“It is not surprising that Coach Kirk has selected these men to make up the varsity squad, as they are easily the best oarsmen among the candidates which presented themselves at the commencement of the season. Four of these men rowed in last year’s varsity, and of the balance two have had extensive experience in rowing. Coach Kirk says that the present selection is by no means final, and will be changed from time to time as he sees fit. Nevertheless, it is probable that the crew which will row against St. Eustace will be made up practically as above. Beginning next week Coach Kirk will take the men out two by two in a pair-oar, following the practice of last year. The varsity and second squads will have gone to their training-tables by the time this issue of The Hilltonian is published, and with that hard work may be said to have begun. Altogether, rowing affairs at Hillton are in an encouraging condition, and a victory pronounced enough to wipe out the stigma of last year’s defeat at the hands of our rivals may be confidently expected. The progress of the crews will be closely followed by The Hilltonian, and a criticism of the work of the members will appear in our next issue.”
“I wish I was as certain of that pronounced victory as he is,” said Dick as he laid the sheet aside.
“Who’s ‘he’?” asked Trevor.
“Singer, I guess; he thinks himself an authority on rowing affairs, though I doubt if he knows an outrigger from a thwart; but he’s a good fellow, all the same. Hello, what are you going to do with that?”
Trevor was balancing himself precariously on the head of the couch, and taking a tennis racket from a nail on the wall.
“Going to get busy with it. Stewart and I are to play a bit to-morrow. I rather fancy I’ll enter for the tournament in June. I finished rather well in the singles last spring, you know. Carter, a senior chap, beat me in the semi-finals, 6-4, 4-6, 6-3.”
“I never played the game but once,” answered Dick, “and then I nearly ran myself to death. It was lots harder than a mile on the track.”
“Yes, I know; a chap always runs too much when he doesn’t know the game. I like it. There isn’t much chance for golf this year, and so I fancy I’ll go in for tennis.”
“Well, good luck to you,” replied Dick, “only don’t twist your ankle or anything like that and have to give up rowing.”
“Don’t you worry,” answered his roommate. He had secured the racket and was examining the gut critically. “I fancy I’ll need a new one for the tournament,” he muttered. Securing an old ball he slammed it around the room for a while, until Dick, laying aside his book, arose in his wrath and took both ball and racket away from him. After that he walked disconsolately around the table for several minutes, and at length settled himself grudgingly to study. Dick had a hard lesson in German to master, and it was well on toward ten o’clock when he finally put down his books, yawned, and strolling to the window, pushed aside the curtains and peered out. Trevor was leisurely undressing in the bedroom when he heard Dick call to him excitedly.