But he went on up the river-path with one crimson-clad arm over Stewart’s shoulders.
The week that intervened between the tournament and the boat-race passed quickly. There was an air of expectancy and excitement in the air. Examinations were approaching, class day was almost at hand, and Hillton and St. Eustace were about to match their prowess both on the water and on the diamond. The varsity crew was on the river twice daily, but the hardest of training was over, and a period of light work took the place of the former grinding labor. The time for sledge-hammer blows was past, and the efforts of coach, captain, and coxswain were directed toward putting the finishing polish on their handiwork. From Marshall came the news that St. Eustace’s head rowing coach was firmly of the belief that he had succeeded in turning out a crew no whit inferior to that of the preceding year, and it was evident in many ways that the backers of the Blue were confident of another victory.
Dick was himself again; contented, hard-working, even hopeful despite his dark forebodings. He had not forgotten his lapse from honor; he often spent miserable moments in thinking about it; but, what with earnest promises to atone for it and with work and study enough to occupy every moment of his waking time, he found his periods of self-abasement becoming fewer and fewer. He was certain of passing his examinations well, and believed he would graduate an honor man of three terms.
On Thursday he and Trevor and Muggins sat in the grand stand and cheered nine clever young gentlemen on to a decisive victory over the ball players of St. Eustace, a victory that indicated a second to come when Hillton played the last game of the series at Marshall the following week. Gray was elated, and Hillton was proud of him, and gave evidence of its pride by well-nigh raising the roof when he appeared in dining-hall.
And after the game was over Dick and Trevor went to training-table for the last time; and every one was very hopeful and rather sad, and decidedly nervous—every one save Kirk, who did most of the talking, and told strange and interesting stories of life at Hillton when he was a boy there. There had been no work on the river that day, for the shell had been shipped to Marshall; but a two-mile trot on the road, followed by a five-minute bout with the weights, had taken the place of it. After supper the men went to Society House, where the second crew, disbanded the previous day, joined them, and Professor Beck and two graduates spoke to them in earnest, hopeful strain until it was bedtime. Then the varsity crew got together and cheered long and loud for the second, and the second cheered the varsity, and they both cheered Coach Kirk and Professor Beck and the two graduates. Whereupon all scattered for bed.
The next morning, bright and early, the varsity and substitutes journeyed to Marshall, and at eleven o’clock were paddling slowly over the course of the next day’s race, watched here and there by groups of St. Eustacians. They put up at the hotel, where Muggins, attired in a gorgeous crimson blanket adorned on each side with a great white H, attracted much interest, and afforded not a little amusement. He knew every member of the crew and every substitute by nightfall, and gave each a place in his affections. And when, after dinner, the St. Eustace Glee and Mandolin Clubs, followed by a number of boys from across the river, put in an appearance and gave a concert on the veranda, he planted his front feet wide apart, raised his blunt nose toward the starlit sky, and howled loudly and dismally until Trevor bore him off to bed.
And, although the concert still went on, Trevor did not return to the veranda again. Something, perhaps the excitement of the day, had given him a splitting headache and a queer feeling all over that was difficult to define. So he undressed, climbed into bed, and, cuddling Muggins closely to him, fell off into a dream-troubled slumber.