“I guess we’ll wait until Saturday.”
“Saturday! But, jumping jiminy, this is only Tuesday!” exclaimed Trevor. “How can you expect a chap to grind away in the gym on a day like this?” He pushed the window up and threw himself over the sill, kicking his heels delightedly and breathing in the fresh, moist air greedily. A fringe of icicles above dripped water down onto his bare neck, and he giggled hysterically. “Just like a needle bath,” he sputtered.
“Come on and get dressed,” said Dick, “and let’s go over to breakfast.”
“All right; wait until I eat an icicle.” He reached up and broke off several. “Have one?”
“No, and no more will you,” replied Dick, knocking them out of his hand. “When you’re in training for the boat you can’t eat icicles; they’ll give you pains in your tummy.”
“Rot,” said Trevor; “there’s nothing more healthful than a nice underdone icicle just before breakfast.”
The boat-house on the following Saturday afternoon was a scene of much activity and color. The fellows turned out almost to a man for a look at the crews at work, and the second and third squad stood by and watched enviously while their more fortunate friends lifted one of the long cedar shells from the house and placed it in the water at the end of the float. The coxswain, an upper middle lad named Keene, called the numbers, and, one by one, Trevor by virtue of his place at four, leading, the first squad entered the boat. Kirk contented himself to-day with a point of vantage on the landing, for the tiny naphtha launch was not yet ready for duty.
“Get your feet into the stretchers, men, and see how they feel. How is that, Six, too long? Hold her steady, you fellows. That’s better, isn’t it?” And when the last stretcher had been placed to suit: “Keene, keep the boat in the stretch here by the landing and inshore as much as you can. All right.”
“Get ready,” called the coxswain. The boat was pushed off from the float. “Forward!” The crew moved up with their slides. “Paddle!” and the shell floated out into the stream, her bow pointing up the river. “Easy all!” The paddling ceased and the boat lay motionless. “Forward!” The eight bodies bent. “Are you ready? Row!” and the blades swirled through the water and the boat leaped forward. Dick, at stroke, pulled leisurely, and after the first three or four strokes the rest of the eight caught the time, and the locks clicked in unison. At a little distance up-stream the boat was turned, and, with the same long, leisurely stroke, was brought back and past the landing, where Kirk, eagle-eyed, watched the work silently. Down-stream the shell was again turned, and, when it was once more opposite the float, was brought to a stop.