“Magnate, he means,” said Harry.
The sudden appearance of the substitute did not seem to produce much anxiety on the part of the blue sweaters. On the contrary, they regarded his advent as affording them an opportunity of winning when they would otherwise simply have had the race without earning it. The casual glimpse they had of him gave them a good deal of amusement. He wore an ill-fitting bathing jersey, his face had the tan of a countryman, and the loose stride with which he approached the shell, followed by Pierce, was not the stride of a trained athlete. There was no objection to his rowing when it became known that he was a member of the troop.
As many of the scouts as their old boat would hold crowded in and made a bee line for the finish, Gordon among them, talking volubly.
Harry looked the shell over as he and Pierce took their places. It was quite the sort of racing craft which one might expect to find in a country boathouse. It had two pairs of swivels, not very far from the sides, and was, indeed, little more than a narrow, attenuated skiff. Harry sat on the forward slide and for a few moments had some trouble getting Pierce’s stroke. He was the last one in the world to row jealous, but try as he would to accommodate his pulling to that of his partner, he inevitably rowed him around every few strokes.
He could not fail to see that Pierce was well-nigh played out. The other shell was a full length in the lead, and gliding steadily along with a length and evenness of swing that were beautiful to see. The crowds cheered vociferously, and since both contestants were outsiders, there was no encouraging word for the second shell as it wriggled along.
Harry knew enough of pair racing to know that the forward oarsman is not free, and having his doubts about Pierce’s vitality, he had wisely taken the forward slide so as to watch him. It soon became plain that he must accommodate himself to ragged and erratic work. Whenever Pierce swung short or took a slack beginning, Harry had to exert himself to correct his partner’s fault and hold the course. They managed to get together in a spurt just beyond the half flag, and sent their prow up to the second rower of the rival craft. But it soon lapsed into a series of pitiable swerves, leaving them a full two lengths behind. With a coxswain, of course, they might have done better, but as it was, their progress was little better than ridiculous. The shouting along the shore had an occasional note of hooting in it.
“Let her run, Welden,” some one called derisively. “It’s all over.”
“Those fellows came here aching for a race, and they haven’t had one yet,” shouted a sonorous voice.
The college boys were now more than three lengths in the lead, moving like twin pendulums, with long, uniform, supple swings. Together their oars rose, together plunged dripping, and steadily, without a tremor, their shell glided forward.
The leading shell was passing the three-quarters when Harry looked around. In his hasty glance, he saw the finish, the gay flotilla with its welcoming flags, the dense throng. He heard the premature tooting of distant launches.