position darted forward again, past the other boat, and amid a bedlam of yells, the screech of whistles, and the frantic waving of a thousand handkerchiefs and flags, glided past the finish line, a half-length ahead of its rival.
In the moment of triumph, one of the victorious rowers was seen to sway, then sink forward. Harry could see it plainly—it was within a few yards of the yacht. The referee’s launch chugged up; some one called to the white figure in the old motor-boat, which was also drawing near. Others paddled up with congratulations and inquiries.
“Is there a doctor ashore?” some one called.
“No need for that, sir,” said the white figure in the approaching motor-boat. “I’m a doctor myself—just help me get him aboard here.”
Harry clutched the rail, speechless. He knew that voice, he knew that manner, he knew the glitter of the gold spectacles; yes, and he should have recognized before the spotless suit of white duck.
It was Red Deer.