“Yes,” came the reply from across the darkness.
“I’ve been thinking I’d take a good, long walk to-morrow after church; up the river toward Port Wallace. Like to go along?”
“I should say so!” was the hearty reply.
“All right, I wish you would. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” answered Trevor. Then, as he burrowed his head contentedly in the pillow, he thought: “I fancy it’s all right now, and he won’t have to throw that boot after all!”
[CHAPTER VIII]
CANDIDATES FOR THE CREW
Roy Taylor’s work was apparent when on the following Tuesday afternoon the candidates for the crew reported in the rowing-room at the gymnasium. Dick counted the assemblage over twice, but could make no more than nineteen, a sorry showing compared with last year; twenty men—including himself—from which to select two eights! But he was careful to let none of the discontent that he felt appear on his face.