Trevor wondered who he was talking to. Strange that he should talk when they were losing the race; silence—silence like his own—would have been more fitting. There was a sudden jerk at his arms that for the instant brought him back to reality. He didn’t know what had happened; possibly he had struck a snag; but he found the time again after a fashion and worked on doggedly, as a machine might work, with neither sensation nor spirit. He had caught a crab, but he didn’t know it then. Suddenly an almost overmastering hatred of the tossing blue line across the little breadth of water surged over him. They would win, the beasts, the monsters! And the little heathen image that slid up and down at the end would be happy! And Dick and Keene and all the others would be miserable and heartbroken! Heaven, how he hated those monsters in blue and the little red-haired heathen image!
The cox was talking again now; what was it he said? Water? Cox wanted water; surely some one could get him water? But he had said Five, hadn’t he? Well, he wasn’t Five, and so—— What was this? He was wet! Oh, yes, Five was splashing him desperately with water. He wondered why and wished he’d stop; it got into his eyes and mouth and bothered him.
“Four, brace up, can’t you? It’s almost over!” pleaded cox from a great distance.
What was almost over? Trevor opened his eyes and drew his white, dripping forehead into a puzzled frown. Oh, yes, the race! His mind and vision cleared, and he saw things as they were; saw Keene’s eyes looking at him despairingly, saw the cox of the St. Eustace boat slide by him and disappear; saw the one mile buoy rush astern; saw himself, huddled over his motionless oar that dragged, splashing, on the surface. His brain was once more clear. He seized the oar handle, and tried to draw it to him. It was no use. He tried to explain it all to Keene in one long, agonized look. Then he saw [the only way by which he could aid], and summoning a semblance of strength, with a deep breath, he reached out, and with trembling, nerveless fingers unlocked his oar and dropped it aside. It was lost to sight on the instant.
[The only way by which he could aid.]
“Careful, Four!” warned the cox.
Trevor steadied himself with a hand on the gunwale, brought his reluctant body half erect, and then flung himself over the side. He heard the coxswain’s voice for an instant:
“Mind oars, Five and Seven!”